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spacebarbarianweird · 1 day

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Punishment

Synopsis: Domestic hurt\comfort becomes domestic smut because Tiriel should have listened to her vampire and not risk her life.

Tags: hurt\comfort, smut, dom!Astarion, very long prelude to the smut, a lot of butt slapping + also some complications of having an active sex life when you have a child Based on this amazing art by @mutualcombat

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The fall was painful.

An enemy, a resurrected skeleton in heavy armor, easily pushed Tiriel from the cliff. Her armor and weapon left her no place for maneuver and the barbarian fell on the thin layer of ice that was covering the black waters of a lake.

Pain pierced her body. Tiriel gasped – every breath was agonizing as her ribs were broken. She coughed and immediately realized that a bone damaged the lungs.

Stupid, she thinks. So stupid.

The ice cracks and the waters take Tiriel.

“O’su, why are you angry?” Alethaine rubs her sleepy eyes.Whether her dhampirism is to blame or the quarter of human blood in her body, the girl sleeps like a cat, for much longer than human kids her age.

Astarion doesn’t mind this quirk of hers.

When she sleeps, she can’t run up to the ceiling and fall from there. And she won’t try to escape outside, especially at night following the call only vampires and dhampirs can hear.

“I am not!” Astarion huffs putting food onto a plate. The four-year-old elf yawns and grabs a spoon in a very clumsy manner. Then she sticks it into the oatmeal and Astarion suspects Alethaine is trying to find sweet pieces of berries there.

“You are angry,” Alethaine says. “I heard you and Mum fighting yesterday.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did!” Alethaine gets anoyed and hits the table with her small hand. “You were fighting!”

Astarion crosses his arms. Well, as a half undead Alethaine has extremely acute hearing. So acute that no matter how hard her parents try, she does hear noises from their bedroom she can’t yet comprehend.

And of course, she did hear her parents yelling at each other outside the house.

“Well, we had some… disagreements.”

Tiriel was offered a job. To help a bunch of adventurers retrieve a treasure from the dungeon deep in the High Wood. And his wife wanted to go so much that she couldn’t care less about what Astarion was saying.

That the job was dangerous.

That those morons who hired her had no idea what they were getting into.

That the weather was so shitty it made Icewind Dale look like Calimshan.

And Tiriel accused Astarion of controlling her. That he was possessive, that he didn’t want her to go without him – because he was fucking jealous!

Ridiculous.

“Why?” Alethaine demands answers.

“It was a bad idea to go alone, that’s all!” Astarion says. “Your mother will spend more gold on healing potions than she will earn!”

Alethaine’s ears twitch. She stops eating and pulls away.

“I don’t like when you fight,” she says.

“I don’t like either, princess. But it’s going to be alright! Your mother will come back and everything will be good!”

“O’si said she was bored,” Alethaine adds. “When she was reading me a story, she told me she was bored at home. Mum wanted to slay a monster like in that book.”

Astarion nods. Well, another thing he sometimes forgets. Whilst he feels comfortable and nice in their house, reading books, sewing clothes, and taking care of their child, Tiriel is a fighter. She is used to the roads, sleeping in the dirt, fighting, and drinking. Domestic life is exhausting – and she doesn't even know how to occupy herself when the blizzard howls in the woods.

When Alethaine was younger, she required all of Tiriel's attention, but now Alethaine is more or less independent – and the barbarian has started feeling…

…Bored…

“Still no excuse to risk herself!” Astarion protests. “Alethaine, your mum fights as if she was a vampire. And before, I used to be there to have her back or drag her to the healer. Those… morons…. Young idiots won’t do that for her!” Astarion quickly corrects himself.

“What does “moron” mean?”

“You didn’t hear that.”

“I did!”

“It means someone stupid. Just don’t repeat it anywhere, it’s a bad word.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Alethaine, eat your breakfast” Astarion bares his fangs as a threat.

The dhampir huffs and takes the spoon.

The next moment Astairon hears footsteps. Someone is coming to the front door.

“Vampire!” he hears the healer’s voice. “A quick word!”

Astarion opens the door. The female halfling doesn’t wear a winter jacket even though her house is many blocks away.

And there is an aura of…

Fear…

“What happened?”

And the Astarion catches a familiar scent. Way too familiar to ignore.

The healer’s sleeves are covered in Tiriel’s blood.

Tiriel feels like dying. She knows she is dying.

The dark waters dragged her under the ice trying to murder her. So stupid. Astarion warned her not to go and he was right. He has a better perception of danger than her. She should have listened.

She didn’t.

Was it some stupid pride preventing her from listening to her husband? Or just the exhausting boredom she endured at home?

Anyway, she is dying.

She is leaving her husband and daughter alone.

Alethaine will grow up barely knowing her.

Astarion … Can he survive without her? Twenty-four years is such a short time for him to heal…

Tiriel failed them both.

Then, she starts suffocating. Primal fear suppresses everything sentient about Tiriel – and it awakes the rage in her.

The ice wounds her hands as she crawls to the surface, bleeding and freezing.

And then the rage leaves her with only a fever.

Ttiriel barely remembers anything after that. She knows someone carried her somewhere.

Voices, insults.

A pair of red eyes staring at her in a dimly lit room.

A child crying.

“Is she dying?! Dad, is Mum going to die?!”

Tiriel wants to console her daughter, but she is too weak. The healing potion burns her throat, but it’s not enough to repair the damage.

“Astarion, she has frostbite. If the potions don’t help, I will have to cut her leg off.”

Tiriel is hit by a wave of panic. No, not cutting her limbs off! No, they can’t do this to her!

Pain. Fever. Thirst. Difficulty breathing. Tiriel wants to scream but she can’t. She can’t move, she can’t see anything.

Another cry. An angry voice forcing the child to go away.

Gentle hands. Cold skin.

Astarion.

Tiriel tries to open her eyes to see him but can’t. She needs to see him. She needs to make sure he’s not a hallucination. That he has come to save her.

But then, the darkness takes her and there is no pain anymore.

Astarion leans on the kitchen table. It’s over. Tiriel is getting better. She has made it. They didn't even have to cut her leg.

She is home.

It will take her months to fully heal, of course, but she isn’t dying. That's the most important thing.

Astarion takes his blood-stained shirt off, suppressing the desire to chew the soaked fabric.

“Daddy.”

He turns around and sees the dhampir. She’s been crying – damn, she is still crying – and stands in the kitchen hugging a plushie dragon.

“What is it, princess?”

“Is mum going to be alright?”

“Yes,” Astarion puts on the clean shirt, the one made of black fabric.

“Why did you yell at me?”

Astarion feels guilty. The last thing he was thinking about was how the whole situation was perceived by a four-year-old child – he just didn’t want her to be in the same room with her mutilated mother.

“I am sorry,” Astarion lifts the girl up. “Sorry for yelling”.

“Is mum really going to be all right or you just say so?” Alethaine insists.

“She is going to be all right… She just needs rest”

“Dad.”

“Hm?”

“We aren’t letting her go anywhere anymore,” Alethaine says.

Astarion chuckles. “Well, I don’t think we can prevent her from going outside, but you can express your concerns about her behavior”.

A week later Tiriel feels more or less capable of standing up. All these days, she was basically nursed by her little family – Astarion was spending all his time near her bed. Alethaine would come to check asking if she needed anything and was extremely proud of herself when Tiriel asked the girl to bring her a glass of water or medicine.

Tiriel gets up, puts on her trousers and a shirt, and goes looking for Astarion. Alethaine is fast asleep in her bed, barely visible among pillows and plushies.

Perks of not needing to breathe – Alethaine can bury herself in soft blankets and experience nothing but warmth and comfort.

And, if one day she is thrown into a frozen lake she won’t drown.

One less thing to worry about, Tiriel thinks.

Tiriel finds Astarion in the basement where they stash artifacts and gold.

“Hello, my sweet,” Astarion smiles, but Tiriel knows he is faking it. He is upset. Angry. And gods know what else.

“Hello,” Tiriel sits beside him. “I'm feeling much better.”

“Good.”

The silence is so heavy it causes discomfort. Tiriel touches his shoulder and suddenly he flinches as if this form of intimacy were out of the question.

“Are you angry?” Tiriel asks.

“Oh, thank you for asking,” Astarion closes the book and throws it at the wall. The heavy volume immediately becomes a pile of paper. “I am!”

Tiriel bites her lip. She is ashamed of herself. Of what she did.

“Why couldn't you listen to me?! Do my words mean nothing to you, Tiriel?!” Astarion's eyes glow red. “You could have died!”

“I am sorry!”

“I am very well aware of the fact I am going to overlive you. But could you not make it happen so soon?! Alethaine was crying her eyes out. Because she fucking saw you bleeding to death! She has nightmares! and I… I…” he sits on the floor grabbing the fistful of his hair. “Tiriel… I…”

The words are stuck in his mouth and Tiriel kneels in front of him. Then, she cups his cheeks and kisses the bridge of his nose. Then she proceeds to kiss his forehead and lips.

“I am sorry, Astarion. I will listen to you next time, I promise.”

“You can’t even understand how much I want to lock you somewhere,” he says.

“Astarion, we’ve been there. I know you are possessive. But love isn’t about control, unless it is a bedroom play.”

He nods and kisses her wrist.

Tiriel smiles. “How can I … pay for my disobedience?”

Astarion suspiciously looks at her. He is examining her, she realizes. Trying to understand if he can… make her pay.

Tiriel unfastens the claps of his shirt, baring his chest. Then she kisses his right nipple and teases it with her tongue.

Astarion lets out a moan but, instead of undressing Tiriel, pushes her away.

“Astarion?” she hesitates. How angry is he, actually?

“You told me you want to pay.” He sits on the bench. “Then you will.”

Tiriel giggles.

“As you wish, my lord, '' she says. “How will I do it?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“I obey,” Tiriel undresses and throws the clothes on the stone floor. Astarion studies her body – scars, fresh bruises. Tiriel nods, inviting him to continue their game.

What is he thinking about?

“Turn around,” he orders and she obeys. “Now, kneel!”

Tiril cringes feeling the harsh and cold surface with her knees. Astarion stands beside her and puts his arms on her shoulders. His grasp is strong and Tiriel admires how truly strong he is as a vampire.

Fangs pierce the nape of her neck. She gasps, but Astarion hardly takes any blood; he just licks some with his cold tongue.

“You were a terribly bad girl,” he murmurs. “Not listening to what I say!”

Tiriel smiles. Astarion is fully clothed, but she suspects he is already hard.

He pinches her nipples forcing her to moan.

“What are the odds she won't hear us?” Tiriel whispers and Astarion immediately shuts her mouth with his cold palm.

“We could have built torture chambers for people like your recent clients here and princess wouldn’t have suspected anything.”

“Hm, then we need to bring a bed here.”

“Then she will suspect. Now shut up and let me make you pay for your misdeeds!” Astarion clenches his hands around her neck and forces Tiriel to lie on the stone floor.

She feels his cold finger touching her pussy. He gently tracks along her labia, forcing her core to get wet.

Tiriel expects him to get inside, but it doesn’t happen as he keeps teasing her.

“Astarion…”

The next moment, the index finger of his left hand is in her mouth.

“Suck it!” He orders.

Tiriel wraps her lips around his finger and makes suckling movements trying to catch the same rhythm Astarion has teasing her pussy.

The heat between her legs became unbearable. She wants to beg him to at least fill her with his fingers, but instead, he abruptly lets her go.

She sits up in front of him as if she were enslaved and he was her captor and master deciding her fate. Tiriel waits, letting him savor the image.

Then he kneels in front of her. His smile is coy and his eyes are tender and Tiriel thinks the play is over – and that he is going to become his usual self in terms of sex. Maybe even much sweet and tender – compensation for all the years of rough fucking.

But then, he tugs her to his lap. His free hand tugs her half-elven ear.

And then he slaps her.

The sensation is so unexpected that Tiriel lets out a cry and then feels tears pricking her eyes. Another slap, stronger and rougher.

She elbows up a bit and feels the bump between his legs.

Then a pause. Astarion waits. Tiriel can leave. She can say she doesn't like it. That the stone floor hurts her elbows, that the whole thing is embarrassing. That she feels cold or not fully healed.

But she doesn’t say anything. Instead,she moves a bit, making it more comfortable for him to keep slapping her naked butt.

SLAP

His hand is cold and strong, and Tiriel knows it will be hard to sit.

SLAP

Tiriel concentrates on the painful pleasure, allowing herself to melt in it. Her whole world is narrowed down to the torture she inflicted upon herself.

SLAP

“Will you disobey me again?” Astarion demands.

“No, I never will! Aah!”

“What if I say it’s fucking dangerous to go alone next time?”

“I will listen!”

SLAP

“Good,” he stops. His fingers are placed on her pussy again as he gets distracted by her scent.

Tiriel squirms and moans in his arms as he keeps playing with the swell of her sex.

“Please…” Tiriel whimpers.

“What is it, bad girl?”

“I want you inside of me… please…”

But Astarion doesn't listen. His fingers play with her as if she was a musical instrument. Astarion knows all of her sensitive spots. He knows how to make her come, how to make her a mindless half-elf. He's learned her body thoroughly. In a both possessive and selfless way.

Tiriel feels her orgasm approaching. She clenches her fists and lets out a cry as she reaches her peak.

She doesn't feel cold anymore. Tiriel pants and mewls as Astarion finally lets her go.

He caresses her cheek in the most tender way possible and kisses her.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tiriel puts her hands on the lace of his trousers, but instead of letting her continue, he gently pulls her away.

“No,” Astarion firmly says.

“Why?”

“Because you are still healing.”

“Astarion, are you fucking serious?! You’ve been slapping me!”

“Yes. I was slapping your butt not lying on top of you”.

“We can do it in a different way!”

“And it still involves some form of physical activity from you. Or me absolutely ravishing you. No. You will get better and only then we will fuck each other into oblivion.”

“And what are you going to do about this?” she pokes the bump to feel the delicious hardness below the fabric.

“I will use my hand.”

“Save it for the time when I am away,” Tiriel unlaces the trousers, freeing his cock.

“Hand or mouth?” she asks, tracing her finger along the shaft.

“Mouth… And keep…eye contact…please.”

“As you wish,'' Tiriel kisses the tip of his cock. Over the years they have been together, Tiriel learned how his body reacts to her touches.

In a moment she’s already swallowed it fully – tears flow down her cheeks. She moves her lips and tongue along the shaft, never breaking eye contact.

Astarion groans and grabs a fistful of her hair. His cock is cold and hard, but his sensitive, soft skin is quickly getting warmer in Tiriel’s mouth, and she wishes to prolong his pleasure.

But it’s so damn cold in the basement.

Suddenly, she feels being pulled away. Tiriel lets the cock go. Astarion grabs it with his free hand, makes a few stroking movements, and then the white liquid spills over her breasts.

Tiriel stands up shivering from the cold, and only now does she realize how truly intense the slapping was.

Astarion laces his trousers and quickly kisses Tiriel's lips and when she tries to put on her clothes back he wraps her shoulders in a blanket and lifts her in the air.

“Let's go to our normal bed,” he says.

“Only if you stay there with me,” Tiriel pouts.

“Of course, love, of course!”

Minutes later, Tiriel lies in Astarion’s arms – he’s insisted on wiping her breasts and pussy himself – and now she can just enjoy the comfort.

“Astarion.”

“Hm?”

“I promise to listen to your advice next time.”

“Thank you, love.”

By the time spring starts, Tiriel finally feels well enough to wield her weapon and wear her armor. Astarion knows she longs for a fight and a good adventure, and it would be too ungrateful for him to try to lock her down and guilt-trip her into always staying by his side.

But someone needs to keep an eye on their daughter and Astarion slowly makes peace with the thought that Tiriel will indeed have to go away without him from time to time.

Astarion puts his old bedroll on the stone basement floor. There was a period when this imitation of a bed was the most comfortable thing he owned. Well, there was a period when he thought getting kisses from Tiriel was merely a reward for his services, not a genuine demonstration of affection.

“No, don't go!” he hears Alethaine’s voice. “Mum! Don’t go!”

“It’s all right, kitten. I will be back in a week. I will bring you a gift from Secomber.”

“No! I want you to stay! Dad!” Astarion hears small footsteps – Alethaine is forbidden from going to the basement due to all the dangerous artefacts stashed there, so she stops on the top step. “Dad, Mum is going somewhere! Again!”

Astarion goes up and sees an absolutely angry four-year-old dhampir pointing at her mother who is preparing for a trip.

“That’s all right, she promised not to fight anything stronger than her,” Astarion picks the girl up.

“She will find things that are stronger!”

Tiriel approaches them, hugs Astarion from behind, and caresses her daughter’s cheek. “Kitten, I will be back soon, you will see. And when you grow up, you will also have someone who won’t want you to go away – but you sometimes will have to.”

“When I am as big as you, I will have a little girl,” Alethaine says. “And when she asks me to stay, I will!”

Astarion chuckles – well, he hasn’t got used to the idea of having a daughter even though she is four and the very idea of having a grandchild eventually sounds even less realistic than him regaining his mortality.

“That will be your choice,” Tiriel kisses. “What do you want me to get you?”

“I want a book about elves,” Alethaine says.

“Ok, I will take a look for something interesting.”

Alethaine pulls away, showing that she wants to go. Astarion puts her back and the girl immediately disappears into her room.

“Are you leaving in the morning?” Astarion asks.

Tiriel nods. “Something on your mind?”

“Actually yes,” Astarion takes Tiriel's hand and makes her follow him downstairs. “Besides,” he playfully pushes Tiriel on the bedroll, “Our best nights were on the road in our old tent!”

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gingerbreadmonsters · 3 days

Text

glass jaw

or: bruised, the apple of my black eye.

graphic blood, violence, and injury warnings, cutesy gory found vampire family shenanigans. i went to the haunted theme park in the middle of the woods at midnight, and all i got was this candy apple of temptation. what's up with that? alexis being the world’s best big sister in just over 8600 words.

warnings for gratuitous blood, violence and gore, graphic descriptions of injury and intent to grievously harm, and, like, one teeny tiny moment of cannibalism. i strongly encourage you to mind the warnings, and to stop reading at ANY point if you feel uncomfortable. reader discretion is advised. minors dni, 18+ only. please consider yourself warned.

longtime readers may be aware of my sinophone!solaires hc, so ENGLISH SPEAKING READERS - for the love of GOD please check this pronunciation guide i made for the mandarin you're about to see. i PROMISE it'll help!! 💕💕💕

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s a shame. The room was quite tidy when they started – ugh, don’t say it’s got onto the upholstery again. Vampiric blood is impossible to get out of silk, and it costs a fortune to get it professionally cleaned. At least the wooden panelling in here is dark enough to hide most of the spatter.

(Thankfully, baba’s off entertaining the little ankle biters at the moment – and something about a meeting with an old friend, later on? He didn’t say when he was coming back, but it can’t be soon. Hopefully they’ll be able to deal with most of the mess before he gets back. Damned old man never wants them to have any fun.)

How long has it been? Seconds? Hours? It’s difficult to tell. She’d only come in here to sit down, feet hurting from her patrol at Wonderworld, wanting to just lie across the sofa and scroll mindlessly on her phone for an hour or two. She'd almost succeeded, too – until the furious pacing from the other side of the house had got closer and closer.

Vincent had spotted her through the doorway, carelessly cracked open, and… well. He must have had a pretty horrible day.

He’d surprised her, hurling the glass of water in his hands at her head with a sudden hiss. She’d only barely caught it in her peripheral vision, jerking back against the sofa just in time to let it whistle past her face and shatter against the far wall.

No words necessary. Vincent had snarled at her, slamming the door shut behind him, and she’d known exactly what he wanted.

It’s a habit of theirs. A bad one, maybe, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to break.

Heavy bodies hitting the floor, skin and spit and bone, this time it might be different. Her shin slamming into his ribs, his elbow smashing into her jaw. Blood clots underneath elegantly manicured nails, and the splinters of what used to be a wisdom tooth are spat onto the side table. It’ll grow back.

Gravity. The inescapable pull. Space bends and folds at the mercy of an impossibly strong grip, worlds and stars and planets collide, and the precious children of William Solaire once again destroy each other.

You might think that it’s madness. That it’s like some crazed, bloodthirsty, animal state that descends upon them, that it’s like they’re totally different people. You’d be wrong. Both of them are perfectly, boringly sane when it happens. There’s no madness here, no delusion – just a brother and a sister who hate and hate and hate.

She’s entirely rational when she tries to sever his spinal column with her teeth, he’s not confused about why he’s trying to rip her arm from its socket. It's never an accident. Tearing each other apart comes naturally.

Cruel spikes of broken glass glitter in Vincent's hair, the smashed mirror above the mantelpiece reflecting the thousand shallow cuts that now litter his scalp, leaking bright, scarlet blood down the back of his neck. Her forearm aches from the impact, the force of a vampiric skull smashing through the glass and into the bricks behind having radiating up through her hand, where her fingers were twisted into Vincent's hair – mostly for grip, but also to keep him from biting them off completely.

It hadn't quite worked, but whatever. She glances down at the ragged chunk of her wrist that isn't there any more, shredded fibres hanging loose, and glares at Vincent as he finishes chewing his mouthful of skin and veins and raw, twitching muscle.

He grins, wide and pretty, fangs slick and gums stained with her blood. “New perfume?”

Bastard. Like he didn't steal it off her vanity this morning, like she couldn’t fucking smell it on him when he came downstairs for breakfast.

“Depends,” she replies, and lets the fistful of dark, meticulously-conditioned and carefully-styled hair still in her hand fall to the floor. “New haircut?”

Vincent's eyes narrow, black and predatory, and, as always, she feels her mouth start to water. He's imagining what it’ll feel like to kick her through the picture window and watch her impact the paved surface of the driveway below, and she's imagining what it'll be like to dig her fingernails inside his stomach and claw out all of the softness she can find.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, the cleansing rage. Nothing but fury, white-hot and shameful as it roars alive under her skin, until she's scraped raw inside and out. The same manic look paints itself across their faces, the same sadistic glee that only comes with doing something you know you shouldn’t.

Well, they're both just as bad as each other. Perhaps it runs in the family.

She lunges, teeth bared, grabbing his shirt to try and slam him back into the brickwork – but like lightning, he lurches to the side and uses her momentum to grab her waist and hurl her bodily into the wall. Wood splinters and flecks of glass go flying as they claw at each other, blood spatter dripping down the window panes and soaking into the finely-patterned carpet.

Her ears ring when Vincent seizes the back of her head and slams her face-first into the doorframe, but she gets her own back as her broken nose puts itself back together, watching the side of Vincent’s chest collapse when she clubs him hard in the side with a metal candelabra. Sweet revenge.

Gasping for breath, he dodges out of the way of her fist and grabs her arm, pulling her painfully into the front of the heavy, wooden console table. She manages to catch his ankle with her foot as she goes, though, hooking it out from under him and shoving him down to the floor. His other hand is still locked around her wrist, so he yanks on her arm to twist himself around, landing heavily on his back instead of his front.

Luckily, she manages to keep her balance, but he can see it coming now – instead of the satisfying crunch she was hoping for, he barely manages to jerk his head out of the way so the sole of her slipper impacts the carpet instead of his eye socket. It sends a spike of pain up her shin, but she ignores it in favour of shielding her head, so the impact of him kicking her backwards into the bookcases doesn't stun her too much.

It’s kind of hilarious, when you think about it. Other families don’t cause thousands of dollars of property damage trying to violently maim and murder each other when they get bored, do they?

In hindsight, it seems almost inevitable they’d turn out like this. For a long time after Vincent’s turning, they’d fought almost constantly, and nobody had ever been able to quite understand why.

It used to be unbearable, having them in the same room together. Bitter glares and cutting remarks, sniping and biting at each other from across the table. Ba always complained about how they gave him headaches – the static whine of furious, mutual hatred, the pressure of all that blinding intensity in one place, with nowhere else to go but him.

He never took sides, and it stung every time. In her head, she knows he was right to. There aren’t the words to describe how much worse that would have made it. But deep inside, she couldn’t help the sick, dizzy feeling of her Maker abandoning her, leaving her – a necessary, instinctive fear of being cast out from the safety of his world and the shelter of his presence.

She’s his blood, she’s his, she’s his. They’re a family.

You can’t say that either of the two of them is entirely innocent. Alexis knows that there are parts of her that Vincent’s right to hate, and there are parts of him that she’s right to hate, too. They’ve both done terrible, awful things, too many to name, to other people and each other alike. Anyone else would say that one is just as awful as the other, and that with the way they’re carrying on, neither of them is making it any better whatsoever.

A boring answer, in short.

Because it’s not actually about that, is it? There’s something else too, something too tender and complicated for them to ever really unravel, the sugary decay of undeath that turns their spit to venom and their hunger to thirst. Vincent’s all the things she left behind, and she’s all the things he never had, and it’s all bundled up with the howling wasteland of the world that neither of them should ever have left.

Everyone regrets their Turning, whether they say so or not. Some regret it more than others, it’s true, but nobody gets away unscathed. The only reason it’s ever been a problem is because the House of Solaire tend to take their regrets out on each other.

(She rakes her nails across Vincent’s pretty face, deep, intentional gouges that would surely scar if he couldn’t sew himself back together so fast. He drives his foot into her knee in return, forcing the joint to fold in on itself the wrong way, and the world goes white with agony for the split second before it begins to heal.)

Sometimes, people wonder how they fixed it. How they get along so much better now, like a real brother and sister should. They never actually ask, and nobody will ever tell, but she isn’t stupid enough not to know what they’re thinking.

It shouldn’t be real. They bicker and pinch and steal each other’s clothes – she takes his keys from the drawer and drives his car instead of hers because it’s nicer, and she deliberately won’t leave him any money for petrol. He plays his music far too loudly in the room next door when he knows she’s got work to do, and eats her snacks out of the fridge without remorse, even if they’re labelled. Annoying, yes, but hardly the curse-yelling, death-threatening carnage their house used to be.

In fact, you could almost say they’re too well-behaved. They stay up late together in the living room, surrounded by every phone and laptop and tablet they can find, refreshing and refreshing the stupid ticket lottery website for the concert Vincent wants to go to of the band that she hates. They wear as many layers as they can stand and bring those UV umbrellas that block out the sunlight, so they can go out in the daytime and queue up for that pop-up event downtown that she’s been dying to go to.

Even the endless, complicated trappings of polite vampiric society are standard fare for them now. Vincent doesn’t complain when he has to stand by her vanity for twenty minutes passing her hairpin after hairpin, and Alexis waits by the front door to do his tie for him, because she’s better at doing the complicated knots that go in and out of fashion. They dress up nicely for every society ball, kissing each other on the cheek and fetching each other drinks and dancing the volta just like everybody else.

She lends him whatever jewellery he wants out of her jewellery box because it’s prettier than his. He pesters their father into letting them go to Disneyland in the evening when it’s dark and they won’t get sunburnt, three days in a row when they should be working because it’s her birthday and she wants to take pictures in front of the castle and eat the special coloured candyfloss they always have at this time of year. They proofread each other’s work documents and curl up under the same blanket on the sofa and leave their shoes next to each other by the door every day.

Shiny, red, and utterly forbidden – a devil’s deal is a wonderful thing. The apple seed of temptation took root in her sour, bloated stomach, and a shallow grave blossomed into a beautiful family tree.

It makes baba so happy that they get along now, and that makes them happy too. They’re never going to tell anyone how they do it. Isn’t there some saying about magic and secrets?

(Her arm isn’t quite back in its socket yet, shoulder screaming in pain, but it won’t stop her trying to choke Vincent unconscious against the bookcase. He spits a warm mouthful of blood and venom into her face in thanks, and knees her hard in the stomach.)

Vampiric houses are famously secretive, especially the older ones. It pretty much comes with the territory – the diet alone tends to be rather off-putting for outsiders, to say nothing of the other… well, the other habits that vampirism bestows. Generally, vampires prefer to keep the company of their own kind, and the intrinsic bond between maker and progeny is a rather powerful reason to stay.

Clans have always been compared to families in that way, and the House of Solaire takes it very seriously indeed. More so than most, although it’s not an uncommon thing. Turnings tend to isolate a person from their human friends and family. It would be remiss of their new clan, surely, not to step in and fill that void however they can?

As different as some things are, there’s no escaping human nature. If William’s taught them anything about surviving in this world, about protecting their family, it’s that nothing is off-limits. Whatever is necessary, they do without question. Knowledge, money, sex, power. Blood is blood, always. How else would the Solaire name have prospered for so long? How else will it continue?

Perhaps it’s cliche, but it’s true. Old blood means old money, and it doesn’t get much older than vampiric blood. Her world is a world of private invitations, expensive dresses, and strategic gossip – whatever you could imagine about the secretive lives of a shadowy vampiric aristocracy, it’s probably true. Champagne was made to be whispered over, after all. Long lives mean plenty of time to develop some rather particular tastes, and an instinctive thirst for blood does lend itself well to a certain nonchalance about the insides of a human body.

She’d been surprised at first, an uncomfortable revulsion that she’d had to unlearn, but she’d got used to it eventually. Vincent had too, and although it took him a little longer, he’s almost as good at playing this game as she is. Say what you will about the House of Solaire, but they are very, very good at what they do.

Nothing breeds rumours like success, and William Solaire is truly blessed. A golden name, a golden fortune, and two golden children to match.

There were always going to be rumours, certainly. Of what they might be doing behind closed doors, their ambitions for the future of their house, the secrets that lie at the heart of it. Of fresh scars in strange places, the truth of their allegiance to their father, of brothers and sisters doing things that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing.

You couldn’t prove any of it, obviously, and nobody ever says the words out loud. But she hears them all the same, ringing in her ears as she kisses her father on the cheek at breakfast, filling up her mind as she steals Vincent’s jacket out of his room to go shopping, and she smiles wider than ever before – because if they really knew what was happening behind the gates of Wonderworld, they’d have much more to talk about than wondering what William could possibly be holding over their heads to make them finally behave.

(In all honesty, it’s somehow more and less than you’d think. That’s not the point she’s trying to make right now, but it’s worth saying, all the same.)

They’re never, ever going to let it slip. Nobody’s ever going to know about the way she forces her brother back down onto the floor, driving her elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crack and splinter as he falls backwards in a spray of blood. He tries to scramble away, one hand reflexively covering his face, but he’s too slow - her foot comes down hard on his shin, and the scream he lets out isn’t quite loud enough to cover the sound of bone shattering under her slipper.

Vincent tries to drag himself away, fingernails tearing at the carpet, and she plants her foot on his chest to keep him in place. The break in his nose is almost fixed, crimson blood splattered all over his face, but it seems like his attention has… shifted.

That can’t be right.

He’s not that stupid, surely. What else could he be thinking of, when she could so easily crush his heart in a split second? He’s focusing on something else, but it doesn’t seem to be her – is it behind her? Is there something she can’t see? Why isn’t he paying attention?

And then, for some unknowable reason, apropos of apparently nothing… he smiles.

“What?” she spits, pressing down harder and feeling his ribs creak under the ball of her foot. “What is it?”

Infuriatingly, he chokes on a laugh, thick blood bubbling in his throat as it heals, and gestures weakly up at the wall behind her. His eyes are fixed on something there too – no, not the wall, it’s the—

“You little – fucking hell!”

She barely manages to dodge the chandelier as it comes crashing down on her head, feeling the room spin as Vincent yanks on the ceiling chain hard with a burst of psychokinesis. He manages to throw himself in the opposite direction, hand shielding his eyes as the metal hits the floor and the room fills with the deafening sound of shattering crystal.

Both of them hiss as they’re pelted with broken crystal, slicing tiny, stinging ribbons into their skin that seal up almost as soon as they appear. Shit, that hurts.

“Zhidi!”

She glares at her stupid little brother, half-crouched behind the arm of the sofa. “You’re fucking fixing that.”

“Why?” he snickers, pretending to pout, and she’s so tempted to just drag him out into the hallway by the hair and sling him down the stairs before he can finish the thought. “You’re so much better at magic than me, lili…”

“Yeah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms in the face of his unapologetic grin, “which means you need the practice more.”

Vincent groans, downcast. “But he’ll be so mad if I do it wrong!”

He huffs when she just sticks her tongue out at him in return, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Can’t you just do half, and I’ll copy?”

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes the debris from her slippers and picks her way over to the window. It takes some concentration, but she runs a hand over the splintered mess of the frame, watching as it sews itself back together. “This is my half.”

“But it’s so hard!” he whines, little brat that he is, and she hates how the obvious manipulation still tugs at her heartstrings. He’s sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa now, hands extended over the sparkling rubble of the chandelier. “You make it look so easy, jiejie…”

Alexis sighs, and begrudgingly reaches down to ruffle his hair. Tiny flakes of mirrored glass fall onto the carpet around him as she does it, slicing little papercuts into the tips of her fingers.

“You do all the light fixtures and the mirror, and I’ll do the rest.”

He looks up at her, suspicious. “Half the mirror.”

“Two thirds.”

“Three fifths.”

“Two thirds, and I don’t tell ba you dropped the chandelier.”

“Deal,” he graciously concedes, and they pinkie promise.

She rolls her eyes and pretends she can’t see him grin, knowing full well she’s being far too soft on him. “If he blames it on me, I swear I’ll key your goddamn Volante and make you watch.”

“What? No!” Vincent gasps, looking betrayed. “Don’t you know how much that cost?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says sweetly, “which is why you’re not going to fuck it up, are you?”

He mutters something unflattering in French under his breath, and she snaps her fingers accusingly in his direction. “What was that, didi?”

“Nothing.”

She smiles winningly, before waving her hand and dragging all the books up off the floor and back into the bookcase. “That’s what I thought.”

They clean up in silence for a little while, their earlier animosity dissolving unnoticed into dust. It’s slow going – neither of them are especially gifted with magic, or have very much of it at their disposal, so they have to keep stopping every few minutes or so to recover.

Before long, they’re both out of breath and exhausted, smashed crystal still crunching beneath their feet and coughing up white plumes of plaster dust.

“When’s he even coming back, anyway?” Vincent asks, peering at the tall jade vase he’s trying to coax back together. “Tonight?”

She nods over her shoulder, trying to stitch the long gash in the sofa cushion closed and failing miserably at getting the complicated pattern to match up again. “He didn’t say when, but it can’t b—”

“Fuck.”

Vincent cuts her off, staring down at his phone as it buzzes, before looking up at her with a grimace and turning the screen to face her.

I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’m sure nothing will be broken or out of place when I get back.

Of course he’s coming home earlier than they thought. Of course. Why wouldn’t he?

“What should we do?”

Christ, he’ll be furious once he sees what they’ve done to this room. If they really, really hurry, they might be able to get away with at least a little bit of it, right?

With a huff of exertion, magic builds beneath her palms, and all the fragments of mirrored glass scattered across the room start to shiver as she prepares to sew them all back together. The mantelpiece needs to be fixed, and there’s a whole section of the doorframe that’s almost totally gone, and she doesn’t even want to think about the horrible, gaping wounds in the wooden panelling that need to be repaired and relacquered…

“Come here,” she mutters to Vincent, beckoning him over to her and pressing her palms flat to his chest. He closes his eyes and nods, resting the tips of his fingers at her temples, and they slowly, carefully, start to reach out to each other.

Her threads brush clumsily against his, once then twice then three times, the connection weak and fluttering as they try to concentrate. She stretches as far as she can, searching for that familiar feeling, anticipating the sickening lurch in her stomach that she knows is surely going to come any second, the momentary freefall as her core latches on to his.

When it happens, it takes her by surprise – her knees buckle for just a moment, and she sways slightly from side to side. Vincent rests his forehead against hers to try and keep upright, and she feels his wordless reassurance through the fledgling bond.

How does he do it? Vincent’s only a few inches taller than her, even less so when she’s in heels, and yet he always seems to tower over her – the looming shadow in the corner of her eye, the impossible weight of his gaze on her through the crowd.

The perfect height for dancing, their father had said, laughing gently as they stumbled through a clumsy waltz around the living room. She’d stepped on Vincent’s toes almost as many times as he’d tripped over the hem of her long dress, a poor stand-in for the real one she’d be wearing at the summer ball in a few months’ time. Elbows up, xiaozhi. They will not be so forgiving in Marseille as I am, you know.

Magic pools beneath her skin as she siphons it greedily through the bond, flooding her core with Vincent’s stolen power, and she luxuriates in the sensation for a long, languid moment. Then, she grits her teeth, and focuses.

With the extra rush of his magic, it’s almost laughable how fast she manages to race through most of the remaining cleanup – the blood dripping down the windowpane vanishes, the claw marks in the carpet disappear, and even the mirror above the mantelpiece clicks neatly back together as if it were never broken. The slashes across the back of Vincent’s shirt close up, and all the little chunks of bloody cartilage stuck in her hair vanish without a trace.

Her brother staggers in her arms as she keeps pulling on their bond, and she manages to ease them both down onto the sofa without too much fuss, still trying to get as much of the chandelier fixed as she can. About half of the crystal is back in place, but the chain just won’t – she can’t quite—

“Enough!”

Vincent breaks away from her with a sharp, sudden breath, slumping backwards onto the newly-repaired cushions and clutching weakly at his skull. “Too much, lijie, too much…”

He gestures vaguely towards the door with one hand in what she thinks might be thirst, and she runs out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen as fast as she can to get some blood out of the fridge. There’s already a glass on the counter that he must have got out earlier, so she fills it up with the half-empty bottle of O positive.

Sharing their magic always does this, but once he gets enough blood in him, he should be fine in about twenty minutes or so. It’s a lot like bridging, that way. Their cores will be synchronised for a little while, and they’ll be more keenly aware of each other’s magic, but that doesn’t really mean much when their senses are already so sharp.

A vampire’s core isn’t magically rich enough to do a huge amount all at once, so sharing magic like this is generally their best bet for doing things quickly. It lets them make the most of their limited reserves – rather than working individually, one of them can keep feeding the other magic as they concentrate on the whole picture.

Her steps are quiet but urgent as she runs back upstairs with the blood, slippered feet sliding a little on the kitchen tile. How much longer have they got until ba gets back, again?

When she pushes the door open, Vincent hasn’t moved, still sprawled across the sofa with a hand pressed over his eyes. Gently, she folds the fingers of his other hand around the glass, and he mumbles out a slurred thanks as he gulps the whole thing down in almost one swallow.

She’s just about to try the chandelier again, threads uncomfortably sore and stretched, when there’s a sudden sound from downstairs. The faintest jangling of keys, the scrape of tiny metal pins in the cylinder as the lock turns, and all of a sudden—

“Hui jia le.”

Downstairs in the foyer, he doesn’t have to shout. He already knows they can hear him.

Vincent curses silently, staggering up off the sofa and disappearing off to his room as she flings whatever magic she can at the chandelier chain. If she can just get it to stay together until he goes out again, they can probably recover enough magic between them to be able to fix it properly, right?

“Lili?” Ba’s voice is soft yet confused, the quiet sounds of him taking his shoes off and hanging up his overcoat, wondering why they’re not saying anything. “Xiaozhi, where are you?”

The question is entirely redundant – they all know that he can feel exactly where in the house they are. Vincent isn’t saying anything, so should she keep quiet as well…?

No, it’ll be too suspicious if neither of them goes and sees him, so she throws one last worried glance at the chandelier and hurries out of the room. When she gets to the top of the stairs, he’s just putting his slippers on, and she does her best to keep her heart slow and her smile easy when he looks up and notices her.

“There you are,” murmurs baba, and holds out his arms for her.

Is it embarrassing, how quickly she scrambles down the stairs and throws herself at him? He laughs, strong hands catching her waist and lifting her clear off the floor in a brief, joyful circle. “Ah, I have missed you, chérie.”

“Missed you too,” she says into his shirt, curling happily into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, fondly kissing the top of her head. The Maker’s bond between them sings at their closeness, warm and comforting as it bubbles in her chest, and she feels him smile even though she can’t see it.

“Vincent is upstairs?”

“He, um…”

The words freeze on her tongue as she tries to figure out a half-truth that she’ll actually be able to say – she can’t lie outright, but she can say something that’s technically true, even if it’s not the whole story.

“Headache,” she mumbles noncommittally, and crosses her fingers that he won’t push it.

Ba hums quietly in acknowledgement, seemingly in acceptance. “I see. Was the patrol alright?”

He smooths his hand over her back in wide, slow circles, just the right amount of pressure. “No trouble, I hope.”

She shakes her head, and tries her best to relax. “Just some unempowered kids, looking for somewhere to have a bonfire. It was easy.”

There’d been about six or seven of them piled into some beaten-up old thing, driving down the abandoned road that leads to the gates of Wonderworld, clearly not sure where they were going. Even if she hadn’t spotted the dim headlights through the trees, or heard that god-awful music from the speakers inside, she probably could have smelt them coming – whatever they were drinking, it seemed less like moonshine and more like rubbing alcohol. If they go blind, it’s not her fault.

They’d stopped just before the gates, about to get out when she’d suddenly appeared by the driver’s-side window. He’d been surprised to see her, tapping at the glass until he rolled it down, and she’d taken the opportunity to have a little fun with it before she’d have to trance them.

Mm, you boys are out late, she’d drawled, leaning forwards and resting her arms along the edge of the window. Can I… help you, with anything?

She’s not stupid – she knows exactly what she looks like, and she knows exactly what to do with it. There’s always college students from the nearby towns sneaking into the woods at night, and they fall for it every single time.

Ah, it really had been cute. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way all of their eyes suddenly couldn’t stay on her face, conspicuously flicking back up to her eyes whenever she moved.

Just, uh…

The one driving had really, really tried, shifting awkwardly in his seat as she tilted her head to look down at him. Just lookin’ around, ma’am, nothin’ serious…

Nothing serious? She’d smirked at that, careful not to let them see the sharp tips of her fangs as she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face. Honey, you’ll break my heart, with talk like that.

His friend in the passenger seat still hadn’t stopped staring, slack-jawed, and she’d pushed herself up on her tiptoes to stretch her arm out towards him, pressing the tip of her fingernail under his chin to snap his mouth shut. Oh, it was like something out of a movie! She’d always wanted to do that in real life.

I can think of somewhere you’ll like.

Foolishly, they’d all been very liberal with their eye contact – trancing them had been as easy as anything.

As soon as I stop talking, you’re going to turn this car around and drive all the way back to the freeway, and you’re going to drive all the way to the next city before looking for somewhere to have your little party. You won’t remember this conversation at all, you won’t remember ever meeting anyone here, and you won’t remember anything about me.

She’d smiled nice and wide, scarlet eyes burning into each of them in turn, listening to their terrified hearts race at the monstrous sight of her. Isn’t that right, hm?

They’d nodded in unison, the driver’s hands already back to the wheel, and she’d blown them a kiss as they drove away and disappeared back into the trees. Ah, humans.

“Well, that’s good.”

Ba’s voice shakes her from the memory, slowly guiding her away from the door and towards the kitchen. “That reminds me – you should have heard the little ones tonight, my goodness…”

“Really?” She’s curious, not having met them before. “What did they say?”

Deft fingers pull the carafe of A positive out of the fridge door, and he blinks down at the bare countertop for a second before reaching up and taking a glass out of the cupboard.

“The Aguilars are… they are unchanged, shall we say.”

It makes sense. He’d been over at the Aguilar estate tonight to meet their new blood informally, before the Summit in a few months’ time when they’ll be properly introduced. The family is always very friendly, and she gets on very well with the aunties there.

Poor Vincent doesn’t like them as much as she does, but that’s mostly to do with that god-awful girl – a cousin from one of the branching bloodlines, she’s fairly sure – who’s had a crush on him ever since he was Turned, and who follows him around incessantly whenever they’re at the same parties. It’s hilarious to watch him try to shake her off, and the look of relief on his face when she finally steps in and makes up some lie about how he promised to dance with her is well worth the hour of complaining he’ll do later in the car on the way home.

The only thing is that it’s a big family. Much bigger than theirs, and it can be rather overwhelming when it gets loud. Obviously, ba doesn’t like to say anything about it, but she can feel his headaches building in the back of her own skull – his stronger senses mean he’s a lot more sensitive to the noise than she and Vincent are.

Still, they’re far more pleasant company than the House of Bennett. The only one who can make that family bearable to be around is cousin Porter, and that’s only because he likes to add a little of his own blood to the drinks so that they actually feel like they’re alcoholic.

She nods, leaning back against the sink. “Chatty, I take it.”

“Little… ah, what is it?” Sipping his glass of blood as he leans against the kitchen table, he gestures vaguely in the air with one hand. “Little pitchers that have big ears.”

It really shouldn’t be a surprise. Big houses mean more gossip, and freshly Turned vampires do love to put their shiny new senses to use.

She shrugs. “As long as they’re not spilling state secrets yet, it’ll be fine.”

“If the state tells its secrets to the House of Aguilar, we are already doomed, mon ange.”

They both laugh, washed in the pale light streaming through the windows, and baba closes his eyes as he reaches up to gently pull the fa zan from his hair.

He likes to tie it back when he goes out, partly to stop the wind from tangling it, and partly because it’s the way he says gentlemen used to be when he was young. Over the years, he’s amassed an almost staggering collection of little clips and ribbons and pins – a not insignificant number as gifts from her and Vincent – that he likes, but he generally just wears it down when he’s at home and there aren’t guests.

The moonlight turns the edges of his black hair to silver as he shakes his head with a relieved sigh, running his fingers through it quickly to smooth it out before flicking it back behind him. He likes to keep it long, at least several inches below his shoulder, and she’s always been so jealous of how he seems to make every hairstyle he tries seem so effortlessly elegant.

“Still,” he continues with a wicked smile, “you will see for yourself when we see them next. I think they will have many things to discuss with you, perhaps.”

He tips his head languidly to the side as he pushes his phone across the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Vincent from last summer. If she remembers correctly, it’s from when they were taking a break at the summer house down by the coast – he’s shirtless, knee deep in the water, turning back to the camera with a rakish grin, dark hair already wet from the splash fight they’d been having and fangs glittering in the moonlight from above.

In short, he looks painfully, achingly handsome. Scandalised, she smacks her father in the shoulder and gasps theatrically, like she can’t believe what he’s done.

“You didn’t!”

“I certainly did.”

“He’ll die!” she whisper-shouts, trying desperately not to laugh too hard. “He’s already having trouble outrunning marriage proposals from one of them, and you’re setting the new blood on him too?”

Ba just shakes his head, imperious, looking down his nose at her like he’s imparting some grave wisdom. “They asked to see a picture of my progenies.”

“So it had to be that picture?”

“I showed your picture as well.”

Resigned, she buries her face in her hands. “I dread to think.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic, chérie,” he laments, and he even has the gall to click his tongue in faux-disapproval when she narrows her eyes at him. “See? The picture is nice!”

It takes him a second to find it, but it’s just as bad as she feared – it’s from the same holiday as Vincent’s photo, probably taken later that night. She’s wearing that nice floaty sundress she bought in Singapore, barefoot in the sand as she blows a kiss to the camera, lips still stained with blood from whatever scarlet cocktail she’s holding in her other hand.

This was exactly his plan, in other words, and she’s going to fucking murder him in his sleep. If any of those upstart little ankle biters tries to chat her up, it won’t be pretty – the last one got a cake fork stabbed straight through his hand and several inches into the table beneath it, and the one before that still visibly trembles at the sound of her stilettos clicking softly against the floor.

“If I kill an Aguilar new blood at the summer ball, it’s your fault,” she mutters threateningly, hissing and baring her fangs at him when he reaches out to take her face in his hands and draw her closer. “I mean it!”

“Of course you do, xiao gong zhu,” he murmurs indulgently, and kisses her forehead. “You are telling me, so it must be true.”

Upstairs, the sound of floorboards creaking, fabric rustling. Vincent.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” ba adds nonchalantly, “about broken things.”

Shit. She blinks, innocent as anything as she beats back the guilty urge inside her that yearns to spill the truth. “What’s broken?”

“Lili.”

He raises an eyebrow, discreetly tapping the shell of his ear, and she strains to figure out what he’s hearing. “I am old, baobei. Not stupid.”

If she listens, really listens, she can just about make something out. Another noise, something much quieter – a sort of stiff, metallic creaking from upstairs, on the other side of the house to Vincent’s bedroom…

Her smile wavers as ba swans serenely past her, disappearing out into the hallway, deft fingers picking up his fa zan from the table as he goes past. “It is nothing, surely. Perhaps you will bring Vincent something for his head while I am changing?”

God fucking damn it – she might be able to fix the chandelier without him noticing, but what are the odds? He’s meeting that friend tonight, and if he’s going to change now then it probably won't be long until he goes out, but there’s no way of knowing if it’ll hold until then.

Scowling, she pours another glass of blood for Vincent, and one more for herself, before reluctantly trudging upstairs.

It's a fact of life, or at least a fact of vampirism: you can’t really have any secrets from your Maker, and that’s even without the whole truth-compulsion thing. No matter what you do, your Maker is always aware of what you’re feeling, when you’re feeling it.

The emotional bond never goes away, though the strength of its effects ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s so faint as to be almost nonexistent, a tiny shiver down the spine – and sometimes it’s almost overwhelming in its intensity, foreign emotions bursting out of nowhere like fireworks, blindingly bright and terrifyingly loud.

For young vampires, it’s a lot to get used to. Some take years to become accustomed to the bond, while others are oddly comforted by it. New Makers are often surprised by the strength of as well – it goes both ways, but generally the Maker feels more of their progeny’s emotions than the other way around. Nobody's really sure why.

More complicated feelings don’t come through especially clearly, apparently a little bit difficult for the bond to transmit, or perhaps for the other body to decipher. But simpler, more basic emotions are very, very easy. You might even say they’re too easy, in fact. Things like fear, sadness, joy – and, well…

He must already know what they’ve been up to. That sort of anger, the instinctive viciousness that comes so easily to them. They all know from experience how quickly that can wash over the bond, twisting and curling as it spreads like dark ink through water. After a while, it stops being so intrusive – it’s just how it works, and it’s not as though they can stop it. It’s possible to tune it out, and before long it generally goes away.

But a Maker with two progenies, both of whom are busy winding each other up at the same time? Who never seem to know when to quit, chasing that addictive, acidic feedback loop of rage that only ever seems to push them higher?

Ba doesn’t mind what they get up to, per se, as long as they keep it discreet and clean up after themselves. But even so, it’s not difficult to see how it could be… distracting.

He definitely knows what they were doing, is the point. And he clearly knows that there’s something they broke that she hasn’t been able to fix yet. She just needs to make sure it’s all neat and tidy by the time he gets back later, and hopefully they can all pretend that it never happened.

“What.”

Vincent glares at her from under his duvet when she pushes the door open with her foot, crimson eyes staring out from the blackness as she gets closer and closer. The lights are off and the blackout curtains are closed, so it’s almost entirely dark, but she can make out the shape of the bed well enough.

“Blood.”

She holds out one of the glasses, not breaking eye contact until a single hand slithers out from under the duvet and takes it from her.

He doesn’t seem to have thought about how he’s going to drink it, lying flat on his stomach and sprawled sideways across the bed, and she snickers under her breath as he blinks stupidly at the glass. With a flourish, she takes the second straw out of her own glass and drops it into his, sticking her tongue out gleefully at him when he mumbles something unintelligible into the mattress beneath him.

She shrugs – it’s close enough. “You’re welcome.”

Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she watches in amusement as he drags himself forwards under the duvet so he can get the straw in his mouth without having to lift his head, occasionally poking the mound of blankets that claims to be her brother in the side to see if he can feel it or not.

(He can. She knows. It’s just funny.)

Because she’s very generous, she gets up to grab a few of the books off his desk, stacking them up by the side of the bed, level with where his face is. He complains when she takes the glass back out of his hand, but acquiesces as soon as she puts it back down on the books, army crawling towards the end of the straw that’s now level with the top of the mattress and haughtily sticking it in his mouth.

“Better?”

The Vincent-shaped duvet creature next to her slurps loudly at his glass of blood, and doesn’t say anything.

She’d use telepathy, but she needs to save all the magic she can get. Quickly, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, turning the brightness down all the way and typing a message in her notes app to show him.

He knows something’s broken, and the chandelier chain isn’t going to last long if I don’t go and fix it. Do you have enough magic to help yet?

“No,” Vincent grumbles, and coughs pointedly.

Great. How much longer?

He coughs again, baleful red eyes turning to look witheringly up at her from his blanket nest, and she doesn’t have to be able to see his hands to know the gesture he’s making at her.

Fine, she types, as sarcastically as it’s possible to be when you can’t say anything out loud, but if he hears, I’m blaming you. Distract him.

Obediently, he starts moving around again, making sure the sound of mattress springs and sheets rustling is loud enough for her to slip out of the door and towards the drawing room they ruined earlier. Luckily, it’s in the opposite direction to baba’s room, but she still holds her breath and tiptoes as quietly as she can in case he—

“Lili?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

She whips around, totally innocently, to see her father beckoning her down the stairs as several sets of cufflinks rattle in his palm. “Come and help me choose.”

Helpless to protest, she’s forced to follow him down into the foyer, umming and ahhing over which cufflinks she thinks will suit his outfit the best. In her head, though, she can’t stop worrying about that damned chandelier, the creaking sound from upstairs that she’s sure is getting louder, the increasing amount of magic she’ll need to fix it as it surely gets worse and worse…

“A good choice as always, mon ange.”

She startles slightly as baba nods approvingly, smoothly taking the silver pair she’d mindlessly chosen and putting them on, before leaving the rest in the dish on the low console table. “I won’t be back until the morning, so you will look after Vincent, won’t you?”

Hastily, she nods. “Yeah, I will, I will.”

“Alright.” He rests his hands gently on her upper arms as he kisses both her cheeks, before taking his car keys out of his pocket and heading out of the front door. “See you later, chérie. I love you very much.”

“Love you too!”

She waits the agonisingly long half-second it takes for the door to close behind him before racing back upstairs, and she hears Vincent, still clutching his half-empty glass, scrambling out of his room at the same time. They nearly crash face-first into each other in their haste, yanking the drawing room door open and tumbling through it as fast as they can.

“I thought your head still hurt?” she says quizzically to Vincent, watching his hands trembling faintly around his glass, but he just makes a face.

“The alternative’s worse,” he replies, and she nods. He’s right.

She reaches for her core, willing the magic to come – it’s slow and it’s weak, but she yanks on her threads as hard as she can to try and summon it to her fingertips. The chandelier sways ominously above them as she screws her eyes shut to concentrate, and she can feel Vincent’s aura flicker next to her as he does the same thing. Come on, come on…

She’s nearly there, power surging under her skin and ready to be channelled outwards, when there’s a sudden—

“Shit!”

The magic fizzles uselessly away as her eyes fly open to see Vincent, clutching his head in pain, cursing as the front of his shirt is drenched in blood. There’s shattered glass all over the floor from where he’s dropped his drink, and she chokes down the irritated vampiric growl that rises in her throat. “Fucking hell, xiaodi!”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” he moans, slightly unsteady on his feet, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Look, at least it’s not the—”

Something moves, just at the very edge of her vision.

Above her head, the room plunges into blackout as something snaps.

“Move–!!”

She barely manages to shove Vincent away from her before the heavy metal body of the chandelier comes crashing down on her head. It’s not heavy enough to knock her out, but the surprise is enough that all she can do is stand there as 15 kilos of brass and crystal and electrics falls directly on top of her and shatters.

He skitters backwards, recoiling from the spray of tiny crystal shards that covers the floor for the second time today, nearly tripping over the leg of the side table as he goes. A thousand stinging papercuts split their skin, sealing themselves up and leaving tiny droplets of crimson blood dripping down their arms and faces.

Without even noticing, she instinctively catches one of the twisted metal arms of the chandelier that must have been sheared off when it impacted her skull, raw edge snagged painfully in her hair as it slides neatly down into her arms.

They’re so fucked.

They both freeze guiltily as a floorboard creaks outside in the hallway, far too close to be a coincidence, and she winces as there’s a polite knock, knock, knock at the door.

“We—” She chokes, breathing in a hacking lungful of debris, voice cracking slightly from her dry throat. “We’re in so much trouble.”

Vincent stares wide-eyed at her through the sudden dark, blood dripping slowly from his chin and soaking into the carpet..

“Yeah,” he mumbles distantly, “probably.”

The drawing room door swings open, and both their heads snap towards the open doorway so fast it would give a human whiplash. There, silhouetted against the light, car keys still jangling in his palm and running an exasperated hand through his long hair—

“What,” hisses William Solaire, raising an irate eyebrow at his children, covered in glittering crystal dust and leaking blood into a very expensive carpet, “did I say about breaking things again?”

The clan always sticks together. Family comes first – nothing and nobody could make them betray each other, and they’d rather die than leave one of their own behind. It’s the central tenet of their existence, the core fact of their messy, gory lives.

Some things are just… true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and there is no power known to men or gods that could turn the House of Solaire against itself.

Baba shifts his weight slightly, eyes narrowing accusingly.

And very, very slowly, Alexis and Vincent both point at each other.

link to the glass jaw pronunciation guide

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted vincent #redacted william #redacted alexis #redacted solaire clan #redacted porter #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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themonotonysyndrome · 1 day

Text

Ě̸̡̞̱̘̹̮̫͚̯͍͕̟̪͂̀̋̉̾͛̂̑̅͜͝c̴̢̺̟̣̠̤̽͋͒̄̄͂̆̿͗̑̊̒̒̕ḧ̷͇͍͉͉̺͈͙́̀͆̀̒̒̅̒͒̔̽ó̶͔̜̓͛̓̂̔̆͌́͆̉͂͘͝͠es of regrets

So! I saw this post from @rivyx (if you like, I can untag you. Just wanna give credit where credit is due):

And I thought:

"Man. It's been a while since I broke my own heart. Oh! Angst between Geordi and Cutie? How about I make Geordi regret for making Cutie believe that they need to multiate and hide the magical part of themselves and even the Empowered world because he doesn't understand a Telepath's needs?"

Hence. This oneshot. Shout out to @moonandstarlightsposts for helping me come up with the title!

(Yes. Yes. I know. Cutie was canonically at fault, too. I just wanna focus on Geordi regretting his actions for a change.)

Summary: Second chances come and go. But for Geordi and Cutie, perhaps they should have let it go by.

First comes the awkwardness.

It’s to be expected. A break was decided - no, needed - for the both of them after… well. No point in digging up bad memories. The two of them were heading down a dangerous spiral, and Geordi could no longer ignore the red flags. He’d been through too much to drown in toxicity and abuse again. Whether his partner realised it or not. And that’s the part that crushed his heart. A heart that Geordi painstakingly put back together with liquid gold and long nights of tearful frustrations. He told them about Ben. He told them how his ex callously disregarded his boundaries. And Cutie just -

Therapy was something they agreed to during their break. Geordi needed to address old trauma that re-open like wounds and Cutie -

‘I… I hope this isn’t me coming across as presumptuous, but one of my coworkers is a really good therapist. I think you’ll like him! His name is Cam - ’

‘I still have my old therapist’s number. Um. Thanks, though.’

‘O-Oh! Right. Of course. I should’ve thought of that. I just… never mind.’

That was the last text that Cutie sent. Even after they moved out of his apartment, the two continued to exchange careful messages with one another, awkwardly making sure not to step on each other’s landmines. However, as days gone by, the texts became more and more superficial: ’Morning. Have you eaten?’. ‘Just cereal. Thanks for checking up on me.’ ‘The weather forecast mentioned a thunderstorm. Don’t forget an umbrella, ok?’. When Cutie brought the subject of therapists to the table -

The texts stopped after that.

Geordi had no idea how lonely his existence truly was without Ben and Cutie. The two-bedroom apartment became too big. He cooked too much for a single person. His left side felt too exposed whenever his coworkers dragged him out for drinks and karaoke. It hurts. He has a habit of rubbing his left arm nowadays.

His therapist is a kind woman, the kind that has laugh lines all over her face. Older than him, more at ease with her place in the world, unlike Geordi. She never judges him whenever he finds the courage to unravel before her. Ugly, jagged broken pieces for a heart. Gold and bitter tears for the next few months.

Soon, a year passes.

Something settled within Geordi then. New foundations were built. The world is a little less lonely now that he has opened up to his coworkers, reached out to some cousins on phones and slowly put himself out there again. He had fallen in love with building LEGOs recently. A hobby that happily kept him occupied while a slow, reverb version of Evil by Melanie Martinez plays in the background of the living room.

It took a while, but he finally reached a point and mental headspace to put Cutie back into the equation.

His therapist's words constantly echo in his head, grounding him whenever his fingertips run on the rim of their favourite mug, red with little ladybugs on the ceramic. Witty, funny, confident, mischievous and kind - Cutie’s best would always outshine their worst in Geordi’s eyes. Perhaps that’s why he subconsciously ignores the raising red flags the more and more they tested his boundaries. Anyway, being with Cutie brought out the best of Geordi in return, which he never even knew existed. He loved them, plain and simple. He loves learning about them and their world every day of the week. He was so happy and content whenever they were in his arms. Growing old together was something he thought about when they drove back home from his folks’. Cutie was fast asleep, with their head gently resting against the window of the car. That moment was magical in its own way.

Geordi misses them. His incredible, one-of-a-kind partner.

He thinks about them more often than not nowadays, wondering how therapy is going for them. Had they fallen in love with any new hobbies? Did Cutie make any new friends outside of the Department? If so, he wonders what they’re like.

Thoughts turn to yearning. Yearning turns to Geordi, picking up his phone and texting Cutie first for once.

‘Hey. Good morning. How are you?’

The two of them never used to be awkward when they were a couple. Feeling hopeful, Geordi puts aside his phone as he continues about his day. Fixing himself a hearty lunch using a recipe that he can’t wait to share with Cutie and goes about doing the laundry afterwards. It’s only after his evening shower that a notification lights up on his phone screen.

‘Hey. I’m alright. You?’

Superficial. That’s OK, though. Geordi is not giving up.

The two resume texting every day soon enough as if the distance weren’t ever there. It makes him happy to be updated with every little thing that is going on in Cutie’s life. He spams GIFs and emojis at every picture they share and they, in return, slowly start to send over recorded audio of their little laughter and quips. It makes him miss them all the more. Enough to replay those audios over and over again whenever he can’t sleep at night. During those nights, his phone would always be on the right side of the bed.

Texting eventually evolves to calling when Geordi wakes up from a rather bad nightmare. Something so vague that it slipped from the recess of his conscious as he panted for air. Without even thinking about it, he presses on a familiar number. His call is answered almost immediately.

“Geordi? Why are you awake around this hour?”

Relief floods into his very being. They once fondly tease him that, no, their voice isn’t magic. Unlike Vampires and their special eyes, Telepaths specialised in minds instead. It’s his love that makes their voice special and it’s love that dispels the lingering nightmare.

“Geordi?” Cutie’s voice is hesitant at the end of the line. “Is everything ok? Do you have someone nearby that you can call for help?”

“No! No, no. I’m fine.” Comes his quick assurance. The shirt that he brought to sleep is drenched in sweat. His hair is matted to his forehead. He feels gross, and yet he doesn’t want to put Cutie on loudspeaker while he cleans himself up. “I just… really miss you. So much.”

Cutie’s reply is a whisper, “I-I miss you too. Can I ask if that’s the reason why you called me?”

“Yeah… had a nightmare; can’t remember what it was about. What I do remember is how you used to bring me to the kitchen, and you’d make warm chocolate milk for the both of us to help. You’d then talked me through it, helped me calm me down. Did I ever thank you for that? Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. I like taking care of you. And, uh, you did thank me. Always.”

Geordi lets out a ragged sigh. Those happy moments were just what he needed. “Did I wake you up? I didn’t mean to.”

“Nah, you’re good. I was doing some leftover documents for an assignment.”

Cutie never used to stay up past midnight. They like to sleep early whenever they can due to how mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing their job as an intel extraction officer can be. Cutie often rants about how the Department inefficiently run things, especially when it comes to bureaucracy. Perhaps this is one of their new habits? Speaking of which -

“How’s work treating you? Did you get that promotion?”

“Work’s alright. Are you feeling better now?”

Well, his heart was no longer racing, that’s for sure. But he still wants to hear their voice even through the static. “Like magic. You’re always the perfect cure for everything.” He waits for Cutie to laugh in that out-of-breath sort whenever he compliments them. Light and carefree.

Instead, they hum.

“Glad to hear it. Are you going to try and go back to sleep?”

“Only when you are, Cutie.” Geordi tries to flirt and perhaps coax them to rest for the evening.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll go to bed in a bit. Um. If that’s all - ”

Perhaps it’s because the nightmare that he can no longer recall had something to do with Cutie. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t heard their voice properly in so, so long. Whatever it is, it gave Geordi a burst of courage. He quickly asks before Cutie can hang up, “Wait, wait! Can I see you, Cutie? I just want to talk. Please?” He swallowed thickly. “I think we’re ready to discuss about… us.”

A thoughtful silence from Cutie.

“I’d like that. Where do you want to meet up?”

Geordi’s night becomes much sweeter after that. They talk and plan until his eyes grow heavy and Cutie’s documents are filed away. They even put him on loudspeaker and brought him to the bathroom so they could continue talking while they showered. God, the sounds of running water alone fill him with wants and images. He can’t stop picturing himself in that shower with them. So you can’t blame how incredibly giddy Geordi is when he finally sees Cutie walk up to the cafe the next day. They offered him a small smile as they made themselves comfortable across the table. Healthy and rocking a new fashion style when Geordi is busy absorbing every little detail about them. He could honestly stare at them like a work of art in the Louvre.

“So I’m here…” Cutie says rather unnecessarily. They scratch their cheek nervously. “You wanted to talk?”

He snaps out of a daze. Shit, he got distracted by his thoughts! For a split second, Geordi can’t help but wonder if they heard his inner ramblings. Judging by Cutie’s guarded expression, he lets out a sigh of relief. It sets his heart at ease to learn about this new side of Cutie. “Yeah. Thanks for agreeing to meet up with me. You look… god, Cutie. You look amazing.”

“Thanks! You’re not too bad on the eye yourself.” Cutie’s smile is wider now. “We’ve practically caught up to speed with each other lives for a while now. So, this is it. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it this time. I promise.”

That assurance dissolves any doubts that Geordi might have harboured. He’s more sure about his next few words than ever before. “I still want us to be together, Cutie. That never changed. Even when we were on a break, I had no one else. I love you, even when you broke my heart. Do you… do you still feel the same?”

Cutie reaches out to hold his hand, which is gripping a fork so tightly. He didn’t even realise it. The moment when skin meets skin, a familiar warmth spread across his arm. It’s like sunshine thawing out the chills in his bone marrow. He lets go of the fork in favour of holding their hand and squeezes it. “My feelings haven’t changed too. I love you so damn much, Geordi. I know I said it before, but I’m so sorry for hurting you. Words alone aren’t enough to promise you that I won’t do it again, but I’ll make sure my actions make up for it. From now on, you’ll lead where this relationship is going. I’ll follow” Steely determination glimmers behind Cutie’s eyes. God, they look so hot! Would his therapist finally judge him if he asked Cutie to drag him to the bathroom for a quickie? It’s been too long since they’re in him.

“Geordi? Are you ok? You look flush.” Some of that hesitation creeps back into Cutie. Dimming that spark of fire. He panics when their hand tugs back.

“Yeah! Sorry. My head’s a bit of a mess.” He begins to explain. Here, he lowered his voice; his eyes lidded. “Maybe you can make sense of it? You might like what you find, Cutie…”

“Oh!” For some reason, Cutie looks positively alarmed. A deer in a headlight. He had never seen that kind of look on their face before. Their sudden reaction threw Geordi off guard. Any lustful thoughts are completely replaced with concern now. “Maybe later. So, uh, where do we go from here? I can’t move back in just yet due to my apartment lease. Or do you want things to stay as they are right now for a little while longer?”

Continue this distance between them? Geordi doesn’t think he’s that strong of a man.

“Feel free to move in any time you can. My place is your home. You know that.”

That gorgeous smile slowly returns. This is Cutie at their best. After that day, things begin falling into place without a hitch. Cutie is back in his life. They bring their clothes and toiletries over when their lease is up -

“You kept my mug?”

“Of course I did, silly. Why would I throw it out?”

“Right… right. Sorry.”

“Cutie? Is something wrong?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Say, that recipe you bookmarked earlier, why don’t you let me take a crack at it? I’ll handle dinner tonight!”

- their routines fall into one once more, and Geordi couldn’t be happier. His world is no longer filled with silence and bitterness.

Second comes the realisation.

Geordi has been riding high on cloud nine ever since Cutie settled back into his apartment, into his life. Waking up to their sleeping face feels like a dream that he never wants to end. Their giggling when he rouses them with kisses is a bonus. He loves greeting the morning sun with a partner who is happy and satiated from the night before. And if Cutie is in the mood to play? Well! He’s more than happy to ruin the sheets for the third time in the span of six hours.

And don’t even get him started on domestic bliss.

Since Cutie’s work hours are a lot more flexible than Geordi’s, he’s forever grateful that they always have a pot of hot coffee ready for him on the table and a sweet kiss before he dashes out for the day. If he returns before traffic picks up in the evening, the couple would either go out for a dinner date or stay at home and binge-watch a new series while they eat in the living room. They alternate in cooking and cleaning depending on their schedule, but Cutie seems to have a habit of doing both whenever they can. The coworkers that he invited over for DnD sessions would whistle and nudge him on the shoulder when they looked around the spotless apartment, praising him for scoring the perfect partner after Cutie left them with a tray of snacks and drinks. Internally, Geordi preens.

When the weekends roll around, and it’s just the two of them lazying together in their sweats and old t-shirts, Geordi and Cutie would spend time together by combining their new hobbies. Geordi would lose himself in another LEGO building project while Cutie reads a novel on their phone on the couch. His favourite playlists play on and on, wrapping the couple in a peaceful cocoon.

That is until -

Geordi blinks, back in the present, when he suddenly hears the sliding door of the balcony softly shut. He sees Cutie outside talking on the phone, their back against him. He watches them moving their free hand animatedly for a few seconds longer before focusing back on the tower that he had been building. When the sliding door shuts again, he absentmindedly asks, “Hey, Cutie? What are you in the mood for lunch? Do you want to go to that Chinese restaurant down the street or…” His words trail off the moment he notices the frustrated lines on his partner's forehead. Their eyes were exhausted all of a sudden. Before he could say anything, his partner flashed an apologetic smile.

“Work called. Something came up. I need to step out in a bit, but I should have some time to make lunch - ”

Geordi stops them right there and then. He doesn’t want them to get more stressed out, especially when an emergency - he assumed - just happened. “No, no. Don’t sweat it. How about you go get ready while I make us lunch? I’d rather you have something in your stomach before you leave.” He replies, already up on his feet.

Deer in a headlight on Cutie. Again. What’s going on? “I can do it. It’s your rest day after all - ”

“Nu-uh. You just get your pretty ass in the shower, alright? I’ll have your favourites ready as soon as you step out of our bedroom door again.” Geordi assures them, but in reality? He’s so confused. They never so stressed out about cooking before. Seriously, what’s going on?

Cutie eventually nods. They kiss him on the cheek and make a beeline for the bathroom while Geordi takes out a wok and spatula. Their strange behaviour remains in his mind as he makes spicy stir-fry noodles. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve been going along with everything he likes nowadays. Cooking his favourite meals, making sure the laundry is clean and folded, helping him with the LEGOs, hanging out with his friends and letting him initiate intimacy and sex every time. They laugh when he tells jokes, as cheesy as they are. Apart from their clothes and toiletries, they haven’t brought back their Digimon plushies, or any of their physical books on the shelves. They hate horror movies, but when he absentmindedly suggests they watch Saint Maud, they agree without any hesitation.

It’s like they’re a satellite, faithfully orbiting Geordi’s every need and want. Why… why did he never notice that before? And when was the last time they went out to Cutie’s favourite restaurant again? When was the last time they did what Cutie wanted for a change?

Ah. Geordi remembers now. It was before they went on a break.

Something’s wrong with Cutie. Shit! Why didn’t he notice it before!? Was he truly caught up in his own world that he utterly neglected his partner’s?

The noodles are hot and plated, ready on the table, but Geordi feels so cold and empty. Guilt was heavy in his stomach. His grin is stiff when Cutie finally emerges wearing their standard work fit. Even in black slacks and a white collared shirt, Cutie looks like a model ready for the runway. They tuck into their meal, but Geordi doesn’t have much appetite for it. So many thoughts clash with one another in his head like angry hornets. He doesn’t even know where to start or what to ask. At times like this, Cutie would slip into his mind and act as his anchor. But ever since they got back together again -

“What time would you be coming home?” Is what comes out from Geordi’s lips, frustrated with himself.

Cutie stops washing their dishes to turn around. “If all goes well? In the evening. Probably before midnight, so you don’t have to wait up or put aside dinner for me. I can just grab something when I leave the office.”

And that’s another thing that Geordi just now realised. They don’t talk about work as much as they did before. When asked, sure, Cutie would always answer him, but it was never more than a, “Oh, my cases? Some old, same old.”, “These documents are pretty boring, actually. Something for the higher-ups to keep in their record.”, “The therapist I mentioned before? Oh, you mean Cam? He’s still working on the floor above mine.” Lukewarm. Tepid. Those are the kinds of replies that Cutie would often give him before the conversation seamlessly shifts to another topic.

Not once have they performed magic around him. In fact, ever since they got back together again, Cutie’s voice is constantly absent in his mind.

Suddenly, Geordi feels sick. He forces himself to put on a brave face, a mask that tells his partner that everything is alright, because their eyebrows begin to furrow in hesitation.

And now he knows why.

“Call me when you leave?” Geordi tries not to plead. His voice didn’t crack, that good. The last thing he wants is to get the love of his life in trouble with their superiors. They never did tell him if they received that promotion or not.

It’s a bittersweet victory when Cutie smiles again. “Sure! Have fun with your project, baby.”

They exchange a long kiss; he wonders if they find it weird that Geordi is reluctant to pull their lips away from him. He weeps and weeps into his hands when they leave the apartment. What has he done? Oh god, Cutie… he didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to drive them into cutting a part of themselves in order to make him happy. He didn’t mean to be so blinded when they made themselves smaller and smaller if that’s what they thought would make him happy. Would let them stay in his life.

He didn’t mean to hurt Cutie. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen! He thought that - he had hoped they got better, not - why couldn’t they just talk - has he become Ben?

Mrs Potato Head plays on and on while Geordi struggles to breathe.

Finally, in comes the heartbreak.

Geordi didn’t even wait for Cutie to come back. The moment he regained control of himself, he ran out with his phone and wallet. His eyes are rimmed-red, just like the setting sun behind him. He knows which streets are veiled against people like him; he just hopes he can ask for help from any Empowered folks who might be entering the Department. He has to fix this. He desperately needs to talk to Cutie. He needs them to know that he loves every part of them, that he loves the magical world as much as they do.

However, when he cuts through the park, he freezes.

Sitting on a bench a little further from the playground is his partner, crying in the arms of a stranger. Cracks begin to form in Geordi’s heart. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but judging from how the stranger does the talking and Cutie sighs and sniffles, it clued him in pretty quickly that they’re talking through him via telepathy. The stranger smiles sadly and offers them a handkerchief. His body language is serene, but the expression on his beautiful face is tight and worried. Is he a coworker? Another lover? Geordi doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Stricken, he watches them pat the stranger’s hand and gathers up their things. Leaving him on the bench as Cutie makes their way out of the park.

It’s at that moment that Geordi’s phone rings. He answers the call without a word.

“Hey, baby. Just left the office.” Cutie’s voice is hoarse. They clear their throat. This time, they sound more like themselves again - fake and bright. “Turns out one of the interns needed a stand-in instructor for tomorrow’s fieldwork. Since I’m on the way home, do you want me to grab anything?”

Geordi watches them wait at the same bus stop from which he just got off. “Why haven’t you talked to me through my head?”

“…Geordi, I’m out right now. Can we maybe talk about this at home?”

“OK. Why have you stopped ironing your work clothes with your hands?”

“I-I like using your new iron instead. What’s going on, Geordi? Did I do something wrong? Look, tell me how I can fix it, please? I don’t… I don’t know what I did wrong…”

Is this how it will always be when they’re together? Hurting each other whether they mean to or not? Acts of love turning into subservience?

The weaker side of him can’t help but wonder if it was a mistake for him and Cutie to get back together again if it means new sorrows and new regrets will always sour their relationship.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #fanfic #angsty #redacted geordi #redacted cutie #redacted camelopardalis

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 2 days

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The Pull Of You - Part 3

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes

Soulmates - Feeling the pull between each other indicates a bond. A kiss confirms it.

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's t-shirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

Chapter Summary: Something is definitely off with you and Bucky's worried.

You were quiet when you stepped off the jet, even as Bucky barrelled through the doors to the landing pad, Bruce close behind him.

He gave you a tight hug and planted a kiss on your head as he rocked you both side to side. It didn’t go unnoticed that you didn’t hold him as tightly as you usually would. He pulled back and checked you over.

“You OK doll? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine bubs, just tired.”

Bucky didn’t like the distant look in your eyes and he reached to brush the hair out of your face. You’d usually lean in whenever he’d touch you affectionately, even more so when he’d touch you face and you’d often move to kiss his palm when he cupped your cheek. This time though you just looked at him, still the distant look in your eyes.

“Babydoll, are you sure you’re OK?”

You nodded but stayed quiet. Bucky leaned forward and kissed your forehead softly. As he pulled away Bucky shot a worried glance at Nat and Clint, who were signing back and forth with Bruce.

Nat shared his expression and nudged Clint before heading towards you.

“Come on sestra, let’s get cleaned up.”

Bucky went to stop her pulling you away but Nat shot him a look and flicked her head towards Clint.

“Clint needs to speak to you, something about one of his guns jamming. Can you take a look before it goes in for repair? Tony will be pissed if he’s broken another one. Please?” Nat asked as she looped her arm in yours and pulled you away.

Clint gestured for Bucky to come over as he stood with Bruce, Bucky not missing their concerned faces as they watched you both walk away.

“This isn’t about a gun is it?”

Fifteen minutes later Bucky had slipped into your room with a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt for you to wear to bed, along with your hot water bottle. He slipped it into the centre of your bed, your spot, where you always were whether he, and now Steve, were with you or not. He thought back to when he’d first got the hot water bottle ready for you. Your fingers were broken from a mission and you were muttering in frustration under your breath as you couldn’t get it open. He’d been pacing around, wondering if he should check in on you post mission. You hadn’t been in the compound long, brought in by Nat and Clint, with a little help from Tony. Your knack of breaking and entering, and negotiating making you a an asset to the team. You’d been back for an hour and Bucky felt like he was climbing the walls. He’d tried his best but he couldn’t avoid the pull he felt when he thought of you, even when he didn’t think of you there was something there, a weight in his chest and he’d found himself gravitating towards you.

When F.R.I.D.A.Y had notified him you were back the pacing had started. It’d worsened when the AI had said you were injured. Once Friday had said you needed assistance, he had a valid reason to seek you out and he was down the stairs two at a time. Everyone else was out the compound on missions or meetings so he obviously needed to check on you. Right?

Whatever this was between the two of you had had started to become more of something then. The pair of you ignoring it or trying to before.

The post mission routine had started then. A water bottle in the bed. Your favourite PJs laid out, or Bucky’s clothes, and in the last week sometimes a t-shirt of Steve’s. Today though Bucky was a selfish bastard and all the items laid out were his.

You’d reciprocate when he returned from missions, making sure his bedroom lights were on low and that the soundproofing was on so he could have peace and quiet. A blow to his shoulder would lead you to run him a bath, adding in the oils you used and his towels were always the softest in the compound, even though he was pretty sure you’d stolen them from Tony and Pepper’s apartment when there weren’t any fresh ones. You’d reach out a hand to him to see if he needed you, if he nodded you’d embrace him and hold him until he’d had enough (he’d never had enough). If he shook his head you’d stay nearby, until he found you. Bucky had never gone more than an hour before seeking you out. The pull of you and him something that couldn’t be ignored.

He was passed hiding anything with you or anyone else. He knew what he felt for you. The pull throughout his body, how his thoughts strayed to you. He’d doubted it at first. It made no sense, his soulmate being here and now. ‘I must have been rewired wrong’ he decided. He’d faked an issue with his arm to get a meeting with Shuri, but she was no fool.

“I see how you look at her, are you questioning yourself or my work?”

He didn’t fake an issue with his arm or question Shuri’s rewiring of his brain again.

When he knocks you’re perched on the end of the bed looking at your phone, you’re quick to lock the screen but Bucky sees it’s a photo of you, him and Steve at one of Tony’s events. You practically throw the phone on to the bed like it’s burnt you and jump to your feet. Bucky notices you’re wearing your own clothes and his heart sinks.

He needed to talk to Steve.

TAGLIST

@imdoingbetternow @mcira @abaker74

#steve rogers x reader #avengers au #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #avengers #steve x reader x bucky #soulmate au #avengers soulmate au #steve rogers x reader x bucky

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whorediaries-09 · 2 days

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reflect in this heart of mine

pairing- sirius black x auror!reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, mentions of child abuse, substances. a/n- we're going so back on track with the angst after a couple more chapters 🥲

little train. series masterlist.

the taste of the cigarettes lingers upon your taste buds. you exhale out the smoke, watching it ascend into the night sky. it fuses with the wind, dancing with it, before evaporating all together. you lean towards the railing of the balcony, watching the cars pass by. the stars shine down upon you and sirius. he stands close, taking a puff from the cigarette that you'd passed to him.

he was standing closer to you. closer than you'd usually like. but in your imagination, he was still the fragile man who'd been freed from the unjust laws of the ministry a few days ago. in your imagination, he was still broken, who was trying to climb up each and every step towards freedom carefully.

'i don't know how you were so calm when harry came out. i hated how they treated him,' you said, breaking the serene silence. he laughs bitterly.

'neither do i, sweetheart,' he turns his head, handing you the the cigarette, 'perhaps, that's the work of my mother, you know, unconsciously teaching me to be rational during situations when i feel the need to lash out,'

you stare into his eyes. in them, you find a depth. in them you allow yourself to drown. it's as if he's a wounded hawk, crying quietly for the ones who left. it's hauntingly cold, when your lip quivers, when you try to speak. a lump forms in your throat, a strange warmth filling your body.

he doesn't urge you to speak. he allows you to stay silent. he lets the silence surround you into an escapable reflection of your body, soul and heart. it creeps into you, barricading with your ghosts. relentlessly, you find the words pouring back into your mind.

'i s'ppose so. i don't have great sympathy for parents who are complete assholes.' you say. its as if warm poisonous blood spreads throughout your throat. he moves closer to you. you smell the scent of petrol and his shampoo infused with the scent of burning tobacco. you tuck your lower lip underneath your teeth.

'why not?' he asks, after a painful silence. his hand nears your face, and for the first time in years, you flinch. he cradles your cheek, smoothening his thumb over your skin. you find yourself sinking into the warmth of the cold and calloused finger tips running over your skin.

'my parents were muggles. everything was fine...until it was not. when mcgonagall showed up at our doorstep on the evening of 25th August around 1976, everything changed. my parents showed their true colors...which weren't very pretty. in a span of few years, the insults they spewed towards the prejudice of our kind turned into physical abuse. my mom turned into a fanatic alcoholic, living on bottles of expensive booze and cigarettes. my dad turned into a cheater with hundreds of mistresses. money was low, and they couldn't afford to send me to hogwarts with the new books or uniforms. but that wasn't the issue. the issue was the only time they united was when it was to beat me. i had nowhere to go, no friends no extended family who could take me in. yet i left.'

sirius listens to you intently. for the first time, in your life yourself to be speaking your heart without being afraid, without falling apart into shackles.

but life seemed a little better when he lingered by your side, listening to you. it seemed you too, were no different than him. perhaps he was the one who was parallel on the other side.

finding courage fill yourself up, you graze your fingers with his. he clasps them, threading them into yours. he rubs little circles on the back of your hand. he smiles comfortingly.

'did you know what prongs used to do when we were sad? he used to play music and forced us all to dance,' he removes his hand from your cheek, putting it on the small of your back. he pulls you towards his body, putting your hand on his shoulder, 'perhaps he didn't know what would comfort us,' he flicks his wrist, turning on the record in the living room. 'but he tried his best. and it did comfort us,'

as the music grows, the beats falling into rhythm with your beats, you find the tears in your eyes fade away, the laughter from your mouth echoing down the hall as he swirled your body, pulling you back towards his body.

and perhaps, neither of you got enough love.

'you're a good cook,' you comment, tasting the pasta sirius had cooked for the both of you at your flat.

'i'm not,' he contradicts, 'you should've tried the food maa-uh james' mother made us,'

you weren't a person who cooked much. for what you made for your position, you could easily afford dinners and lunches everyday from little places around the city. while you did enjoy baking, cooking didn't come as of much peace within your patience.

'you're a good cook, accept it or not,' you say, swaying your fork in his direction. he chuckles, chugging down the glass of wine he'd poured for himself.

'i'm too attached to palak paneers and chapatis to care, honestly. she spoiled us rotten and gave us whatever we wanted. sometimes she'd make karela (bitter gourds)--uh what do you call 'em- bitter gourds yes, and we'd throw tantrums. if she was in a good mood, she'd make us a simple potato curry. but if she was in a bad mood, james would've been hit by a rolling pin-lightly of course.'

'maybe you should try making them,' you suggest, taking another bite of the pasta.

'maybe,' he said, pouring himself another glass of wine. silently, he slurped it down his throat. 'but i don't think i could ever fucking recreate the magic in her hands.'

'i'm sure nobody can recreate the magic of her hands. what i mean is, you should recreate the dishes in your way,' you elaborate. he smiles, leaning forward on the table.

'but i can't be the judging my own cooking now can i? i'd want someone who hasn't tasted maa's food,'

'i mean, i could do it,' you offer, chugging your glass of wine, 'another one please,' he smiles, pouring the wine into your glass.

'would you?'

'totally!'

'i'll be extra careful then, don't want you taking away my badge of 'good cook' now do i?' he grins. you chuckle.

'it's a verbal badge,'

'i don't care,'

you lick your lips, staring into his eyes. for the first time in years, you see the light of a young untainted man sitting in the dusky glow of your dim kitchen light. it's a serene silence that falls around you.

'you'll have to come by my house though. i have to go to office tomorrow and i'll be too tired to go back to your place,' you say. he nods, acknowledging your words.

'i will,' he says.

sirius was drunk. a glass of wine turned into too many, and for someone who used to have a high tolerance for alcohol-he's absolutely fucking wasted. he's slumped against your couch, trying to get up. but every time he tries to, the world spins and he falls right back down.

the television is background noise at this point, in this drunk haze he watches you slumped over paperwork spread on the table. he decides to not drink anymore, but rather focus on the way you hold your pen, on the way your hair is tied back into a mess to prevent the strands brushing your face when you work, on the way your reading glasses rest atop the bridge of your nose.

'you're so stunning, dove,' he whispers. in his mind the voice only reaches his ears, but you hear him all right. you jerk at the sudden compliment, blood rushing to your cheeks. you slide your glasses up to sit on your head.

'sorry?' you whisper back. he tries to get up, smiling dopily. wobbling on drunk feet, he walks towards you while you get up, walking forwards to catch him, warning him of a fall if he doesn't walk properly. he lifts up his finger, booping your nose as you wrap your hands around his waist, carrying him to your bedroom.

'i said you're so stunning, dove,' he whispers. you laugh, plopping him down on the bed.

'you're drunk.'

'i'm not,' he argues. he takes off his shoes, pulling his socks haphazardly. he unbuttons his shirt, falling down on the soft mattress. you laugh.

'yeah of course you're not drunk. you're not going home today. sleep here,' you instruct.

'you do enough talk, my little dove. why do you cry?' he slurs. the question catches you off guard. you stand still as he adjusts himself onto the pillow underneath his head. he catches your wrist, pulling you closer to the edge of your bed.

'stay?' he says. you nod. you walk around the bed, sitting beside him. you run your fingers into his hair. his slurred question echoes in your head. you felt your eyes droop.

perhaps there wasn't much difference within the both of you. perhaps both of you were broken souls, intertwining with each other to feel loved.

did you get enough love?

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original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

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#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #marauders era #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #fanfiction #james & peter & remus & sirius

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avisisisis · 5 months

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To add a little more to that post about how peaches represent SWK and Mac's relationship:

In the mountain, Macaque is the one to crush the peach in his hand. He offered it to Sun Wukong, and when he didn't accept it and instead yelled at him, he destroyed it and threw it on the ground

In the end, it was Macaque who left first, not the other way around. Now, their broken relationship isn't completely his fault, but he did play a part on it

SWK screamed at him when he tried to mend their friendship, so instead of trying again, he left. That's what broke their relationship for good. Not Sun Wukong yelling, not Liu'er Mihou not looking for him, but Macaque leaving and (as far as we know) not coming back. La gota que colmó el vaso, we could say. Stuff had already been going on between those two. SWK never seemed to genuinely listen to Macaque and his promises of staying forever were empty (he never would've been able to stay in one place for so long) and Macaque never even bothered to communicate his negative feelings over this, so when he warned him he was ignored

Sun Wukong left again and again and again, looking for more power to "be strong enough to protect them", and eventually he lost sight of why he was doing it. But no matter how many times he left, he came back. Macaque didn't

#they both did what they wanted from the other #swk wanted mac to be able to leave when he wanted on the condition that he'd always come back #mac wanted swk to stay w him and be loyal to him the same way he was to swk forever #swk promised they'd stay there forever but even if he had tried he would've eventually broken that promise #the one time macaque left swk on his own he never returned #they both hurt each other so much #it wasn't a one-sided thing like so many ppl believe #“oh but swk left and killed macaque! he's a selfish shit!” “but macaque abandoned swk n hes technically the one at fault for everything!”#shut up #i'm not gonna say neither of them were at fault. cuz they both were #but it wasn't one-sided #now the difference between them is how they act about it. swk is trying to be a better person and to not repeat his past mistakes #macaque gets angry and torments mk (who is a child especially compared to him) for being close to swk #and tries to convince him that swk is a terrible mentor when in reality he's never hurt mk (yet. and even then it wasn't intentional)#most of mk's problems w swk come not only from the fact that swk sucks at communication but also from teh fact that everyone's+#talking shit abt him. they're saying swk sucks n make mk doubt him n himself when swk rlly is just trying his best #anyways i'll get more into that later #lmk #lego monkie kid #sun wukong #the six eared macaque #liu'er mihou #swk #the monkey king #shadowpeach #lmk season 4 #peaches #avis talks #avis' post

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captsharonstark · 1 year

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James Bond and Madeleine Swann in Spectre vs No Time To Die.

#James Bond #Daniel craig #Madeleine Swann #lea seydoux #00swann #okay but this hurts #because he didn’t hesitate to hold her hand when she was she was scared #but in NTTD he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time for obvious reasons #because they weren’t on good terms #they were broken up - they had hurt each other #and she didn’t even want to shake his hand anyway #but he notices that she’s scared almost as though he knew she might be #given who they were about to see #and you KNOW he wanted to take her hand #he wanted to hold her hand and comfort her and reassure her that it was alright #but he couldn’t #and she probably wouldn’t want him to even though deep down? she likely did #she just couldn’t admit that and she wouldn’t let him #but you know she thought about that moment in Spectre #when he held her hand because she was scared #and she wanted to in that moment but she couldn’t #MY HEART UGH #my gifs #parallels

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yana125 · 23 days

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Me @ Fucking Life, just because something sounds interesting in a fic doesn't mean I want to experience it in real life 🙃

#(I made this unreblogable I hope it works EDIT: it works :D)#it's friends to 'friends'(???) to slowburn but speedrun maybe enemies what the fuck #you know the feeling when you know someone longer and better than almost everyone around you #and they are going through this change to the worst but you don't think it was that severe at first #because you two are still in good terms with each other #and you DO know each other almost to the core like you have this deeper understanding between the two of you #and they act like usual around you with every good and bad aspect of their personality because you DO KNOW them #and know the causes and causations of their mood and behaviour and you can maneuver through it because YOU KNOW THEM #and you accepted them WITH the GOOD AND the BAD #and you know EXACTLY what toppled the first domino in this negative change because YOU JUST KNOW THEM THAT DAMN WELL #and you KNOW they think highly of you because your opinion matters to them #because whenever you had a disagreement and you knew you were right and they knew you were right and you were disappointed in them #they were ashamed because you were disappointed AND you BOTH knew that because YOU KNOW EACH OTHER #and with every good and bad and positivity and negativity and agreement and disagreement and arguement #they are the most influential person in your whole damn life even if they have no clue about it because without them you wouldn't be you #because they were at the center of life changing realizations about yourself and you will be forever grateful for that #but then as time goes by and as you try to explain to others why this person does what they do BECAUSE YOU KNOW THEM #and the negative changes are getting closer to people close to you and trying to explain starts to sound like a broken record #you get to a point when you get tired of explaining and it hurts you so damn much that the person you knew is slowly but steadily #getting replaced by this new person you don't want anything to do with #and you are standing up for the people close to you they hurt and they are getting angry at the person you stood up for #because how dare these people turn you against them because they feel ashamed that you are disappointed in them #but in reality this new person they are is the one who turns you against them #and you are getting this 🤏 close to your breaking point #and FUCK my life they are STILL important goddamnit.........#I don't want my life to be a latin american soap opera but I know the pattern of our relationship and a confrontation is imminent #love and peace on planet earth

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urfriendlywriter · 7 months

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How to write smut ?

(@urfriendlywriter | req by @rbsstuff @yourlocalmerchgirl anyone under the appropriate age, please proceed with caution :') hope this helps guys! )

writing smut depends on each person's writing style but i think there's something so gut-wrenchingly beautiful about smut when it's not very graphic and vivid. like., would this turn on a reader more?

"he kissed her, pulling her body closer to him."

or this?

"His lips felt so familiar it hurt her heart. His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed. She let herself sink into his embrace as his hands flattened against her spine. He drew her closer."

(Before proceeding further, these are all "in my opinion" what I think would make it better. Apply parts of the advice you like and neglect the aspects you do not agree with it. Once again I'm not saying you have to follow a certain type of style to write smut! Creative freedom exists for a reason!)

One may like either the top or the bottom one better, but it totally depends on your writing to make it work. Neither is bad, but the second example is more flattering, talking literally.

express one's sensory feelings, and the readers will automatically know what's happening.

writing, "her walls clenched against him, her breath hitching with his every thrust" is better than writing, "she was about to cum".

here are some vocabulary you can introduce in your writing:

whimpered, whispered, breathed lightly, stuttered, groaned, grunted, yearned, whined, ached, clenched, coaxed, cried out, heaved, hissed

shivering, shuddering, curling up against one's body, squirming, squirting, touching, teasing, taunting, guiding, kneeling, begging, pining, pinching, grinding,

swallowing, panting, sucking in a sharp breath, thrusting, moving gently, gripped, biting, quivering,

nibbling, tugging, pressing, licking, flicking, sucking, panting, gritting, exhaling in short breaths,

wet kisses, brushing soft kisses across their body (yk where), licking, sucking, teasing, tracing, tickling, bucking hips, forcing one on their knees

holding hips, guiding the one on top, moving aimlessly, mindlessly, sounds they make turn insanely beautiful, sinful to listen to

some adverbs to use: desperately, hurriedly, knowingly, teasingly, tauntingly, aimlessly, shamelessly, breathlessly, passionately, delicately, hungrily

he sighed with pleasure

her skin flushed

he shuddered when her body moved against his

he planted kisses along her jawline

her lips turned red, messy, kissed and flushed.

his hands were on his hair, pulling him.

light touches traveled down his back

words were coiled at his throat, coming out as broken sobs, wanting more

he arched his back, his breath quivering

her legs parted, sinking into the other's body, encircling around their waist.

+ mention the position, how they're being moved around---are they face down, kneeling, or standing, or on top or on bottom--it's really helpful to give a clear picture.

+ use lustful talk, slow seduction, teasing touches, erratic breathing, give the readers all while also giving them nothing. make them yearn but DO NOT PROLONG IT.

sources to refer to for more: (will be updated soon!)

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amu-says-hav-says · 10 months

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I can’t believe I went through all of Season 2 assuming Nina was the stand-in for Crowley when you actually pay attention it’s so CLEAR that she’s Aziraphale. I was tricked by her spiky, sarcastic, cynical outer shell and lulled into a false sense of security by Maggie’s bubbly optimism and wholesome goodness, because on the surface they reflect the ineffable husbands perfectly, in their personalities, their aesthetics, even many of their actions and morals. but not, and this is the real key, when it comes to their “relationship”. but those first impressions really had me damn fooled.

I missed the blatantness of Nina’s “we’re just friends. actually we’re not friends. we barely know each other.” the same thing Aziraphale said in season 1. the way he still struggles to quantify their friendship when Nina asks. Nina’s sarcasm when Crowley asks about rain and awnings because it worked for him (we all know it LMAO). hell, that whole convo the girls have in the rain is so AziraCrow (“I know. I’m not your type” “...You have no idea” hits so much harder the second time, help meeeee.) “Lindsay” maybe being symbolic of Heaven and Aziraphale’s toxic relationship with them and their abuse? (the handwritten text messages in red pen make me think of angry notes on paperwork, anyone else?) because Crowley has never actually cared about what Hell thinks of him, just not getting into trouble (or him or Aziraphale getting hurt). Maggie is always chasing Nina. NINA NEVER GOES IN THE RECORD STORE. Just like Crowley always goes to the bookstore, to Aziraphale, Zira NEVER WENT TO THE FLAT (apart from The Swap but that doesn’t count imo). Crowley has always chased Zira, not the other way around. Always there to rescue him, always going to him for company, always relying on their shared connection, always US. OUR SIDE. All through season one, he comes to Zira every time to work together, never trying to work alongside Hell in any way that isn’t to save their skins or Earth, while Zira hides things from Crowley because he STILL thinks Heaven is ultimately good and will do the right thing if he can just show them. fix it from the inside.

Maggie working up the courage to finally say something, to put herself out there, while Nina is utterly oblivious and then when she does realise Maggie has feelings, becoming standoffish, putting up that barrier, fighting it, denying it, ITS SO CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT ORDER. the way I was fooled into thinking Nina’s trust issues are Crowley because he does have trust issues ofc he does BUT Crowley has ALWAYS TRUSTED AZIRAPHALE. has always relied on him. has always been hurt when Aziraphale doesn’t immediately reciprocate the way he expects (the holy water request, the bandstand, the “off in the stars” etc). he’s always the one putting himself forward. Aziraphale has always been the one to second guess everything, to fight their connection, their similarities, their friendship. the girls really made me think it was going to be okay when they sat Crowley down, even as my inner sirens were going haywire about Metatron interfering, they were telling Crowley he just needs to open up and it’ll all work out BUT HE’S ALREADY AT THAT POINT. he may not say it, and by gosh is that part of their damn problem, but he’s always SHOWN IT. he’s not Nina who needs time to heal and recover from her broken trust, he’s always been Maggie believing it doesn’t matter, they’ll end up together in the end anyway AND I WALKED RIGHT INTO THE TRAP THAT THIS MEANT THEY WERE GOING TO BE OKAYYYYYYYYYYY

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #GO2 #GO2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #not me going to my basically unused sideblog that isn't GO related because I NEED TO YELL THIS SOMEWHERE #I mean outside of the relationship thing there are so many ways #that Nina and Crowley line up and Zira and Maggie #but the girls story isn't about them as people #it's about this relationship the boys are tryna push on them and what that relationship reflects about the boys #anyway I'm on my first rewatch for all the clue I missed #so I imagine I'll only spot more clues to berate myself about as I go #HOW DID I FALL FOR ITTTTTT #I can't believe I was so blind #OFC the Disaster Puppy Lesbian was Crowley #and OFC the Emotionally Abused Tortoise was Aziraphale

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faexoxoxoxo · 4 months

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My Love Mine All Mine...

Pairing : Alpha!Gojo Satoru x fem!Omega reader

Warning : 18+, breeding kink,...

Alpha! Satoru who always laughed at the idea of soulmates and destined lovers, considered himself too free-spirited to ever get saddled down with such a domestic way of life.

Alpha! Satoru who's famously known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, "not my fault they get attached..." Was the response he'd give whenever asked about the way he treated the woman who fell for him.

Alpha! Satoru who gets annoyed every time the clan elders force him to attend the yearly moon festival, where unmated members of different clans would gather in hopes of finding their mate, a tradition he has no interest in, but regardless is made to partake in every year.

Alpha! Satoru who stands in a corner alone trying to avoid all the desperate omegas who usually swarm towards him, each attempting to convince him they were meant to be his mate.

Alpha! Satoru who feels his whole body tense up when he catches a whiff of an intoxicating smell in the air, one that causes the logical part of his brain to shut down as a more predatory side of him surfaces.

Alpha! Satoru whose eyes frantically searches the area as he makes his way around the large room, shoving and passing the people in his way, heart pounding furiously in his chest while he tries to pinpoint the location of the scent.

Alpha! Satoru who gets a rush of excitement when he finally finds the source of the delectable aroma, you.

Alpha! Satoru who approaches slowly, scanning you from head to toe, taking in every little detail.

Alpha! Satoru who knows you're his mate, the other half of his soul, he doesn't know what to feel, never having wanted this, yet can't bring himself to turn away from you as the surge of desire to claim you on the spot washes over him.

Alpha! Satoru who lets out a low warning growl, as he sees you take a step back, standing behind your friends, his eyes narrowed as if to say, "Don't even think about running away from me." Striding forward, his presence was enough for your friends to back down, giving you an apologetic look before leaving you alone with Satoru.

Alpha! Satoru who noticed the change in your scent, how it went from sweet to sour, making him regret how aggressively he behaved. The last thing he ever wanted was to spook his little mate away. "No need to be afraid, princess," he attempted to ease your worries. "Promise I won't bite, unless you want me to..." he adds playfully, hoping to make you see he wasn't a threat.

Alpha! Satoru who sighs in relief when you nod, accepting his apology, a soft smile on your face as you agree to let him court you. "You won't regret this, princess !" He grinned, pulling you close and nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Alpha! Satoru who goes above and beyond to prove he's the perfect mate for you, pulling out all the stops by sending you flowers and presents, taking you on little dates whenever he's free, and showering you with affection. His gentle attitude towards you, shocking everyone who'd known the old him. No one could've imagined a day would come when the Gojo Satoru would behave like a lovesick teenager.

Alpha! Satoru whose love for you, grows deeper and deeper with each passing day, and with it, so does his possessiveness. Every once in a while, his instincts scream at him to rip out the throats of anyone other than him who gets close to you.

Alpha! Satoru who gets even more clingy when your heat approaches, finding it harder to keep his hands to himself, especially when you smell so damn good, it's like you're begging him to fuck his pups into you.

Alpha! Satoru who forgets all restraint the moment he gets a call from you begging for him to come home as your heat started earlier than expected, "please...please...please alpha need you in me so bad it h..hurts..." The words had him racing back home, business could wait, right now; he needed to be balls deep inside his precious mate.

Alpha! Satoru who walked into your bedroom and saw you, curled into the sheets, humping a pillow, trying to get some relief, but the moment you see him, you'd abandoned that instead getting up to pull him into your nest.

Alpha! Satoru who planned to take it nice and slow knowing this was your first time ever having cock inside you, but before he could get to prepping your virgin cunt, you'd unbuckled his belt, taking out his throbbing shaft, and slipped him inside your sopping pussy, but then bursting into tears at the feeling of getting stretched out, droplets of blood staining his cock.

Alpha! Satoru who hushes you, "Told you not to be impatient, princess...see what happens when you don't listen to daddy...It's okay, I got you..." he takes over, flipping you on your back, his hands working around your body, trailing kisses down your neck to distract you from the pain as he's slowly rocking back and forth, trying to get you used to the feeling of his cock.

Alpha! Satoru who loses himself to the sensation of your tight warm hole sucking him in, the feeling of his tip bullying your sweet spot with his rough thrusts, making you moan, once pain now turned to pleasure, your hips moving up to meet his, legs wrapped around his waist as your fingers dug into his back, drawing blood, earning a grunt from Satoru, who loved it whenever you played a little rough with him.

Alpha! Satoru who's lost count of how many times he had you creaming around his cock, not planning on stopping until he's given you every last drop of his cum in his balls, the image of you swollen heavy with his pups making him pound into you with a ruthless pace, watching the mixture of your juice and his seed dribbling on to the bed.

Alpha! Satoru who doesn't pull out even after you're both done, "good girl...gotta keep daddy's load inside to make sure it takes..." he coos, wrapping his arms around your exhausted frame as you drift into sleep, his fingers rubbing your swollen cum filled tummy, silently promising to forever keep you and your future pups safe...

A/N - it's 3am and I'm done lol not sure how well i worded all the words but it was my first time writing for gojo so hope everyone who reads enjoys this !

Thinking of maybe writing something something for geto soon soooo stay tuned...

Vampire Suguru fic

Likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

#fae.xoxo #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #yandere #gojo satoru headcanons #alpha x omega #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse

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obsessivevoidkitten · 6 months

Text

Hellbound Angel

Male Yandere Demon x Male Angel Reader (CW: Noncon, drugged reader, drugged sex, drug-like cum, drug-like saliva, big ol' horse cock, literally equine dick, belly bulge, armpit kink, scent kink, musk, underwear sniffing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, temporarily mind-broken reader, religious themes, dehydration, forced feminization, reader has minor injuries not inflicted by yandere) Word Count: 2.2k

In the never-ending war against the legions of Hell, the middle ground where most of the fighting was done was on Earth. However, the heavenly forces sometimes deemed an incursion into Hell necessary.

You had been sent on a mission to scout ahead and take note of the coming forces.

Angels were stronger than most demons. Even so, almost your entire squad had been wiped out in a bloody ambush. The other survivors had used the one holy recall scroll to teleport themselves back to heaven.

Each squad sent into Hell is given one and only one. They probably thought you were dead already when they left still with demons in pursuit. They had to act quickly. You didn't blame them. Without it, you were trapped here. Unless you could find a demon's gate that could take you to Earth. That's how the demons made it out. But there would certainly be legions of the enemy at such places.

You had managed to escape the slaughter of your scouting party, but you were injured. Your wings had been hurt as had your leg. Relatively minor injuries, but in a hostile land, they certainly made things more difficult.

To be honest, you weren't exactly the strongest angel on a good day. This was not a good day.

You limped along the rocky landscape, using your holy staff as a walking stick. You stayed low to remain unseen by any wandering beasts or demons as you made your way out of the fiery wastelands and into the white sand desert. Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone. It was the most popular depiction of Hell's most dramatic landscape, but there were other biomes, too. Now you were getting into one of the many deserts Hell had to offer.

It was cooler than the burning wastes, but by no means was it comfortable. Water and food were scarce, the white sands were nearly blinding, and the swirling black sky was a constant ominous reminder that you were not safe.

You could go a long time without food and water. You wouldn't die without them, but after a while, you would wither up and be unable to move. You'd go into a kind of stasis. And then you'd be defenseless.

For days, you wandered. At least... you thought it was days. Despite the perpetually black sky the sun never set. Your lips were chapped, your wounds aching, hope dying in your heart. You had to find an oasis to rest at. Build up your strength. From the limited maps you had seen of this region of Hell there should be one at the heart of this desert, but with your wings and legs messed up it would still take many days still to reach it.

There were several more days of endless marching, hobbling on your injured leg that was getting harder and harder to walk on before you finally saw the oasis in the distance. You tried your best to approach stealthily, going behind dunes and sand drifts whenever possible, and wrapping your white wings around you to provide some measure of camouflage with the white sands. As you got near, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. And out of the smoke stood a demon. It was a trap.

Dark brownish red skin, sharp horns, a tail flicking back and forth, and he stood at least a foot taller than you. He was very muscular, his sweat coated abs glistened in the sunlight. He wore nothing. His long horse-like cock and big nuts swinging freely below a thick patch of black pubic hair.

You caught yourself accidentally staring and looked away quickly before readying your divine staff for a fight. Which was really hard, since you could barely stand without it.

The demon winked and chuckled.

"Do you like it~ There's no harm in just looking, you know?"

He closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and knocked the staff away in one fluid motion.

"As a matter of fact, you can do a lot more than look, little bird. My cum would make you feel so much better~ That oasis you're looking for is still miles away."

"Uh, thanks for the kind offer, but I think I will pass. I'll just be on my way and out of your hair."

You stepped back slowly, hoping to make it to your staff so you could maybe limp away and give him a good smack if he followed. But he wasn't giving you the chance.

"Oh, but you're dehydrated!"

He took a few steps forward until there were mere inches between you. He put a hand on your cheek and thumbed at your chapped lips gently.

"Your lips are all dry. Let me help~"

Before you could decline, he held your head in place and leaned down. He traced and prodded your sore lips with his long slick tongue.

You tried to push him away but couldn't do much in your current condition. And the saliva was having some kind of effect on you.

He slipped his tongue past your lips and kissed you greedily.

Your head grew fuzzy and your legs weak. His spit was some type of drug. It felt... nice...

You resisted it as long as you could, even resorting to biting his tongue, but he ignored it and continued. Moments later, you slumped against him, your head on his muscular chest. The only thought in your head as you passed out was how nice this man in front of you smelled.

He picked you up gently and carried you bridal style. It was fitting since you were certainly his little bride now, as far as he was concerned. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head and then started walking towards the underground dwelling he called home.

When you woke up, your wounds had been healed, and you felt a lot better. Though you were still dizzy. There was an intoxicating smell all around you and you didn't recognize your surroundings.

Your first instinct was to jump up and flee, but you were immediately pulled back down and placed in the lap of your demonic captor. His monstrous cock poking out between your thighs.

You looked down and realized you were naked, your soft cock and balls laying on his unnaturally warm prick.

"Let me go!" You elbowed him as hard as you could but he must have made sure you stayed drugged because you couldn't muster up any strength to put into your struggle.

"Let you go? After all the trouble I have gone through to romance you?"

"Romance!? You kidnapped me and I don't even know who the fuck you are, creep!!"

You struggled with renewed anger, smacking your head backwards, elbowing, kicking, and scratching. All amounting to you gasping for breath, tired, while he chuckled at the attempt.

"You're in Hell! I could have raped you and left you in the sand to be killed by any passing monster and that still would have been considered romance."

He placed his large hands on your legs with his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your thighs.

"I saved you from the desert, treated your wounds, let you rest for days, fed you, gave you water, and bathed you. That is damn romantic!"

He started assaulting your neck with little licks and kisses, enjoying how you squirmed in protest while sitting on his equine cock.

"As for the name that you'll be moaning when I bury myself in you, it's Tevrik."

"My friends will come back for me. You should save yourself the trouble and let me go now!"

This was a bluff, of course. They almost certainly thought you were dead. You didn't know if your deception would work, but you didn't expect him to respond with a cackle.

"No, they won't! Rathiel won't let em!"

A shudder went through you at the mention of your boss who had ordered the mission into Hell.

"He's one of Hell's best agents. Gives us lots of intel."

You were dumbfounded and fell silent a moment before regaining your composure and replying angrily.

"Lies from a worthless demon!"

"I'd never lie to you, sweetie~"

He trailed his hands up and down your thighs as he continued.

"How else did we set up that ambush? Rathiel sent you to us. We needed more angel blood. But not yours."

Your blood ran cold as he began grinding into you.

"I picked you out from a bunch of employee profiles just to be my little princess. I'm half angel myself and wanted an angel bride~ We'll rule this region of Hell together!"

He repositioned you on his lap to face towards him as his flared cock grew fully erect.

"You weren't supposed to be hurt in the battle. I'm so sorry about that. I killed the demons who did it."

You didn't even struggle when he positioned you above his dick, hot precum smearing your hole as his cock pressed against it. The betrayal drained the fight from you.

"After the battle, I just followed you for a bit, so you'd be tired. And now here you are. With me."

The precum and smell of his arousal were making you dizzier. The words he spoke brought tears from your eyes.

"Awe, don't cry. After we have some alone time to adjust, I'll take you to the palace~ You'll be royalty!"

You winced as his cock entered you, expecting pain. Surprisingly, there was none. Instead it was like every cell in your body was filled with pleasure.

This couldn't be right. You had to escape. Sex with a demon was a very taboo thing.

You started struggling but Tevrik held you still.

"Shhh, I know you're upset. But just let it happen, okay? I'll make you feel so good."

As his precum continued to dribble out of his dick and into you and as the betrayal by your trusted higher up sank in you once more lost the will to fight.

Why were you fighting anyway? This cock felt so nice. And he was so kind and romantic to go through all this trouble to get you away from your evil boss right?

You relaxed and lay against his chest as he pumped into you slowly. You looked up at him and realized he had your underwear in his hand and was holding it up to his nose sniffing the crotch.

"You smell so good, girly. So good. You feel good too."

"You smell nice too!" Then your brain caught up with the rest of what he had said.

"A-and I'm not a g-girl." Too focused on your pleasure to really care.

"Nah, you're too pretty to be a man. Too weak too. Plus you have this tight little cunt hugging my dick. You're definitely a girly~"

"O-okay."

You blushed because he called you pretty. You supposed he made a lot of sense. You were clearly a girl. You wondered why you didn't know that sooner. It felt right.

He chuckled warmly as you drooled on his chest and made cute little gasps and moans. He couldn't wait until you were moaning his name.

Tevrik didn't pound you, he didn't want to hurt his sweet baby bird. Instead he just rocked his hips into you and enjoyed the effect it had on you.

After you started making those delicious noises his demonic precum began to make you super cuddly. He continued to breed your tight hole while you started nuzzling him and leaving gentle kisses on his chest. He began grinding into you a bit faster and more forcefully, his cock clearly outlined through your belly as it nestled into you as deeply as he could get it.

"Fuck babe, I'm about to bust."

But you came before he did it. Your cock spilling silvery angelic seed on his belly as you called his name and clung to him tightly. The combined sight of you cumming while impaled by his dick while at the same time calling his name just like you promised he would sent Tevrik over the edge. His large balls filled your tummy with hot demon cum. It made you feel warm and fluttery and loved. Like you could feel his emotions through his seed.

You were so tired from all the emotion and sex that you passed out on top of him, nuzzling your nose into the comforting scent of his armpit as you clung to him.

Tevrik smiled. You were just so precious. Sadly, he knew you'd regress back into struggling against him. But that was okay. He would keep reminding you how the angels threw you away and keep breeding you full of his drug-like semen. Soon you'd crave it. He'd bed you constantly until you needed it. And then breed you as much as you wanted him to after that.

Yeah, it would take a while. But he had all the time in the universe.

Tevrik sighed with content and closed his eyes, taking your underwear and putting it back up to his nose while he relaxed with his cock still deep inside you.

You may have been in Hell, but Tevrik was in Heaven.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere #yandere demon #feminized male reader #yandere boyfriend #x male reader #angel reader #male yandere x male reader #my ocs #My OC Tevrik

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