#do you think those floors are in his house
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The Perfect Life || CL16 {7}
Summary: The first night at Charles’ house is almost ruined before it can even begin.
Warnings: angst, light smut
WC: 3.2k
F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven
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The paper bag in your hands crinkled as you opened it to see what Charles had asked you to carry. “What is this?”
“Dinner.”
You raised a brow and closed it back up. “Those are ingredients,” you corrected, placing it on the kitchen bench in his apartment. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to cook because you will be bitterly disappointed.”
He laughed as he closed the front door and kicked his shoes off. “It’s all prepared, the pasta just needs boiling but I can do that. Why don’t you take a look around?”
You already planned on being nosey when he wasn’t looking but now you could openly snoop and happily left him to his own devices. Like most apartments in Monaco, it was smaller than you were used to but it was more than enough for a man living on his own.
You circled the living room and tried not to be envious of all the photos he had hung in frames around the room. Faces you recognised held carefree smiles that they never had in your presence and Charles was no exception. You thought you had seen his real smile but even that was strained compared to what was captured when he was with his friends and family.
“I’m starting to think that frown is just your resting face,” Charles commented as he stepped out of the galley kitchen to see your progress.
You schooled your face until the lines evened out and a mild look of boredom hid your thoughts as you turned away from the photos and found something that made your heart nearly stop. The manuscript was plain and unassuming on the shelf, the title print small and barely legible on the bare sewn spine, but you knew that book.
“You stole it.”
Charles’ confused gaze followed you to the bookshelf. “What?”
“It wasn’t enough to take him from me but you took our book too,” you muttered as you tugged it from the shelf and ran your fingers across the faded purple inscription in the corner: For Jules. A hint of the berry scented ink still clung to the page and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you opened it to the dog eared page you left behind.
“This was a mistake,” you said as you closed the book and shoved it back on the shelf. If it wasn’t this, it would just be something else- there was too much history to think this could ever work. “I can’t do this, Charles.”
He intercepted your exit, blocking the door with pleading eyes. “Wait, please. I didn’t know it was yours. You can have it back.”
“I don’t want it back! I want to finish reading it to him but I’ll never get that chance because of you.” You took a step closer, ready to go through him to get out the door but he surprised you by sliding down the white panel until his ass planted on the floor. Charles pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them as he looked down to hide in shame.
The moment of silence dragged on as his breath grew as ragged as yours and you both relived that day in the hospital.
“I’m sorry,” he stressed as he threw his head back, the thud heavy against the wood. “I’m fucking sorry! For all of it. I didn’t deserve the time I got with him, I don’t deserve this career - it should have been his, like you. I definitely don’t deserve you.”
You slumped to the floor too with your back to the kitchen cabinets. This was not how you imagined your evening going. The plan had been simple; stay the night with Charles and arrive at the paddock for his first practice together - hard launching the relationship and confirming all the rumours that you had both started.
“When did this become your pity party?” you asked as you studied the herringbone tile floor instead of the enigma sitting opposite you.
Charles’ jaw dropped and he shook his head as he stammered over his words. “It’s not…I’m not…that’s not what…”
“How do you make it through interviews? One question and you’re a blithering mess.” You rolled your eyes and stretched your leg out to nudge his foot. “You are wrong by the way. I wasn’t meant to be Jules’ either.”
“I know.” He nodded and sighed, wiping his nose that had turned pink. “It probably doesn’t change anything but I finished it. I read him that book before he…before he died.”
You pushed yourself up to your feet and offered him your hand. His palm was clammy against your skin and you barely made any effort to pull him up as he did the work himself, rising to his full height in front of you. “You’re right, it doesn’t change anything,” you admitted, watching his shoulders deflate.
“Figured as much.”
“But,” you said as you held a finger up when he went to move away and he froze, “that was a proper apology that actually felt real.”
“So you forgive me?”
“No, I don’t even know how to do that, but I’m not going to leave.”
He smiled like it was a small victory and enveloped you in one of his spontaneous hugs that you were slowly growing used to. “I don’t know how, but I am going to make it up to you one day. I promise.”
“How about you start with just making dinner?” You stepped out of his embrace and looked around the room with weary eyes. “I’m not going to find any more surprises, am I?”
He chewed his lip as he thought for a moment. “I have his helmet in my office but the door is closed.”
You swallowed deeply and nodded. You were going to avoid that room at all costs. “Keep it that way.”
Panic gripped you as the bike started to wobble. Your feet tangled in the pedals and your fingers slipped from the brakes before the gravel driveway rapidly came up to meet you. The skin on your knees stung with the dozens of little stones that grazed them and your elbows were in a similar state as you lay sprawled beneath the summer sun.
“Up you get,” Jules said as he dusted the stones off and picked you up.
Your bottom lip began to tremble and he shook his head. “There’s no use crying, lapinette, might as well laugh and learn.”
“I don’t want to laugh,” you grumbled, kicking the bike to emphasise your displeasure.
Jules shrugged and picked the bike up, holding it out for you to try once more. “Well, that’s usually when you need to the most.”
You accepted the bike and looked longingly at the trainer wheels he had taken off. The plastic wheels were beside his kart that was propped up on a stand, some of the parts in pieces for him to finish cleaning before he rebuilt it for the race. “Do you think you can win?”
“Absolutely, just like I know you can ride that bike.”
“I fell off.”
He laughed at your attitude and knew you would be a handful when you grew up. Pointing to the driveway he said, “Then you better try again, no? Because if you don’t ride it then I can’t win!”
You laughed at the stupidity of the statement but rose to the challenge, throwing a leg over the pastel pink bike and ringing the little bell on the handle for good luck. “You better win, Jules.”
You took a deep breath and pushed the pedal down, slowly building momentum. The wind blew your hair back and you laughed as you realised you were doing it. You were biking…straight towards the wrought iron gates.
You jolted awake in the unfamiliar bedroom and found Charles sleeping soundly. Though you had woken before the impact came you knew Jules had saved you. The lanky teen had sprinted after the bike and grabbed you from the seat before it careened into the metal, buckling the front wheel. You hadn’t quite mastered bike riding that week but Jules still won his karting race.
Sleep was as distant as the memory that had resurfaced so you quietly slipped from the room and found yourself at the bookshelf. Sometimes you wished you had no memory, then you couldn’t be reminded of how happy you had been. But, on the flipside, if you didn’t have the memory you feared you would never know what happiness was at all.
When Charles woke to an empty bed he wondered if you had left after all despite watching you fall asleep beside him. It was only the sound of the balcony door sliding open that let him breathe a sigh of relief and he climbed out of the bed to check on you. A cool breeze left a chill in the air of the living room and Charles grabbed the blanket that hung from the back of the sofa before he stepped outside.
“You’ll catch a cold like that,” he whispered to the night. The Ferrari shirt you wore fell halfway down your thighs but curled up on the outdoor settee had the red material barely covering your underwear and Charles covered the bare skin with the blanket.
“Bad dream?” he asked as he took a seat beside you and noticed the book in your hands.
“Worse,” you replied. “A good memory.”
Charles draped his arm over the back of your seat, his fingers softly touching your shoulder, and he tucked his legs under the blanket too. “Want to talk about it?”
You gave him a look that made him chuckle before turning your attention back to the page. You were halfway through the story and you could finally appreciate the action thriller now that you understood the vengeance Jack Reacher felt and the way he fought but even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the dream. With an irritated sign, you closed the book and took to searching the stars instead.
“Charles?” He hummed quietly and you looked across to see his relaxed state watching the dark sky too. “If I ask you something, can you just do it without reading too much into it?”
He tore his eyes away from the brightest star in the sky and frowned. “Uh, I guess it depends on what you ask me.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
His lips curled up in a slow smile and his fingers danced across your collar to the base of your throat as he leaned in. “You don’t have to ask me.”
“It’s not because I like you, I just need something to stop me thinking,” you clarified.
“Again, you don’t have to ask me.” His lips brushed against yours before they teased your jawline and his breath warmed your ear. “You can use me however you want.”
It was already a messy situation and adding sex to the mix was only going to end badly but you needed it. You needed to forget the thoughts racing through your head and you needed the high of an orgasm. Charles was more than willing to give you both when he carried you back to his bed.
The next time you woke you were in a far better headspace.
You felt the ghost of a kiss on your cheek before Charles left to get ready for the day but you buried your head deeper in the pillow and tried to ignore the sweet ache in your body. It was impossible. Your core throbbed with the memory of how he had filled it and your thighs pressed together in search of friction only to feel the beard burn he had left between them.
“Fuck,” you groaned as you realised you would not be getting back to sleep.
“Regretting your life choices?” Charles asked from the doorway, two mugs of coffee in his hands and not a lick of clothing to be seen.
“On the list of my regrets, this doesn’t even register,” you said as you sat up and accepted the hot cup, your state of undress not much better. “But it would have been easier if you sucked in bed.”
“How’s that?” He lifted his pillow up against the headboard and took a seat with an amused grin at the compliment.
“For starters, I wouldn’t want to do it again. Things are already complicated enough and now I have technically been fucked by my boss.”
“If you want to get technical, you fucked me,” he pointed out with a smirk. “You were in control, babe.”
You took a deep breath and told yourself it was too early for violence, even if he was right. Charles had been quite clear on the fact you were in control, especially when he sat in much the same position against the headboard and let you ride him into oblivion. “Maybe it will make it on my list of regrets after all.”
“You can worry about them later,” he said after a few mouthfuls of his coffee. “We should start getting ready to head to the track and your hair screams ‘sex’. Bathroom is across the hall, there’s a new toothbrush in the top drawer if you need.”
“Wow, a spare toothbrush? That screams manwhore.”
“I’m just being a gentleman, you’re the one that swallowed.”
You nearly spilled the coffee with the laugh that bubbled out of your mouth unexpectedly. “Ah, there’s the regret. I knew I should have snowballed you.”
His nose wrinkled with the idea and you laughed darkly. Next time he would probably hesitate and remember this conversation. You froze. You were already thinking about the next time you would fuck and that was enough to stun you silent so you busied your mouth finishing the drink.
It was hard not to fall in love with the atmosphere of race week in Monaco. Arriving hand in hand with Charles had the desired effect and you were still feeling the ripples of it as the day ended.
“I’m exhausted and I didn’t even do anything,” you admitted through the headset as the private helicopter whisked you back to Nice.
Charles flexed his hand that had furiously signed autographs right up until the moment he stepped inside the helicopter. “It gets like that sometimes but I only feel it after everything goes quiet.”
“Are you sure you want to come to this dinner? You can go home and rest. Jacques can fly you back.”
Charles reached across the seat and took your hand even though there was no audience to witness the touch. “And leave you alone with your parents?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I have managed to survive 25 years on my own.”
“That’s a miracle in itself. I probably wouldn’t be trusted with the steak knife if that was me.”
You grinned at the joke and rested your head on his shoulder. “I like this dark side of you.”
“I suppose that’s a start.”
Your good mood was brought down the moment you spotted the mansion before landing. Too many cars lined the driveway for the simple family dinner your mother planned and you fell quiet as the helicopter touched down in the backyard.
“What is this?” Charles asked, looking down at his casual jeans and sweatshirt.
“The tenth circle of hell,” you muttered.
Veronica was practically vibrating with excitement when you arrived at the patio door and she held out two tickets for the opera tomorrow night, as requested. “Silly girl. You have dinner with Prince Albert, you can’t even go.”
Charles knew better after seeing the many masks you had adorned to hide your thoughts but it still amazed him how quickly you could become a woman he didn’t recognise. A sneer grew, twisting your smile into a cruel mockery of the one he knew and your eyes narrowed as you swiped the tickets from her hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I tried, but that’s what you get for being a spoiled little brat.”
“Alicia! My room, now!” Your voice carried through the mansion and you stormed up the stairs with Charles following behind, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. The maid was already waiting outside your bedroom door when you arrived and you barrelled inside, slamming the door shut in Veronica’s smirking face.
The dress hanging in the closet was still wrapped in the garment bag and you took it off the hanger, holding it out to Alicia. “Get this dress out of my sight! I never want to see it again.”
Alicia looked a little shocked at the outburst you needed to be heard through the door. “But it is McQueen.”
“I don’t care!” You lowered your voice to a whisper and reached into your pocket. “Here’s two tickets to La Bohème, take the dress and go with Javier. You didn’t think I forgot your anniversary, did you? Go.”
Tears filled Alicia’s eyes and she threw her arms around you. “Thank you.”
You shook your head and sincerely said, “You deserve more than this.”
Alicia dipped at the waist and delicately hung the dress over her arm as she walked to the door. Veronica saw the tears in Alicia’s eyes and shook her head as the quiet maid rushed down the stairwell.
“Your father will hear about this tantrum.”
You tipped your nose up and crossed your arms smugly. “I’m his only child, that makes me his favourite by default. Now run along and tell him.”
Veronica turned on her heel with a scoff and you closed the door before sighing heavily. You would probably pay for the insolence in one way or another but it was worth it.
“Why did you do that?” Charles asked as he reached past your hip and locked the door.
“I couldn’t pay for the tickets myself and they already think the worst of me, might as well play the fool for a good cause.”
Charles opened his arms and you stepped into the embrace. He could see how draining the act was and couldn’t wait until the day you left Nice. “You’re a good person,” he said quietly before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“I don’t think the guests downstairs would agree with you. I don’t even know why they are here.”
You found out soon enough when you emerged from your room dressed in more appropriate attire. Just as you suspected, it was punishment and you would play the fool once again for your mother’s entertainment. You felt sick seeing the grand piano in the dining hall and your fingers stiffened at the thought of sitting in front of the guests to play at her whim.
“Are you okay?” Charles asked as he saw your pallor fade.
Forcing the discontent away, you smiled in time for the first guest to spot your entrance into the room. “Just peachy, Charles. Ready to act lovesick?”
He didn’t need to act, and you found it all too easy that maybe it wasn’t acting either. Your body fit perfectly into the curve of his arm and you moved together through the room making introductions. But all too soon your mother dragged you away and snapped her finger at the piano.
“The Economy Minister favours Beethoven,” she whispered with a look to the man your father was for lack of a better word, schmoozing. “Don’t fuck this up.”
#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#Charles Leclerc smut#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#formula 1 fanfic#formula one fanfiction
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Angel AU drabble
A lot of people asked about this AU, so here's a little drabble to hold you over until I can start writing this story 😇 Read the premise here
Invisible to the human eye, Gale follows his ward everywhere he goes. After a few years of careful guidance, humans tend to become more independent, and then he has time to pick up a second or even a third case, but John is a rescue. He’s going to need all of Gale's attention for a much longer time if his soul is to be saved. It’s exciting to be challenged with such a difficult ward. Neglected by an incompetent guardian - who's now demoted to administrator - he went down the path towards Hell. Gale's priority is to guide him back. His second, more personal goal is to make him happy too. They’ll have to see how John manages, but Gale will do his best.
Currently, they're on a dirty bus that coughs a trail of smoke as it chugs on towards the most dangerous neighbourhoods of the city. Gale tried to discourage John from boarding the repulsive vehicle, but his suggestion was ignored. It’s only their first day though - Gale just has to find the right technique to get through the wounded exterior of his soul. For now, he just settles down beside John and radiates an aura that keeps people from sitting next to him. He can tell that a stranger's closeness would distress John.
There are earbuds in John's ears. Gale examines them curiously, leaning in real close to see the emotions flickering through John's mind as he listens to the music. Human music has always fascinated Gale. He used to wonder if humans were trying to find the tunes of Heaven, but he knows that's not the case ever since he discovered rap music. He wants to learn John's musical taste. It could come in handy if Gale wants to influence his mood in the future.
The bus rolls to a stop, and John moves to get off. Again, Gale tries to hold him back. This isn’t a good place - he can already see the stains of malice peeling off the walls of a house by the bus stop, like a black, rotten layer of skin. He knocks a woman's suitcase over and makes a backpacker move to block John's way, but John is determined. He shoulders his way out of there and gets off the bus.
Outside, the night greets him with a chill and cruel blows of the wind. John's bruised face hurts as he squints against it. As he takes off towards an alleyway, Gale makes that wind stronger, even though his own nose wrinkles at the smell of depravity it blows out from the direction they're headed.
"Why don’t you go back home? You could take a hot shower there." He tells John gently. If he talks to John from the ethereal plane, his words form suggestions in John's mind, ideas that he thinks are his own. It's the easiest tool to use. Humans usually go along with what they call their sixth sense. And indeed, John stops. But a moment later, he squares his shoulders and resumes his steps.
Gale frowns. He has to step up his game.
They enter an establishment that Gale identifies as a nightclub. A shady one. Spilled drinks sticky on the floor, cigarette smoke, knives tucked into pockets, unprotected sex in the putrid bathroom. Gale can hear, see and smell it all as he traces John's steps, but his senses also reach beyond that. The place is swarming with demons and malicious spirits. Their waste litters the ethereal plane and clings to Gale's feet until he blasts it off in disgust.
His feathers ruffle. Behind him, his wings move from their relaxed position to a casual back-shield. He doubts that the slimy creatures cowering from him in the corners would attack him, but it never hurts to be cautious. As it is, the sea of demons threaded through the dancing human crowd parts for him, hissing at his light. His lower ranking siblings, those few who had the strength to brave this place, all seem to breathe a sigh of relief when he nods at them in greeting.
"Sir." They say as he passes.
"Keep up the good work." He replies calmly.
John doesn’t stop on the dance floor, so he doesn’t linger either, no matter how much fun it is to see the cowardly demons skitter, scared that he might smite them. He follows John to the back of the club, then out into the alley behind it.
There, they wait. It’s raining. Water soaks through John's hoodie. The residue of malevolent beings falls from the sky with every raindrop. Soon enough, Gale’s brushing its black soot off his wings. His iridescent white feathers contrast harshly with it.
"You don’t want to do this." He tells John. "Come on, why don't we get out of here?"
As if in reply, John mutters to himself. "The fuck am I doing here."
Gale smiles. "You don’t belong here."
He can feel the ideas battling in John's head, and he tastes the sweet scent of a step in the right direction, but suddenly, in a sharp twist, John's thoughts plummet into despair. Unpleasant memories swirl in his mind. "Right where I belong."
Gale's wings twitch. This won't be easy. They have a long road ahead of them, don't they?
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Instinct
Synopsis: Astarion and Tiriel have a very busy night after a battle and have to deal with unexpected consequences.
Tags: smut, breeding, hurt/comfort, some emotional angst
It's not exactly a breeding fic since neither Astarion nor Tiriel planned to have a child, but the shameless smut ended with unplanned pregnancy. And now they have to deal with what comes next.
Bonus: you will learn why Astarion calls Alethaine 'princess'
Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
Tiriel won’t let them take her home from her.
She has never had one. Always a stranger, always a wanderer, but Daggerlake became her home. A place that welcomed both her and Astarion, thanking them for saving the townsfolk from a nasty fey pact.
Ever since then, Tiriel belongs – she has had a roof above her head and friends among the townsfolk. And even Astarion can relax because the town has a vast underground part where he is safe in the shadows without having to hide.
And those bandits decided they could take it away from Tiriel?
They should have thought better!
Tiriel steps over a dead body. The fight is over and so is her rage. She single-handedly finished off a dozen of these men and women who didn’t know who their enemy was.
But her body wishes for more – more fight, more blood, more rage.
She looks around trying to see Astarion, but he is nowhere to be seen. It’s night and Astarion rushed to the surface part of the town letting the people of Daggerlake protect their homes and families while he, a full-fledged vampire, was going to show those bandits they had chosen the wrong town to attack.
Suddenly, someone grabs the fistful of her hair forcing her to gasp.
“Astarion?”
She looks at him and innate fear pierces her. They've been together for twenty years, but Tiriel hardly remembers him looking like this.
He looks like a vampire.
Like a vampire on a hunt.
His eyes glow red, and his clothes are soaked in blood. His skin feels feverish and his pupils are dilated.
Tiriel knows it’s him but she also can’t suppress her fear. He is a predator, a hunter, a vampire. Should he be her enemy, she won’t be able to protect herself.
He pulls her closer and kisses her. Tiriel feels the blood of a dozen dead enemies on his lips. His strong hands squeeze her and she knows he will fuck her right here among the dead bodies in the streets of their hometown if she allows it.
Tiriel answers him with the same passion – he wants to be a dangerous vampire? Good to know – because she can be a wild warrior girl who takes what she desires.
But Astarion isn't in the mood for being dominated, and he drags Tiriel back to their home – anyone who would see them right now would think this an assault, not a prelude to lovemaking.
Astarion pushes Tiriel behind the gate. As he closes it, Tiriel gets a sudden idea.
If he wants to be a predator tonight, she should let him play till the end.
She drops her ax on the ground and rushes inside the house – there aren't many places to hide but she is going to let him chase her. And maybe fight a bit.
“And where do you think you are going?” He growls. His voice sounds different and even scary. Nothing more intimidating than a blood-drunk vampire.
“Such a terrifying vampire needs to hunt his prey,” Tiriel laughs.
“Don’t tease me, wild girl!”
She rushes to their bedroom, but before she even manages to think about her next move Astarion jumps on her from the ceiling, pinning her to the floor.
And then he starts ripping her clothes off.
Tiriel roars and pushes Astarion with all her remaining strength. He pulls away but only for a moment before sinking his fangs in her neck. She gasps from the sudden pain but still tries to knock him down.
With every moment her movements become weaker and she finally stops resisting letting Astarion ravish her body.
He pulls away studying her face.
“On your knees.”
Tiriel abides. Her shirt is ripped and shows off her breasts.
“Good girl,” he mutters, getting rid of his own clothes. His cock is painfully hard and Tiriel cannot think about anything but having it inside her.
He approaches her, tugs her by her shirt’s collar, and pushes her to the bed. He tears the rest of her clothes off and bites her again.
Tiriel’s world shrinks to these two things – pleasure and pain.
Astarion doesn’t waste any time and penetrates Tiriel, causing her to yelp.
His thrusts are rough and so are his touches.
Tiriel, drunk with her own rage, keeps fighting back – she scratches his skin, tugs his hair, tries to push him as if he was assaulting her and every one of her movements makes Astarion wilder, rougher, scarier.
She manages to get away from under him, but he immediately presses her chest-down into the bed. Now, he fucks her from behind placing his blood-hot palm on her back.
Slap.
His palm leaves a red print on her butt and Tiriel gasps.
“Astarion-” Tiriel mewls as he leans to wrap his hands around her chest. He pierces her shoulder and keeps moving roughly.
He comes with a guttural groan and kisses Tiriel so intensely she is afraid to suffocate.
And instead of pulling away, he proceeds to fuck her again.
This time, he is very gentle and his eyes don’t glow anymore.
“Astarion!” she gasps when he bites her breasts.
“Delicious,” he mutters, licking the droplets of blood from her sensitive skin.
His second orgasm comes simultaneously with hers and she clenches around him forcing Astarion to stay inside her.
Astarion sees it as permission for the third round. He sits up and places her hips on his lap.
She squirms riding her orgasm and cries out something incoherent, but it seems like Astarion isn’t going to stop any time soon.
Tiriel has a weird feeling his heart is beating.
“Such a good girl,” he hisses. “And all mine.”
“All yours.”
Astarion moans in her ear and she feels his seed leaking down her sore thighs once again.
As it happens, Tiriel feels the world fading away, and the last thing she sees is Astarion’s red eyes.
**
When Tiriel wakes up, her body is sore and her skin feels disgusting. The mess between her legs has caked and the bite marks all over her body itch.
She gets up and gasps with a sudden pain – her body is covered in bruises, and she doesn't know which of them are from her enemies and which are from her lover.
Probably teasing Astarion was a bad idea.
She needs to bathe.
Tiriel puts her legs on the floor and notices her clothes folded up carefully.
And repaired.
She smiles at the thought that all these hours of her sleep Astarion was right there sewing and watching her. He loves watching her sleep. When she asked him about this habit before, he confessed that he didn’t see a point in looking at anything else but her.
Tiriel opens the door of the bathroom – Astarion sits in the hot water with a book he puts down the second she enters.
“Careful, darling, entering like that. I might want another round.”
“I can barely walk. Spare me, my lord.”
Astarion chuckles and tugs Tiriel into the bathtub.
“How much did I sleep?”
“Almost a day.”
Tiriel sits beside him and Astarion places his head on her chest.
“You know, everyone would think we should be less passionate two decades into our relationship.”
Astarion kisses her shoulder. “You are not getting any colder.”
“Oh no, you love me only for my body warmth! And what if some vampire turns me into an undead?”
Astarion doesn't answer immediately. A decade ago this joke would offend him so much he wouldn’t have talked to her for the whole day – but the nightmares and terrors of his past life have been left behind.
“Then we would lie in each other arms in front of a fireplace, forever young, forever beautiful”
She caresses his ears and he nuzzles her collarbone.
Then Tiriel looks into the water.
“How much did you drink yesterday?”
“A lot.”
Tiriel sighs and straddles his lap, feeling his hardness between her legs. Astarion doesn’t hesitate – a second later, she is already rolling her hips as his cold cock gets warmer inside of her.
“You know… You feel much better… when you are like that,” she admits. “Cold, no heartbeat. That’s more to my liking.”
**
Tiriel feels awful. It seems like her own body is revolting against her.
“Go to see the healer,” Astarion asks. “Tiriel, honestly, if you don't go yourself, I will drag you there.”
“Tyrant.”
“And you behave like a child! Gods, sometimes I forget I am 200 years older than you!”
Tiriel looks at him and frowns. “You are not.”
“Tiriel, you are my sunshine and my love, but your lack of cognitive abilities is beyond me. How old were you when we met?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Good. By that time, I had been enslaved for 200 years and I was turned at 39. I am more than two centuries older than you.”
Tiriel wants to say something, but she vomits again.
“I'm just sick! Aaah!”
Astarion pulls her up and slings her on his shoulder as if she were his war bounty.
Despite all her efforts, she can’t free herself and accepts her fate. Thankfully, it's rather late and most of the townsfolk are asleep, though she notices a jealous look from a baker.
“Put me on the ground.”
“Let them see what real relationships look like. You know that the blacksmith’s daughters asked me where they can find vampires like me?”
“Hope you didn't send them to the Underdark?”
“I told them I am one of a kind,” Astarion slaps her butt. “But we need to remind these people who we are.”
Astarion stays outside as Tiriel enters the healer’s hut – its owner, a halfling woman, looks at her with annoyance.
“What happened, Tiriel?”
“I am fine! My husband forced me to visit you.” Tiriel describes the symptoms. “I think I got food poisoning.”
“Food poisoning… Tell me, Tiriel, when was the last time you bled?”
Tiriel ponders. Her cycle has always been irregular –- a common thing among half-elfs. Humans are the most fertile race in Faerun, whilst elves are known to see their rare children as gifts from gods. So, Tiriel’s rare menstruations are unexpected obstacles, not something she should endure once a month.
And besides, she sleeps with an elf AND a vampire.
“I don’t remember. Maybe last winter.”
The healer hands her a tiny bundle of herbs. “Chew it. But don’t eat.”
The taste is so gross that Tiriel almost vomits again. She spews it on the floor - and the herb slowly changes its color to black.
“What’s the fuck is that?”
“Tastes like bile, doesn’t it? Oh, why do I have to go through all of this… I knew it couldn’t end well when we invited you two to stay here. You are pregnant.”
“I am… what?”
“You are pregnant, Tiriel.”
“With all due respect – my husband is a fucking vampire! I think his ability to fuck a child into anyone went to the grave along with his breathing, heart beating, and food preferences!”
“I am sure I’ve heard of half-vampires. Now go! I have more urgent patients to take care of. You know, it was a bad idea to use the innkeeper like a battering ram!”
Tiriel leaves the hut feeling as if she was just hit with something heavy.
“Tiriel?” Astarion looks worriedly. “What did she say?”
Tiriel is so scared she wants to cry. There is something inside her, something alive and growing – she can think of her husband as an elf all she wants, but right now she carries something half-dead inside her. Something unnatural. Something… that belongs to the shadows more than to the realm of mortals.
“My sweet, what is it?” Astarion demands. “What happened?”
And Tiriel confesses.
“Maybe… is it a mistake? She could have made a mistake! Gods! No, it can’t be…” He panics.
“Too much blood,” Tiriel says.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve drunk too much, remember? I could hear your heartbeat. You were almost alive…. And I…” Tiriel hesitates. “I have my period once a year. It probably was the day when I could conceive.”
Astarion shakes his head. He gets anxious. Scared. She knows this face too well.
“Astarion!” She tries to grab his hand, but the vampire is too fast. In a moment, he disappears in the tunnels. “Astarion!”
Tiriel stays alone in the streets. She sniffs and returns back home, so quiet and silent.
She can’t imagine Astarion leaving her, but she also can’t imagine herself pregnant.
Maybe he is right, the healer could have been mistaken. She needs to wait. Yes, Tiriel needs to wait.
Astarion doesn’t return in the morning. He doesn’t return the next day. Tiriel feels terrible – she can barely eat or walk. The very thought of going after her husband feels exhausting – she just wants to lie in her bed without making any coherent movement.
She also constantly cries – Tiriel tries to justify it with the feeling of loneliness, but deep inside she knows the answer.
These are the mood swings a pregnant woman endures.
**
Astarion has never felt so shitty and pathetic in the last twenty years.
He despises himself for his fear and doubts.
His nature demands him to run. To leave and never return. Whatever Tiriel has inside, he can’t deal with it. He can’t be a parent. He doesn't want to become one.
Two centuries of enslavement – only twenty years of freedom. And now what? Will he be stuck raising a child? Which might be born so deranged and ugly it will be barely a sentient being.
He can run. He can disappear and leave Tiriel. She is a beautiful brave woman, the moment the townsfolk realize Astarion is gone there will be a line of men and women courting her.
Even with a monster child.
He walks through Secomber, a sleepy town on the border between the Sword Coast and the High Wood. It took him two days to get here and now he tries to make up his mind.
And what if it’s not his? Tiriel is so loyal and loving, but what if she wanted someone warm, someone who didn’t drink her blood? She could have gotten drunk and picked a man for a one-night stand.
No, it’s not like her.
Astarion is just a pathetic coward who can’t bear responsibility.
He has to come back. He can’t abandon the only person he ever truly loved and who never abandoned him even in his darkest hours.
But he is still afraid. He is paralyzed.
Suddenly he hears a loud cry.
He turns around and sees a human girl, maybe four or five (he still has issues with understanding human age, always assuming someone is younger than they are). She sits on the side of the road, her dress, a tiny copy of an adult one, is dirty, and her knee is bruised. The girl sobs as tears flow down her cheeks.
A weird feeling stirs in Astarion’s undead heart. A desire to console this child, to do something to stop her from crying. She is so vulnerable, so scared… and where the fuck are her parents, or whoever is responsible?!
The door to the tavern opens and a young man rushes to the girl.
“Daddy, I’ve fallen down… and…” She cries, wrapping her hands around his neck.
“That’s all, right, princess,” he answers, stroking her back. Suddenly the man turns around and notices Astarion. “Are you looking for something?”
“What? No, I just heard the cries.”
“Well, she cries so loud she can be heard in Daggerlake. If you need a room, there is another inn on the western side of the town. We are out of beds today.”
Astarion shakes his head. No. He is going back. The sunrise will meet him in the woods and he will hide in a cave. He will be back to Tiriel in two days, begging her to forgive him.
Because he can’t live without her. And he…he wants to experience what is coming next.
“Princess… An interesting pet name,” Astarion chuckles. The girl has already stopped crying and now she watches the vampire with curiosity.
“Yeah, we are far from nobles,” the innkeeper smiles. “But she is my only daughter and who are girls to their fathers if not princesses?” with these words he kisses the girl’s forehead and enters the inn, closing the door.
**
Astarion walks inside the house. Tiriel is fast asleep, he can hear her breathing. The kitchen is messy – it seems like his half-elf wife was hungry all these days but didn’t have any strength to clean the mess.
Astarion comes to the bedroom and lies beside her. Tiriel opens her eyes and touches his cheek with tender fingers.
“I knew you would be back.”
“I am sorry. I was scared.”
“I was, too. But I can’t run away from what is inside me.”
“I know, love. I will never do this again”
Tiriel places her cheek on his chest. “If the child is half-undead, can I ever carry it?”
“I don’t know.”
They lie in silence holding each other in their hands.
“You know… I’ve been deprived of mortality,” Astarion says. “Everything normal was taken away from me. And yet I am here. Married. With my own house. Free to do anything I want. When I was in Secomber, I saw a man with his daughter. And you know, I just… wanted the same thing. To carry my own child in my arms. Because it’s a normal mortal thing and if so, I will be no different from that young innkeeper who calls his baby daughter ‘princess’.”
Tiriel caresses his cheek. “I need to go to that innkeeper and ask if he needs anything for returning my husband to me.”
“You need to see the girl. Such a lovely little creature,” he smiles.
“Ours will be lovely too.”
Astarion elbows up. “Tiriel… we are going to keep it, aren’t we?”
Tiriel sighs. She did think about terminating, Astarion realizes. In those dark hours when he was hiding like a coward.
“I want to keep it,” Tiriel says. “Besides… I am still a half-elf. It’s not like miscarriages are rare among my race. Let’s see how it works out.”
Astarion smiles and finally relaxes enough to meditate.
Druids hate the undead because, unlike nature, they can't change. He will prove them all wrong. His life is changing and he is too.
In the best and scariest way possible.
He puts his palm on Tiriel’s flat belly. Somehow, he is sure they are going to have a girl.
--
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hi!! i really love your writing and i would love if you could feed me with a request (only if you're comfortable with it, ofc) 👉🏼👈🏼 what about a leon x reader where reader is passing through a very tough depressive crisis and is really not fine mentally speaking — and leon just try to help and comfort them through this? 👉🏼👈🏼
anyway, thank you for your fics, they really helped me these days 😭💗
Anchor
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GNPartner!Reader
Summary: It is 1 am when Leon Kennedy knocks on your door. He shouldn't be there and you shouldn't have opened it.
Warning tags: hurt/comfort, angst, leon almost died, reader is suffering with anxiety due to past events, can be read as platonic or romantic (you choose)
Writer's Notes: hello! first of all, im sorry i took so long to write this request for you. i changed some stuff and i hope you don't mind (reader is still depressed). thank you so much your kind words and i hope this fic serves as comfort for you!! <333 stay safe anon!
for more painful leon's fics, check my masterlist. i have some happy ones too :)
It is 1 am when Leon Kennedy knocks on your door. It is the third time that week only, the fifth of the month.
It starts when you don’t appear at work after two weeks since his return, and no one knows where you are. HR informs you are sick, which means you are still alive somewhere in the world, just sick. Okay, but sick with what? Sick how? Are you in the hospital? Do you need any help? Leon knows you don’t have family around, like him, and you are pretty much alone - like him.
So, as any regular worried friend would, he calls and texts. He wants to hear your voice and guarantee that you don’t need help and have everything you need. That you truly are okay. No answer. HR has guaranteed him you are not dead, but what if you—no, he shouldn’t think about that.
The next step is going to your house. He knows where your address is and wouldn’t be a complete weird appearing there in the afternoon. No answer. Leon won’t be a creep as far as looking at your windows, at least not yet. He won’t go as far as busting your door and checking how you are feeling because he needs to confirm you are okay. You might just not be home.
On the second visit, Leon got awfully close to kicking your door. Before he could do that or even knock, he saw a shadow pass over the window. Though Leon told himself he wouldn’t, he looked inside just in time to see you disappear to the second floor. So, at least you are really alive, Leon’s body filling with relief. It could have been a bad case of flu, and you don’t want to contaminate anyone.
One more week passes, and he visits your house two more times. Those times you didn’t even bother to hide yourself, lazily lying down on the sofa in a way Leon couldn’t see your face (oh yeah, now he is definitely peeking out your windows). So you are genuinely ignoring him or truly sick with some contagious disease. Maybe Covid?
The fifth time he knocks on your door, it is 1 am and Leon is deeply not only worried but bitter. He was sitting in his apartment alone, wondering what you had and why you didn’t open the door for him. You two are colleagues, and Leon would dare to go as far as to call you his friend if anyone asked. How many times have you brought him soup while he was sick? Brought him meds, kept him company? Checked on him until he was finally all better?
It would be only fair if he did the same.
Leon grabs his keys without even thinking: You will open the door for him tonight. And if you don’t, well, he will kick it open. To hell with the civil approach.
-x-
All the courage slips away from his body when he notices the kitchen’s light on. Leon can’t see anything inside since you decided to make his life harder and close the curtains. So, instead of kicking that door until it’s down, Leon goes back to the gentle approach (like the idiot he is): he knocks.
The door opens not even ten seconds later, and Leon blinks, surprised. You are there. You, not a trick of his eyes: a fluffy and long blanket covering your body, only your face peeking with a familiar expression Leon recognizes immediately - he had seen in his own mirror before.
“You won. What the fuck do you want?” Those are the first words to him in weeks.
“May I come in?”
You ponder for a moment, your eyes red, and Leon wonders when you last slept. You walk away, leaving the door open, and Leon follows inside, locking the door behind him.
Your house isn’t in the best state. He had been here before and thought you weren’t the most organized person (“I can find myself in my own mess, Leon.”). The mess had grown too much from normal. There were tons of take-out boxes on the kitchen counter, pizza boxes, and fast food bags. At least you had been eating—not the best food ever, but feeding. He could work with that.
And the bottles—oh, those Leon would identify anywhere. You weren’t a heavy drinker, and you mentioned plenty of times you didn’t know how he liked whiskey. Now, there were countless empty bottles of whiskey, beer, and vodka, so much so that the place looked like a bunch of frat boys had a party just the night before and didn’t bother to clean.
Leon follows you to the living room as you fall onto the couch. An old Simpsons episode plays on the TV screen. There are still some bags and bottles on the floor, but fewer. Your eyes focus on the TV, not really watching or paying attention to him. Leon stands there, keeping a safe distance from you and gathering what to say.
“I came to check on you.” Leon starts, his eyes glued on you. “You haven’t called or texted me back. The HR said-”
“I am sick. I wanted to be left alone.”
“I know, but-”
“I could complain about this to HR, you know? It could be considered an invasion of privacy, and you could lose your job. “
“I was worried about you.”
“You saw me in the window that day, didn’t you? I’m alive and breathing. Now get out.”
You hide your face in the sofa, conversation clearly done on your side. It feels like an impossible battle to win. Leon then tries again, “Do you need anything?”
“No. Get out.”
He sighs, turning on his heels. Leon wants to say you can call if you need him, any time, but Leon knows you wouldn't. This is an impossible battle to win, Leon realizes as he starts to leave. But then he freezes, a memory piercing his thoughts. Leon comes back to the living room, your face still hidden.
“No.”
“What?”
“I am not leaving. Not before I know what is wrong.”
“I am sick.”
“Yes. So I have heard.”
You don’t turn to look at him, and that’s fine. If you want to be stubborn, so could he. Leon can wait. The episode on the TV finally ends, and as the familiar opening plays in the background, you slowly turn in his direction, one eye appearing first, then the other, as if expecting Leon would be gone by now. Unlucky for you, Leon S. Kennedy didn’t give up that easily, especially for his friends.
“I don’t know what you are feeling, but I know that face.” His voice manages to sound neutral.
Of course, he does. Of course, your partner, the legendary D.S.O veteran, would know. You, just a newbie, would have no idea what he went through, but Leon didn’t seem the kind of person to crumble for anything. Leon would probably be fine if you were the one to get shot, not him. He wouldn’t have panicked, he wouldn’t have started crying, screaming for someone to help them, losing themselves in a sea of despair and pain.
“Hey…”
Blood. So much blood in your hands. You are useless, you can’t help him as Leon’s face loses color-
“Hey.”
He deserved someone better—someone much better as a partner—not you, a weak agent who thought you were strong enough to stand by his side. Oh, how wrong you were.
Leon calls your name, more urgent this time, and your line of sight is filled with the face of the man you considered your friend right at your path—concerned blue eyes, his hair tickling against your face. His forehead is in concentration, the faint ghost of a beard, as he speaks soothingly. “Hey, look at me. You are safe. Deep breaths, come on.”
The visions mix as you blink: Leon losing blood in your arms, unconscious, back to being safe, his worried eyes staring at you.
Your rapid breathing noise fills the room, your heart wanting to burst as the pain spreads over your body, the pain worse than being stabbed or punched. You keep your eyes on Leon - he is fine, he is safe, he is well, he is worried sick about you- as he continues to nod and tell you to breathe.
It takes a while, Leon’s hands on your shoulder as you finally calm down, the tears rolling freely from your eyes.
“I am sorry.” You manage to whisper. “I am so sorry.”
“You are safe. We both are safe.” Leon declares, and you take that in. Right now, yes. But what about tomorrow? What about-? “Hey, eyes open at me.” When had you even closed them? “Come on. There is no one else, just you and me. And we are safe.”
You nod, not arguing back. Finally, you sit down, and Leon takes two steps back. “Water?”
“I think there are some in the fridge,” you reply, cleaning your tears. Leon leaves and quickly comes back with two bottles, unbottling them for you. You shake your head, but Leon insists, and you drink in small sips, the cold liquid refreshing your dry throat. When was the last time you had any water? Or took a shower? Or slept?
Finally, you give him space on the couch to sit. Leon doesn’t, and you point your head to your side, and he sits, keeping a safe distance from you. You two say nothing for a while, simply looking at the TV to watch Bart Simpsons on his shenanigans.
“I am sorry.”
“Would you stop that?” Leon sighs back, frustrated.
“No. I am sorry.”
“Fine. I forgive you. Are we good now?”
“No.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be,” Leon replies with a sad smile.
“You could have died, and I didn’t-” Leon says your name, but you continue “-let me finish. I didn’t help. I didn’t move. I did nothing.”
Leon didn’t want to talk about this, knowing it was inevitable. The day he took a bullet for you: not one, but two. Leon noticed before you, his reflexes quicker than yours. It was his responsibility anyway.
You only watched, shocked, as the bullet pierced his leg, then his chest. You didn’t move or flinch; you just froze, your hands closing and opening nervously as Leon fell right in front of you. You had been fortunate that the backup team had arrived on the other second, finding in the middle of the swarm of bullets a screaming you protecting Leon with his own body, all training thrown out of the window. You two should have been dead. Life had given you and him another chance, since no other vital organ or vein of Leon had been damaged.
You don’t remember much after except asking for your resignation that same day and getting a “No” as an answer. So you decided to get on sick leave until some higher-up got tired and fired you.
“I did nothing.” Leon tries to interrupt you again, but you continue, “You could have died, and I did nothing.”
“It wouldn’t be your fault.”
“What? Of course, it would!”
“No, it would not.”
“Can you fucking stop trying to make me feel better?” Your tone is so angry, so vile, that Leon almost flinches.
Death is always in the back of his mind. Every time he is out there, he could die. He is expandable; they all are, but he couldn’t just let you die. You a much smarter version of what he once was during Raccoon City. The same bravery, but not foolish as his. Much sharper. Leon knew why he got paired up with you in the first place, the irony not completely lost in him.
It would have been fine if Leon died that day he protected you, but not okay if you did. Not on his watch. Not now, not ever.
“I can’t help it,” Leon replies, a sad smile on his lips. “I can’t help it, especially when a friend needs my help.”
A friend?
Do not grow attachments. Wasn’t that your first lesson? It had been hard to be paired up with a man who hated it at first, then to learn how to laugh at his silly jokes or admire how far Leon would go for anyone. For anyone, except himself, stupid brave man.
You open your mouth and close it, simply lying against the sofa with your eyes closed.
“So, let me help you?” His voice is warm and inviting.
It would be best if you said no. You should kick this man out of your living room, out of your life, and never go back to that stupid job fighting an endless battle that would end with you dead or someone you cherished dead. You don’t know how Leon does it, but as you open your eyes, his blue eyes look straight at you awaits in hope. Waiting to comfort you, support you to the best of his abilities, and be your friend.
The pain is still there, vivid in your soul and mind, but there is hope. Right there, in that tiny spot you gave Leon S. Kennedy. That’s why you shouldn’t have opened that damn door, you realize, but it is too late. You limit on nodding.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon kennedy angst#leon kennedy fic#leon kennedy fanfics#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy imagines#request#requests#asks#ask
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˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ MAKING YOU MINE
⟡ cw: male yandere, biting, blood, violence towards reader, amab/m! reader but with neutral pronouns, implied future noncon but nothing written about it, choking, toxic behavior.
⟡ word count: 1.5 k
⟡ yandere! male boss x amab! reader
⟡ notes: can this be considered as a rewrite? probably not, since there isn’t much than a few similarities between the original piece with leonard and this one is way better, I promise. unfortunately this won’t include any nsfw content as i still struggling how to write amab! readers, so please don’t mean to me.
when your boss invited you to attend one of the most popular conferences of the world, you had to accept it. not only you would gain an extra bonus from the next couple of months, but also who doesn’t enjoy staying in a five star hotel with everything paid? you didn’t waste time to pack your stuff and travel across the word along with leonard, the ceo of the company you works at.
your mind already made plans to relax at a grand hotel room that has the size of your childhood house, perhaps a bath full of bubbles? sleeping in a bed so soft that makes your body think is clouds? or even better, eating all the food from the menu! that would be amazing plans if you haven’t learn that you will be sharing the same room with leonard himself…
“you look quite disappointed,” he said. “didn’t you know that as my assistant during the conference, you will have to share the bedroom as a way to prevent you from leaking information about my next project.”
the man arrange his tie when his eyes stare at you laying down at the king size bed, already having given up after learning the horrible news of having to be his unwilling roommate for the rest of the travel. it’s almost comical to see that one of his employees is now looking like a dead corpse, he would laugh if hasn’t worry about your current state.
“bold them to assume that i would remember of those secret projects when i can’t even remember of what i ate yesterday.” a laugh came out of your throat when rolling over the bed to reach for your phone. without thiking much, you began scrolling over social media to find something interest or a silly game to lose time before today’s conference start.
when you do find some game worth to waste time, your phone was quickly stolen from your hands by no other than leonard himself.
“give me that!” you got up from the bed and tried to reach for your precious little phone at his hands, even standing on the tips of your toes to try to grab it from him. “don’t be stupid, sir! you are too old to act like a little kid.”
of course, your words didn’t made any difference on his behavior. what would you expect from a guy who inherited dad’s company instead of climbing the social ladder to archive it? you know that leonard is one of those guys who think they can have anything by using money or threats. and you have a feeling that you will fall into his trap soon.
between one of your attempts to reach out for you smartphone, he throws your precious item away into the ground, smashing it in million pieces all over the wooden floor. the sudden loud noise made you freeze in front of him, too scared to act out of fear of what he is going to do next. is he angry at you for acting this way? you hope not, he is the one to blame for it. and he was the one that started it.
silence took over, you didn’t dare to speak a word with leonard’s sharp eyes looking down at your face. damn it, why he got to be so tall? he already looks so intimidating during work hours back at the company and now having smashed your phone to the ground only twice that feeling growing inside your body.
before you create any courage to say a word or two, he began laughing like a mad man while you can only imagine what is going on inside his head. seconds ago, he looked ready to yell at you for his own mistakes and now he is just laughing? rich people are weird, your grandfather was right.
one of his hand lays on your cheek, caressing it like he has known you for ages. it seems that make him feel better, his lips curves into a small smile with his finger trancing all over you [pale/tanned/dark…] face.
in your perspective, his affection or whatever you call that, it’s making you feel horrible. the expression on your face says all, you aren’t comfortable by having a man touching your face like this and you wish he stopped with it. however, when you try to move away, leonard harshly grabs your face and brings you even closer to him. his touch on your face is cruel, almost like he could rip apart the skin away from your cheeks and just throw you across the room.
“you are pathetic, [name].” he said. “you know that, right?”
his words hurt you, it made you feel horrible knowing that a man you often look up to is saying something like that right at your face. between the newly sobs coming out of your throat, you manage to beg him to let it go and unfortunately, he doesn’t listen to your pleading. instead, his grip only gets tighter as he brings your closer to him, now you can feel his breath right at your neck. the smells reminds you of those expensive drinks and even more expensive cologne that you could only dream to afford for yourself.
your mind was preparing you for a slap, maybe a punch right onto your nose that would leave you feeling like a piece of trash. but imagine your expression when you only felt his lips brushing against yours in a lustful and rough kiss. by your instincts, you succeeded push him away, just for a fleeting moment you saw his eyes full of fury, making you freeze.
“i-I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t meant to—“
you didn’t get to finish your pleadings, not when leonard’s hands quickly wrapped around your throat and began squeezing it like you were nothing, but one of those squishy toys. his strength is too much for you to fight against it, so you simply give up in trying to put up a struggle for him.
it took less than a minute to your vision to become pure darkness, leaving you completely at the mercy of your boss. even with your mind telling to open your eyes and try to put fight, you body can’t handle simple commands to put a fight against him. indeed, you are stupid to believe that you had a chance to fight leonard…
…..
….
…
..
.
.
.
.
water.
the liquid that means essences of all living being of this planet flows over your naked skin, hitting the large bruise around your neck left and the freshly ones that leonard gave you as the result of trying to mark you as his only. the crimson coming out of newly formed bite marks around your chest and neck was way too much be clean by a cloth. so he had to bring you inside the bathtub, took off your clothes and didn’t waste the chance to join you in.
there isn’t a place where leonard hasn’t touch your sleeping body, well with the exception of a certain place. the man would wait to tease your cock for when you fully regain your consciousness, just so he can admire your lewd expressions and record it to keep you in place. he knows it’s wrong, but can he blame himself when you are just too addicted? you are a drug that he can’t control it and he wants more and more of the weird sensation that you brings to him.
once the blood stopped coming out of your injuries, leonard decided it was the perfect time just relax inside the bathtub without caring about the world outside this hotel room. he turned the water off, letting the cold air hit his skin as the water disappeared down the drain. even sleeping, you body searched for a heat source and as he expected, your body moved around to find a heat source that is him.
it’s pathetic how your body acts without any shame to get closer to his, trying to bind yourself onto him to keep yourself warm. how leonard wishes to have brought his waterproof camera to catch this intimate moment between you and him, but there is no worry when he knows there will plenty of moments like this to record in a soon future.
he knows your life won’t be the same when you open your eyes to see your boss handing your naked body so personal, and leonard can already imagine how surprised you will be when hearing about your new position as his spouse. will you try to fight with him? probably not, only if you wish to carry more marks over you body. the most applaudable possibility is you agreeing with his statement with fear controlling both your physique and mind, afraid that he will killed you.
“my dear mine,” carrying your sleeping figure towards the bed, leonard can only smirk when taking a final look before putting a robe on you. “you have no idea what you makes me feel.”
@moonit3 . don’t repost it, don’t modify it, don’t plagiarize, translate it without my permission.
#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere x you#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere writing#yandere male#yandere male x male reader#x male y/n#yandere male x reader#male yandere x reader#x male reader#yandere x male reader#male reader#male yandere#yandere man#yandere original character#my oc leonard#➥·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ moon writings#yandere boy#yandere headcanon
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And my other fill for Ravioli ship week, for that most classic trope of "Only One Bed!" Read it here or on Ao3.
△△△
Link wasn’t home much for a while. After his recovery and agreement that Ravio could use his house while he was away, he promptly found himself halfway across the country chasing clues for several weeks straight.
He did make it back home eventually. Shaking off the dungeon dust, he staggered back to rest and resupply, so tired he’d forgotten Ravio would be there and nearly drew his sword at the enthusiastic greeting that waited for him in what he was used to thinking of as an empty house.
In fairness, his abrupt return seemed to startle Ravio as well.
Now he slumped over dinner, already eyeing the corner where his bed had been shoved aside. It looked like there was just enough room to push one of Ravio’s added tables out of the way and crawl in.
…In fact.
Yes.
There were scuff marks on the floor. New ones, as if someone had been doing exactly that for several nights.
Link realized he’d stopped chewing, spoon dangling precariously from limp fingers. At his back, the sounds of Ravio enjoying his own meal fell suspiciously silent.
It occurred to Link. Finally, belatedly. That he perhaps should have thought of this sooner.
He hadn’t seen any of Ravio’s possessions aside from the stuff he sold. Wasn’t honestly sure he even had any. But the bag was obviously magical, so maybe…?
Link cleared his throat. Ravio twitched at the sound, spoon clattering against his bowl.
“Where have you been sleeping?” Link asked in the most neutral tone he could manage.
“Um. Well. You see.”
When Ravio didn’t continue, Link waited. But aside from clearing his own throat in a distinctly nervous manner, Ravio didn’t continue. Link finally turned to look at him. From the way Ravio dropped his spoon entirely, there was some kind of expression on his face.
“You’ve been sleeping in my bed.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Mister Hero!” Ravio immediately returned in a loud but not terribly sincere tone. “I had to leave home so quickly, you see, and I was sleeping on the ground with all those dreadful monsters around before you so graciously lent me your home. It isn’t very comfortable down there. As, ah. As you know. since you’ve probably been sleeping on the ground, too.” He faltered to a stop rather than try to dig himself back out of the hole he’d talked himself into. His hands were wringing together, his posture hunched in a way that made Link think he might be about to throw himself back down on the ground like he had when he was begging for a place to stay. Link couldn’t see the extraordinarily sad puppydog eyes, but he could feel them aimed right at him.
He had spare blankets and a bedroll. The space in front of the fire would be perfectly warm.
But Link wouldn’t get any sleep himself if he made Ravio sleep on the ground while he enjoyed the comfort of a bed mere steps away. If the guilt didn’t keep him up, the sounds of Ravio shifting around certainly would.
He sighed. “Fine.”
Rounded shoulders immediately straightened. Link swore the fake ears on the hood perked straight up. “Really? Oh, thank you, Mister Hero! I promise you won’t even notice I’m there!”
Link doubted that.
△△△
The problem of logistics returned once, after much arguing, they had cleared sufficient space around the bed for them to both now be standing on either side of it. The dying fire cast a dull orange glow through the room, the door locked and the shutters closed for the night. Link was halfway through trying not to think too hard as he stripped down to his nightclothes before he realized Ravio had pulled his boots off and stopped, reaching to fold back his side of the covers with the bunny hood still on.
“Are you going to sleep with that on?” Link didn’t really want those giant embroidered eyes staring at him in the middle of the night.
“I usually don’t,” Ravio said, which wasn’t an answer.
“I don’t care what you look like,” Link tried.
It didn’t seem to help. Ravio faltered, wringing his hands and just standing there awkwardly. He finally cleared his throat. “Could you turn around?”
Eyes narrowed, Link gave him a suspicious visual sweep. “Why?”
“I’m going to take it off.”
“I might roll over in my sleep,” Link warned. He still didn’t have the faintest idea why Ravio didn’t want him to know what he looked like, but obviously he cared quite a bit. It was only fair to warn him.
“I know, friend, I didn’t mean you had to stay facing away all night! I have this!” He pulled something from one voluminous sleeve; after a bit of squinting, Link first thought it a mask, then a blindfold. But it had no eyeholes to be the former and looked too padded and comfortable to be the latter.
“I’m not wearing a blindfold!” he said hotly.
Ravio, Link had noticed, seemed to almost fluff up and out when he worried he’d angered someone against himself. Like a frightened cat with puffed out fur trying to make itself bigger than it was. “It’s not for you, it’s for me! And it’s a sleeping mask, not a blindfold!”
They stared at each other from across the bed. One beat. Two.
Feeling red in the cheeks and more than a little foolish, Link turned around. Rustling sounds behind him; the covers folding back. He heard Ravio sit, then near silence for several long moments, save Ravio hissing a brief curse to himself.
“You can turn around now,” he finally said. When Link did, he found Ravio sitting upright in the bed, hugging the far side, his hood traded for some kind of silk wrap that completely covered his hair and ears and the “sleeping mask.” Between the two, he was still nearly as covered as with the hood alone. Unlike with the hood, it was obvious he could no longer see, the direction of his head aimed somewhere more towards the middle of the room than Link himself.
“Well. Good night, Mister Hero,” Ravio said, sounding as awkward as Link felt.
“Good night,” Link echoed. He watched Ravio lie down and roll onto his side, facing away.
Climbing into his bed with someone else already in it was… odd. Link tried to lay on his back, since that seemed the safest way to not actually touch his bedmate. But he’d never been much of a back sleeper. It didn’t take long for things to start to ache, and no amount of fidgeting was making it any better.
Ravio politely didn’t mention Link’s shifting, but his shoulders drew up under the covers.
This wasn’t going to work. Time for Plan B.
Trying hard to roll over without pulling any of the covers off of his bedmate, Link gave in and flipped to his side.
This presented a new problem. His bed wasn’t terribly large. When he tried to curl up it pressed their backs together; a feeling startling in its intimacy. But more importantly, drawing his feet up meant he encountered Ravio’s own.
“Your toes are cold!” Link yelped.
“So are yours!” Ravio lied.
“They are not!” Link yanked them further up regardless to get his poor innocent calves away from Ravio’s freezing toes, but that just pressed their backs more firmly together. Grumbling, he flipped over again. Onto his stomach now, head turned to the side on his pillow so he could breathe, one arm hugging the pillow and the other curled up against himself; a position Gully had found him in more than once when he was sent to see why Link wasn’t yet awake and working at his apprenticeship. He’d turned his head habitually to the left, and so now faced Ravio, his nose nearly tucked all the way up against the back of his neck. He thought he saw Ravio shiver when he exhaled.
Link liked the way he smelled.
“Is this okay?” He felt the need to check.
“Perfectly fine, Mister Hero!” Ravio returned in a pitch that could accurately be described as a squeak. Link didn’t have the mental energy left to check whether he meant it. The past few weeks had been long, and now that he was finally comfortable they were catching up to him. Incoming slumber weighed down all his limbs.
It felt nice. To fall asleep next to someone. It felt really, really nice.
Not falling asleep on a hard dungeon floor helped, too. Ravio was right. Sleeping on the ground sucked.
Even if he did wake up in the middle of the night to find that Ravio had stolen all the covers. Ravio put them back when he rose before Link did in the morning; Link woke to the warmth of someone else’s lingering body heat in the blankets heaped up over him. It was a feeling he thought he could very quickly get used to.
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to break in a new house or apartment, boxes scattered about and furniture newly placed
Screams Bob after y'all move into your new house ;)
abby, i'm giggling and kicking my feet because yeah, it's so domestic bob in his new house.
minors and ageless blogs dni, explicit sexual content under the read more.
So basically, Bob wouldn’t hire movers.
“A little manual labor never hurt anyone,” Bob insists, which is all well and good until the Daggers head out in the evening, leaving you both in your new house, surrounded by sealed boxes and askew furniture, drenched in sweat and absolutely exhausted.
Bob digs around in the boxes on the counter - labeled kitchen in his familiar uppercase scrawl - and fishes out the bubble-wrapped wine glasses. You order a pizza and eat it on the floor of the living room with a bottle of red wine that Natasha brought over as a house-warming gift for you both.
You have a glass of wine and another and another, and soon enough, Bob has you pinned on the wood floor, cheeks wine-flushed, glasses askew on his nose.
“This is our house,” Bob murmurs between kisses. He nibbles along your neck, making you arch into him, head back. “You know what that means?”
“What?”
“We have to make it ours. Christen the house,” Bob says against your neck. He pulls your shirt over your head and sheds his own. He looks so good, arms bulging from the all-day workout, chest flushed.
You exhale a laugh. “Oh? Is that right?”
“Yeah,” Bob says. “Every room.”
He leans down to kiss your stomach and works his way back up to your breasts, sliding your bra from your shoulders and running his tongue across your nipples, licking and sucking and kissing and nibbling.
“What d’you think? Want to start with this room?”
He kneels, looking down at you, fingers skating down your hips to grip you more firmly, waiting for your response.
“Here? We don’t even have curtains up, Bob.”
He shakes his head, cracks a sly grin that Bob saves for you and you alone. “So?”
You roll your eyes, but really, Bob has had you worked up all damn day, carrying all of those boxes with his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his arms glistening; pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
You loop your arms around his neck and whisper, “Let’s give our new neighbors a show.”
You do exactly that when Bob slides a pillow beneath your knees and puts you on all fours in the middle of the living room, surrounded by unpacked boxes, and fucks you into the nice real-wood floor.
None of your friends see much of you in the first week in your new house. You and Bob are far too busy christening every corner.
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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 3
Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?
Previous part
Part 3: missing time
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Please don't be upset," I begged Reagan.
"I'm not!" She sounded too chipper as she stepped up onto the newly finished porch. Alastor and Husker were talking a few paces behind us. I noticed Alastor's attention focused heavily on the expanded haven. He had yet to know how much more there was than what he could see.
Reagan left the front door open and skipped the stairs two at a time. I let out a sigh as I walked over to the broken frame on the living room floor. I knelt down and casted the glass together, melting them in place and refurbishing the wood frame.
I placed it back in its rightful place as Alastor walked in. His cane tapped the floor as he crossed the room. He looked different than how I remember him, somehow. His features seemed sharper and the air about him was different. Or maybe it was because it has been too long since I last stood in the same room as him.
"I would love to hear what happened in my absence." He gently gripped my fingers and placed a kiss on the back of my hand. "We now have all the time in the world."
"Mère?"
Alastor turned sharply at the French word for mother. Standing at the base of the stairs was Nym and Thatcher. Their hands were clasped firmly together and Thatcher hid slightly behind his older sister.
"Who is he?" Nym asked Reagan, who stepped into view from the stairs.
Ah, this was why she had been chipper.
"Who are they?" Alastor hissed. "How do they know that word?"
"I taught it to them," I said calmly, walking over to the young pair.
"How do you know that word?"
"One of your books." I knelt down beside Nym and Thatcher and held out my clawed palm. They habitually placed a free hand on it. "This is Mr. Alastor, my dears. He is my soulmate."
Their eyes turned to him, uncertain and unsettled. I didn't blame them. His appearance wasn't a kind one, even though gentlemanly, and it made me think back to when we first met in the alley. How long ago was that? Twelve years?
"Quite a pleasure to meet you two." His free hand touched his chest as he gave a very short bow of his head. He made no move to come near them.
I stood up and let Thatcher clasp his sister's hand again. Nym suddenly looked up at me and asked quietly, "I thought we didn't like him."
My eyes immediately went up to Reagan. She grimaced before meeting my intense stare. "I told them my feelings about him when they asked." She held up her hands in pretend surrender.
"We'll speak later." I knelt down again to be level with Nym. "He has been gone for a while and we weren't sure when he was coming back. But we do like him."
That last sentence felt strange, almost forced. I pushed off my knee and asked Reagan to make them breakfast. She silently obliged in an effort to get back on my good side. I didn't blame her for her feelings towards Alastor, but I did blame her for involving the two youngest family members in matters like this.
I noticed Lucas waiting at the top of the stairs. I thanked him for giving us space and let him walk into the kitchen to help Reagan. He gave a curt nod to Alastor who didn't return the gesture.
He put his cane behind his back, claws gripping it dangerously tight. "I see you've filled the house with new souls."
"I had to fill the void after you left." The comment made his ears nearly flatten. I stood an arm's length from him and stuffed my hands in my pants pocket. Still in my plain night clothes, I felt oddly out of place in front of him in his usual suite and bow tie.
My anger and hurt lingered, and something told me it was going to stay that way for awhile.
"I wasn't expecting you to..." he trailed off in an effort to find the words.
"To create a family?" I offered.
"I suppose that's a way to put it."
I could feel our bond had already reattached itself. Yet it wasn't the same as it had been before. I still couldn't hear his thoughts and his feelings felt far away. Even so, I felt an ugly emotion hidden somewhere inside him.
Husker, Charlie, and Vaggie came to the rescue a moment later. They too had mixed feelings of his return but Charlie seemed the happiest out of all of us. The tension between Alastor and I felt tight enough for a knife to slice right through it.
"Come see what we've done with the place." Charlie urged him out the door. I let her take him out of the house and went to talk to Reagan.
****
Alastor walked absentmindedly behind Charlie. None of this had happened the way he had expected.
He certainly wasn't expecting his soulmate to be angry with him. He had been hoping she would be grateful, relieved, and happy to see him physically back in this realm. Although, he should've expected some type of negative reaction given her sensitive nature.
Which seemed to have faded quite a bit.
He wanted to know more and fast. She went through a serious amount of change, as much as the haven, and he wanted to get to know every inch of her new personality. Why couldn't time move faster?
He would need to have a discussion with her regarding the two new children, as well. He never liked children, which was odd given that he started to fall for his soulmate when he saw her tender love towards them, and having them under the same roof as him made something prickle uncomfortably under his skin.
The haven had turned into a city. He was shocked to see stores, restaurants, apartments, and more. They had progressed in such a short timeline, shorter than he'd ever seen a group of people do. He wondered about the community. He could see Demons and Humans alike being friendly towards each other as he walked down the street.
How close was everyone? How communal were they? How did they resolve disputes with greater numbers? The answers to these questions and more wouldn't come until he spent time around this city.
He had never been bothered by the vastly growing civilizations, cities, or towns in previous centuries. Even in Hell it never bothered him to see construction complete a project within a couple months or years. He had always been an observer, a journalist, and information gatherer.
However, this time he actually felt left behind. It made his smile turn ugly.
The stares and slightly more crowded streets further down didn't go unnoticed. He could hear the shocked whispers and the quick explanations from parents to children of his persona. It soothed his pride to know these people were aware of his reputation, as well as his connection with their great protector.
Dragon Demon, hm? he noted to himself. Certainly better than Snake Demon.
Finally—finally—Charlie finished chatting closer to noon and allowed him to return to the house. He caught sight of the two children running down the hill. They casted worried glances at him as they passed.
If Reagan was bothersome, he could only imagine what those two must be like in the house.
Vaggie, Reagan, and Lucas said goodbye as soon as we heard Alastor walk in. Husker remained behind with me, tail wrapped several times around my own, as Alastor's red figure came into the kitchen. I felt more on his level now that I was adorned in my usual dress pants and light colored top.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Of what?" He placed his cane in front of him, claws folded over and gripping the red cover.
"The haven."
He turned his head as if viewing it from here. "It's grown an impressive amount."
There was an awkward silence between the three of us. I wanted to spew everything at him. I wanted to talk nonstop, to explain everything that has happened, to tell the finest details.
But there was a piece of me holding back. Not with the words, but with actions and emotions. Hurt was still an overwhelming feeling despite his explanation of his disappearance.
"Why the children in the house?" he suddenly asked.
"Nym and Thatcher?"
He nodded. His smile was showing his teeth.
"They were trouble cases. I grew attached the more I worked with them and the house was too empty."
"Do you intend to keep them as you've done with Reagan?"
"You hate children?" I inquired.
"You could put it that way," he lifted a single claw and let it tap back on his microphone.
"That was something else I didn't know," I said slowly, "But yes, I intend to let them stay. At least until they're older."
His movement made me jump, quickly moving from his spot at the counter to right beside me, hand extended. "Perhaps you should tell me more. I would love to hear what has happened."
I looked between his eyes and his claw. It felt like a dream still, like I was going to wake up feeling even more crushed by his absence. Husker tightened his grip around my tail, seemingly grounding me in reality.
Surely this was real.
He lifted one eyebrow. He's trying.
I placed my black claw in his palm and watched as his red claws slowly encased my hand. His skin felt tough yet smooth and his claws were smooth and cool to the touch. A zip of energy bounced between us, making our hearts race higher than normal.
It felt like he was being incredibly careful. He wasn't really pulling me—more like guiding me—to the bright living room. I wasn't fragile but it seemed that was how he was treating me.
My protest fell short when he brought me over to the couch. He sat down so we were facing each other but I made sure to keep an inch of distance between us. Husker sat on the chair closest to the window, his presence not going unnoticed by his master.
Alastor hadn't let go of my hand. He rested his cane on his lap and locked eyes with me. A single claw gently rubbed the back of my hand.
"I have been waiting to hear your voice. Please, enlighten me about the past eight years."
My mouth opened but no words came out. I had wanted to tell him about everything but when the opportunity fell at my feet, I was silent. So much had happened, where did I even begin? It felt awkward, too, sitting there with his full attention on me. He felt familiar yet strange. Why was this such a problem?
I casted a glance to Husker for help but he wasn't willing. His tail whisked about his feet as he leaned forward on his knees for the sake of his wings. When I looked back to Alastor, his smile seemed strained, if not nervous.
"Perhaps a look into your memories would suffice? At least to start," he offered. I nodded without thinking. It was too late to reject the offer as his mind gently but firmly melted with mine.
I tried to block off a few memories but that seemed to alarm him. He tried pressing for those memories and when he couldn't get through, he looked at the events around it.
"You made a deal with someone?" he demanded, suddenly pulling out of my mind. My ears pinned at his tone. "Who?"
My mouth did the thing again. I clasped my claws tightly together and hugged my tail suffocatingly around my leg. My eyes glanced up to Husker for aid.
Alastor turned sharply to his servant. His gaze wasn't questionable — it was murderous intent. He stood abruptly and slammed his cane loudly on the floor. Husker's eyes went wide, fur stood straight up, and claws dug into anything he possibly could to give himself momentum.
He lunged for freedom but it was no use. Alastor barely lifted a claw to send him choking to the ground, tentacles pinning his limbs to the hard floor. I jumped in front of Alastor and grabbed hold of his hand, my magic attacking his own.
He let go of Husker and instead grabbed my arm in return. His magic bolted through me too fast and without warning to put up any proper boundaries. I felt exactly where he was searching, and right as he found his answer, my cell phone started to ring.
He withdrew from my mind as his head slowly turned towards the front door where the phones lay hidden in a drawer. He stared for a moment, the house utterly quiet except for the horrid ringing that felt like the seal of my death.
His eyes found mine out the corner of his eye. "You have ten seconds to explain the confines of this arrangement." His grip was crushing my wrist.
"I-I...I'm...I defend Vox's stations and he...he promotes the Haven. He's not allowed...to go...he can't come into the Haven at all. Physical or technological."
He was silent for a moment.
His eyes were staring at me, his head still turned away but single eye locked with both of mine. The phone had finally silenced and now all that could be heard was Husker's ragged, scared breathing and the ticking of the clock on the mantle.
I gently pulled my hand towards my chest and he let go. He said, "Last I remember you refuse to make deals with anyone."
"I made deals with you," I reminded softly.
"Aside from me."
I looked down at my claws. "Things changed. I needed to find ways to keep the haven safe."
"And giving your soul to Vox was going to do that?" he shouted, spinning to face me.
"Yes!" My head snapped up at the aggression. "Promoting the Haven meant we could have more people to defend it and more people to believe it's important enough to leave alone. It also keeps Vox on our side rather than against. He's a pain in the ass to deal with but he has the resources."
Alastor's snarl grew.
"Besides, I didn't give my soul to him. It was a soul binding contract for both parties."
His shoulders lowered at that. He casted his eyes to the side in thought. I reached down to help Husker back up to his feet. I gave him a reassuring squeeze on the paw and let him disappear out the kitchen door, leaving Alastor and I alone.
He had one hand on his cane and the other covering his eyes when I turned back to him. His antlers were still big, meaning he was incredibly frustrated still.
"I'm sorry." I kept an arm's distance between us. "I did what was needed to survive."
Gaze still casted away, he withdrew his hand from his face and held it out to me. I calmed my shaking before place my hand in it. He pulled me close then let go of my hand to put it on the back of my head. He pressed his lips to my forehead and took a slow, long, deep breath.
His antlers shrunk back to their normal size.
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"I've missed so much time with you," he mumbled against my skin.
"We live for centuries. There's still time." I tried for a lighter tone.
He let out another breath. "I suppose you are right."
I flicked one ear up. "Say that again."
"Say what?" He pulled away to meet my eyes. Was he always this much taller than me?
"You never say that. Say it again."
His eyes stilled as he thought to the conversation. His realization was obvious when he lifted his eyebrows. "No."
"Say I was right. Say it again." I stepped closer so I was invading his personal space even more so.
"No." He moved his claw from the back of my head to my face and gently pushed me away.
"But it was so sweet of you," I laughed and pulled his hand off.
The phone rang again. I grimaced as he turned his head like an owl to stare at it.
"Maybe you'd like to see your old pal again?" I offered, "He's been obsessed about your return."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note:
oooooOOoooOooOOoooO
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Taglist:
@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall
#demi demon#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#soulmate au#soulmates#reqs open
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♡ good one | thomas hewitt x reader
♡ fandoms; Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003 + 2006)
♡ characters; Thomas Brown Hewitt
♡ reader; gender neutral
♡ cw; references to extreme violence, stockholm syndrome i suppose?, kidnapping
♡ notes; this was literally supposed to be porn but instead here’s some weird sappy stuff lol
anyways hopefully more fics soon, writers block and rehearsals have been a bitch and a half
•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•
It was a wonder you were still alive. That’s what you thought about, sitting and fidgeting in the strange bedroom with your ankle shackled. Was shackled the right word if it was tied with rope? Whatever. It didn’t matter. You were fairly certain you’d fall prey to the crazy folks running around the place soon enough. The group you’d hitched a ride with was already long gone- one you’d watched get shot point blank by the bullshit sheriff. The others….well, you heard the chainsaw and the screaming. It was an easy conclusion to come to, especially after you saw the bloody smears on the hardwood downstairs.
You weren’t sure why you hadn’t been hacked into bits yet. You’d been indistinguishable from the others- just another wandering twenty-something with tight clothes and next to no money. The only thing you could think of was that gas station. Your companions had been such dicks to the lady at the counter- of course you apologized to her. She’d been just as kind in return, she even snuck a candy into your bag of sodas and snacks. She was the one who’d sent you that way, towards the farm house.
You stilled, train of thought lost as you heard footsteps. Heavy and slow- they were somehow more intimidating than any angry stomping could have been. You curled your legs up defensively, eyes trained on the door. The person stood there more than a second, silent and just as still as you were holding. If you hadn’t been listening so intently, you would have thought they turned and walked away. But then there was some quiet mumbling- a woman’s voice, maybe?- and the door creaked open.
“Go on Tommy dear- I found a good one for you.”
You’d never seen a man so tall- with shoulders so broad or arms and torso so solid. He was massive. He was terrifying. And he was attractive. Once your eyes unglued themselves from his figure you finally took in the rest. Dark, thick shoulder-length waves. A mask that seemed useless as any sort of medical device thanks to the open mouth. Eyes that were dark but not brown. Maybe blue, maybe gray..maybe just pure black. Like a shark’s. In other circumstances you'd be reduced to a puddle on floor over him. But the bloodstains on his shirt didn’t go unnoticed.
You watched him closely, and he watched you just as alertly, stalking forward like some jungle cat…No. Wait. That wasn’t right. He didn’t look scared, but he was cautious, keeping some distance. Maybe a better allegory would be he looked like he was trying to corner a feral kitten- not wanting you to swipe or dart away. As if doing either was possible. You were frozen with fear, though found the courage to lean back a bit as he stepped forward. He grunted softly and persisted, nearly trembling as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.
Love at first sight was a stupid fucking concept. That you’d always believe. Maybe something in you just broke that same moment, maybe you were just too exhausted to think even close to straight. Maybe both. But when you and this massive man locked eyes, there was an instant understanding. He was already yours- and more importantly, you’d be his. He just had to stake his claim.
“…you’re Tommy?” You practically whispered. He nodded quickly. You got a sense he didn’t speak much, but you told him your name in return and tried to think of anything to talk about to stall the inevitable. “…you killed those people?” You blurted for some godforsaken reason. He tensed, still hovering over you. “It’s okay.” You added quickly “I didn’t actually know them. They were kinda mean.”
He furrowed his brow just a bit and searched your face, for any signs that you were lying. Before he came to a conclusion, you gave a soft sigh, instinctively leaning into the hand that had raised your face to him. Something immediately softened about him, and he rubbed your cheek in awe. The sleepy giggle it caused seemed almost to startle him. It was like no one had ever been that soft with him. Maybe they hadn’t. “….this is your room right? Can we sleep?”
Tommy still seemed in shock but carefully nodded, undoing his apron and seeming at a loss of what to do next. He frowned a bit as he noticed your bindings and quickly undid the knot that kept you stuck there. His guard was down- you could try to run. But you didn’t want to. Doing so would only be tiring. You wanted to let go. So instead you smiled softly and simply opened your arms, letting him cuddle up with you. It took him a minute to get settled, and all the while treating you so delicately… like you were made of glass. He looked up at you, again searching your face in near confusion. He grunted in surprise as you pecked his forehead. His mama really did find him a good one.
#slashers#slashers x reader#slashers x you#thomas hewitt#tcm#thomas hewitt x reader#thomas brown hewitt#tcm 2006#tcm 2003#texas chainsaw the beginning#texas chainsaw massacre#gender neutral reader#g/n reader
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Hi! If you do headcanons, can you do a Dating Ray Merrimen headcanon?
This is suitable for work!
Expect a long, long wait before you actually start dating. Ray has no time for dating or relationships. He’s not on any apps, and he certainly doesn’t want to be set up. So when you drift through his life—maybe you’re a friend of Bosco’s girl—be prepared for the slowest of slow burns.
It takes, let’s say…a month before Ray even notices that you’re hanging around with the crew.
It takes another month before he starts to remember your name.
Another month after that before you get the patented Ray Merrimen tip of the head in greeting each time you show up.
It is the slowest of slow burns. You keep a little tally in your phone of how many words you exchange with Ray each time you see him.
You make a game of it. Can you get Ray to answer you in more than a monosyllable?
The first time he finally does, you can’t help but laugh, and he narrows his eyes at you, not understanding the joke.
You know it’s a long shot with Ray. You don’t get your hopes up—you still go on dates with guys you meet on the apps. A few even tempt you into second and third dates, but no one can quite capture your imagination the way Ray does.
Even though you don’t seem to capture Ray’s imagination at all. All of his brain power is consumed with bank schematics, armored van schedules, and planning his next heist.
But as much as you watch Ray and study him, you don’t really know him.
Case in point: you assume he’s never thought about you, consumed as he is with his less-than-licit career.
You assume wrong. Ray has been studying you on the sly too, and he noticed you the very first time you turned up. Ray notices everyone, especially new folks, so when Bosco’s girl brought you around, he watched you and took in every single thing about you.
All those months when you felt invisible to him? He was watching you, learning who you were.
The thing is, Ray Merrimen is perfectly fine alone. He prides himself on his discipline and self-control, and he is not the sort of man to chase a woman.
Instead, he sits back and watches and waits. He studies you to see if you’re the sort of woman who can handle him.
All of this happens without you realizing. You just think you’re a pining little idiot, so you’re surprised when you drink too much at one of Levoux’s parties and need a ride home.
“Don’t do that,” Ray tells you. He takes your phone from your hand and cancels the ride-share you are trying to order. “They don’t vet those drivers.”
The solution? Ray drives you home.
He’s quiet for most of it, but you’re a chatty drunk, so you talk and he listens, and you miss the little twitch at the corner of his mouth—his version of a smile.
He parks in front of your house, and he doesn’t leave until he sees your front door safely behind you.
The next time you see him, you thank him, and he tips you that same stoic nod in reply.
But you’re clued into him a bit now. You’re falling into the same wavelength as Ray.
Oftentimes, when you look across the room or across Bosco’s backyard, you see Ray watching you.
And when he catches you watching him, he tips that nod, gives the same small, tight corner-of-the-mouth smile.
When Mack celebrates his birthday at a club, you’re there in a dress that’s tight in the right places and short in the right places.
It draws a lot of male attention.
And Ray may pride himself on his self-control, but the absolute second he sees some fucking asshole eyeing you up, he’s at your side and refuses to move for the rest of the night.
Going to dance with your friend? Ray lurks in the shadows right at the edge of the dance floor.
Going to the bathroom? Ray walks you to the hallway and waits to escort you back.
Need another round? Ray puts his hand on your lower back and gently ushers you there and back, and he lays down a crisp $20 to pay for it.
One of those fucking assholes eyeing you up? He doesn’t get the message. He keeps trying to sidle up to you, chat you up…
…until Ray wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in tight to him.
It’s purely protective, and it raises an indistinct ache between your thighs to be held like this. From no touch at all to this, Ray’s solid body shielding you, the clean scent of his body wash in your nose.
The night ends in another ride home from Ray.
You’re tipsy, and this time? He walks you to your door instead of staying in his car, but he doesn’t come in when you invite him.
“Next time,” he tells you. “Be sure to drink lots of water. Maybe take an ibuprofen before you go to sleep.”
He must see the blatant disappointment on your face, because he gives that small smile, then hooks a finger under your chin.
He tilts your face up to him, and he bends his head to kiss you—the gentlest, softest brush of his lips against the corner of your mouth.
“Next time,” he repeats, and even though your head is spinning at even the tamest of kisses, it sounds like a promise.
#ray merrimen#ray merrimen x reader#ray merrimen imagine#ray merrimen x you#den of thieves#ray merrimen headcanon#tropes and tales
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do you think jake took those pictures of the guitar. making the lighting perfect. lining it up perfectly with the floorboards. tongue poking out a little bit at he angles the camera just right.
#do you think those floors are in his house#he’s got nice old floors in his nice old house#that he lives in#and decorated#and drinks his coffee in and watches movies in#sorry i’m going off the rails now
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when i.v drops i will make a vellory google doc and ill have my own pepe silvia moment. Everyone will see the truth eventually
#they actually start making me sick the moment i think abt them too long okay#and the thing is theres not even that many interactions to pick out from. considering the game only focuses on what alex tells you#and im sure as hell this guy would Not gaf about those two honest to god#but out of their interactions that are shown/implied ... ouh [ falls to the floor ]#like they seem to be on Good terms w each other in general#but ill never shut up abt the fact its implied vella stayed back in wind town to check up on rory after the sewer dungeon#or the cutscene at mark's house where the only piece of dialogue rory has during it is bringing up vella#and how vella comforts rory when confronted w his soul survivor and how rory comforts vella when (i.v specific thing)#(<- was in one of the twitter preview images thoug You can find them on ackk's twt trust)#basically#someone please shoot me in the head i Cant do this anymore#text tag
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once again thinking about how never leaving the house or being around other human beings makes you actually insane but also I am living in an era of both widespread disabling plague and near universal disinterest in avoiding plague at the same time
#and even the people who still give even paltry lipservice to covid#friend a month ago: do you want to come over? everyone in the house is sick but it's rsv not covid :)#friend now: I have not stopped coughing for an entire month#not that the lipservice to covid helps either she's been doing karaoke at a local bar every week all year#and anyway it just... feels kinda hopeless regardless... almost all my friends have preschool/ daycare age kids#or rightwing families#or work in schools or hospitals#this has all been true the entire time but now it's also like 'aw is everything okay?' if I wear a mask around them indoors#2021 when 'everyone present is vaccinated' felt like it actually mattered sure was nice#I don't want covid and I very do not want long covid and I STILL do not think that is weird or irrational of me but!! fuck me I guess!!#anyway I'm married and have the internet so I'm not COMPLETELY isolated but I am still... mostly...... you know#and like! okay what is the alternative!! I wanna go to my friends' house and lay on their floor and get jumped on by toddlers#I wanna invite people over for dinner! I wanna have movie nights!! I wanna see and talk to and touch other people sometimes!!#and like... you Need to as a human being. you need those things#I feel like I'm withering away#haha his sucks dot jpeg#about me
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For some reason, in these "Jojo villains living together as roommates" fan scenarios, I keep seeing Diavolo portrayed as a tolerable/half-decent roommate. I am here to say that is 100% incorrect. Diavolo would be the worst roommate of all time.
#rambles#diavolo jjba#jjba#short posts#those things where its at kiras house and kira is like ''diavolo is the one i tolerate the most'' sorry man no he wouldn't#dude would not do any chores he would not pay rent he would not get along with any of them#he would leave his dead bodies on the floor and spend 90% of the time cooped up in his room#he would spend hours locked in the bathroom#he would be awful even interacting with them at all what makes you think he'd be a tolerable roommate#does this even make sense. shoe brain thoughts
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Homestuck ships can so easily be "experts warn that polycule could expand to cover all of seattle" style, but then that sucks so much bc nobody else ships it but you
Nepeta: :33 < This is my moirail Equius, and his matesprit Karkat, and Karkat's boyfriend Dave, and their girlfriend Jane
#LIKE HOW PERFECT WOULD THAT SHIP BE#Movie nights would be absolute hell. None of these bitches can shut up for a movie except Equius and#he would be busy holding Nepeta back so he can't take out Karkat's eye over shipping disagreements#like Jane/Dave/Karkat (all dating) is the amazing and (qpr) Nepeta/Equius mixed with (romantic) Equius/Karkat is THE best dynamic#so just throw those together and you get perfection + Equius and Dave's interaction in cannon is great already#I wanna see them all thrown in a hive/house and just see how it works#I wanna see Nepeta‚ Jane‚ Equius‚ and Dave all painting their nails together on the floor (Karkat's off reading a book somewhere nearby)#Nepeta and Jane are the only ones who actually know what they're doing so they end up painting Equius' and Dave's too (respectively)#Equius DOES try to paint his own at first but his fine moter control still isn't that great rn (though he's getting better)#so he keeps getting it all over his actual hand.#When he starts to get anygry and frustrated after so many mistakes is the point where Nepeta offers to help him#He ends up getting nails that /SO/ do not fit his color scheme (bc he didn't actually request any color and she just did what she wanted)#but he doesn't complain. He just looks at her handiwork fondly bc how could he ever be upset over something she so lovingly did for him?#Also Karkat helps Nepeta rearrange her shipping wall. He thinks all of her choices are incorect and complains the whole time‚ but it's one#of those things he'll do while grumbling when it's a ''Hey this is weird‚ though it makes my weirdo happy so fiiiiiiiiiiiine''#Dave annoys Equius to death but they're still friends.#Just with a bit more insults and degrading comments that Equius will apologize for later when things settle down.#I mean it's not like they don't have super fun times between themselves tho. You've seen their conversation when Dave got the broken sword#Also Equius was canonically attracted to Dave during that conversation so like.....#And unrelated to that: If Karkat and/or Dave are ever having a fight with John they bake shit to annoy him#Everyone prefers when Karkat's the one to do it though because Dave ''Doritoes is a food group'' Strider makes the house smell like smoke#while Karkat's baking is only ever sugary goodness#It's an easy way for the God of Wind to lower the house's temperature by like 40° but who the fuck cares when there's cookies and/or cake.#*Jane (<- It think. I'm p sure I put ''John'' on accident but tumblr wont let me see my tags in full anymore so I can't tell)#On second thought‚ I believe Jane only dislikes cake and Betty Crocker stuff specifically#but fuck it we're already in au land so why not add more hcs to the mix#url rambles
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We are just on a roller coaster of being okay one minute and dreading existence the next, folks, sorry for the whiplash
#kite rambles#felt okay the other day#miserable today though#I think it's the way that dad's /trying/ to be helpful with his job hunt suggestions#but it isn't and HE'S starting to get frustrated that I'm not just falling on the floor thankful that he's saving the day#even said it's frustrating that I keep just poo-pooing his suggestions#and it's like hmm good for you sir#because your frustration at the situation is definitely the most significant part of the whole thing#and he keeps trying to be like...#'well I worked at the last place for 26 years and I hated every minute of it for 24 of those years'#but like hey sir your job also had a strong union and paid you‚ a guy with a GED and no higher education‚ a six figure salary#I'd be okay with hating a job that paid enough to let me buy a house and actually save for retirement#but I do not want to hate my job and get paid only 10$ an hour with no breaks or way to save for the future#I'm sorry folks I feel like I've been very very whiny about this all the last couple of days#I'm hoping this gets it out of my system for a while#this post might get deleted later idk I'm just#blegh
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