Thewitchofbooks - TheWitchOfBooks

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬  💌 Nokto has been away for so long, and Emma is alone with her thoughts about him.

Nokto Klein x Emma(MC) • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Reunion Sex; Accidental Voyeurism; Masturbation; Teasing; Dirty Talk; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Some Humor; Aftercare; Fluff and Smut; Couch Cuddles • wordcount: 1,594 • masterlist

a/n: AHH I had the pleasure to participate in yet another amazing ikemen gift exchange hosted by @sunnyikemen and @ikemenlibrary ! My giftee for this round was @nightghoul381 ! GHOULIE!! I squealed when I saw your name in the info message!! Hope you enjoy!🥺❤❤

The night is warm and quiet, every other soul in the palace is fast asleep, distant songs of nocturnal birds make for the perfect background noise to enjoy the company of a good book under soft candlelight…and Emma makes the most of it.

If only she could trade her companion for the night with the one person she misses the most right now.

Tonight too, she prefers being in Nokto's room instead of her own, surrounded by the comforting presence of all things reminiscent of him. The scent on his pillow is becoming fainter with every night he's missing from home and Emma's heart aches for him.

It won't be much longer now. That's what she tells herself as she flips another page.

The letter she used as a bookmark lays open on the coffee table as she'd delayed her pastime just to look at the words inside once again. The evidence of that longing being shared, as Nokto wrote about how much he misses her while he's abroad. How much he wants to kiss her. To hold her in his arms.

He's always been good with words, pressing all her buttons as he selects them carefully to get a desired reaction out of her. The sultry tone of his voice is nowhere to be found yet he doesn't even need to utilize that little curve to the end of his spoken sentences that makes her legs weak; Emma finds out that she can fairly well hear it all in her head as she reads the letter anyway. And Nokto wrote some unspeakable things.

Laying comfortably on his couch now, book held up by a single hand, Emma finds that it's becoming harder to chase after the words in the book. Soon the protagonist takes the visage of Nokto in her mind's eye, and she loses the fight. It's no good when her other hand is unoccupied; it finds the way between her legs all too soon, too easily.

"Ngghh… Nokto.."

It's a small whisper in the night, too weak and too far away to reach the one it's meant for. That's what Emma knows for sure, getting lost in pink-tinted visions produced by her imagination; and so the soft turning of the doorknob falls on deaf ears.

Nokto enters quietly, knowing his Emma well enough to find her in his room - and strangely, knowing her too little to expect she is missing him… that much. Before he knows it, he becomes the bigger pervert in the room as he silently admires the way her fingers would never be enough to resemble his presence. Deep down, he loves that fact more than he pities her. But despite himself, he's soon to coo and reveal himself.

"Are you in trouble, my dear? Those lovely sounds don't sound quite right to me… You need more."

Emma gasps, reasonably startled as she hurries to retrain some decency and pulls down her nightgown where it rode up her waist. Her eyes are big and starry, and Nokto doesn't wait for a reply before he leans down over the couch's back and captures the lips he missed the most.

The kiss comes as a silent 'I missed you' when they both skipped saying it out loud, and quickly morphs into something far less innocent. Almost like a fight to prove one missed the other more.

Emma puts her warm hand on Nokto's face just as he withdraws for air, and she is just as breathless when she attempts to speak out loud. "Are you real?"

Nokto smirks, the red of his eyes stressed by the flickering candlelight. "I might just be real. Or maybe my little vixen's fantasies have become that vivid and tangible."

"Noktooo… don't tease…"

He finds himself tugged down, two hands wrapping securely around his neck until he can't take on the task of removing his coat as planned. It's only fair if she wants more proof of him being real here and now, he'll give her plenty.

It's only after a couple more fierce kisses that Nokto finds himself getting undressed, as Emma makes it up to him by doing it herself. Articles of clothes fall to the ground as suddenly there's nothing in Nokto's way to claim his long-waited prize for being away from home for so long.

"When I found a way to return earlier, I did all in my power to take on the opportunity. I had to see you."

"Nokto…"

"I had to make love to you again before I can forget the taste of your lips. I can't live without it."

Emma's body shudders as Nokto finds the place that aches for him the most, rubbing soft circles on her nub with his slender fingers. She's dripping wet from when she was playing with herself earlier and is quick to whine in protests of not enough.

"Shhh. Be patient. I want to take things nice and slow- Fuck. Emma."

His gaze darkens with lust as he stares her down, from her expression to the hand that mischievously reached down to his crouch to give him a firm squeeze.

"You can't wait to have me either, so why wait? Darling…" Emma asks in a tiny voice that comes out muffled behind her hand. Nokto is fast to capture it in his own and pin it down over her head.

"Why wait, indeed. My clever little Emma."

Taking hold of her leg, Nokto raises it up until it hangs over the edge of the backrest, giving him full access to her glistening pussy. Not even having fully shimmied out of his trousers yet, Nokto leans down until his body is flush against Emma's, and presses his cock against her entrance.

Emma mewls so sweetly as she feels Nokto enter her, her body shivering in ecstasy as she'd prepared it for a much lesser stimulation tonight. Her previous arouse makes Nokto's entry slippery and the noise of their coupling soon begins to fill the night. It's dirty and it's perfect.

Just as Emma gets close, her moans growing in volume, Nokto suddenly halts his movements. She looks at him with a red face and with question marks in her eyes. Nokto is frowning, albeit with a face equally as flushed as hers.

"I thought about this all week. About the possibility of coming to you earlier, and how I'll make our reunion a night you'll never forget. I'd sweep you off your feet wherever you are in the palace, take you back to our room and put you on the bed. I'd take my time undressing you like a present, pressing kisses against all those places that entered my dreams the previous lonely nights. I'd bury my head between those pretty legs of yours and remain there until you're screaming to me all the things you want me to do to you next, making your juices drip down my chin so I can never forget your taste again. And then I'll… then I'll just fuck you. Until we both take our fills."

Emma's breathing grows erratic as she feels herself coming undone, the sensation of him picking the speed up again and his filthy words that her brain barely manages to register, it's all too much. She screams as her walls clamp down on him hard, a strong climax ripped out of her with each thrust of Nokto who just gives her more and more, the way she wanted it and needed it.

"And then I open the door and you're- fuck- you're here touching yourself, moaning my name- and what am I supposed to do other than to claim you on the spot? You turned my plans to dust. You…"

With a groan, Nokto feels himself being dragged over the edge by Emma's pulsing walls, her warm, tight core milking him of all he has. He shoots his load deep inside her, painting her insides white. He remains thrusting into her shallowly, chasing after the last drops of pleasure he can squeeze out of both of them.

They turn into a content pile of entangled limbs on the couch, heavy breaths and soft smooches on whatever part of each other's face they can reach. Emma's pleasure-marred, sore throat voice reaches Nokto's ears.

"Hehe…I'm sorry?"

It takes him a second, all too lost in the sea of afterglow and warm emotions, to realize Emma is apologizing for spoiling his fun. He can tell she's not all that sorry at the same time, and it paints his chuckle a bit sarcastic. There's a hint of teeth to his next kiss, and he finds her mood to be just as playful, despite how blissed out she seemed just a second ago.

"Maybe we can make up for it and go with your version for round two." Emma suggests, putting her hands on Nokto's chest to push him out of her. Once they're both seated up, Nokto caresses the back of her head, his affirmative low humming enough to let her know just how much he's looking forward to that.

"Surely you don't mind if I grab a bite of your dessert before that? Out of all the things I missed about you, your baking is pretty high on the list you know."

"Nokto, no!"

Emma tries to warn him, but it's too late, as Nokto's chewing suddenly pauses, the reason clear as a day - he tasted the carrots in the slice of cake he just forked a bite of.

"N-Nokto, don't frown now! I didn't know you were coming home tonight, remember! God..!"

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for the angst ask (thanks for opening them btw) vlad and illness? he waited so long for his mc (gn) just to watch them slowly dying in front of him, their last moments and what that entails? I want to be crushed haha

A/N: Hello anon! I took a little bit of artistic liberty here because I had an idea so its not illness, but rather an accident. The rest of the request is still honored.

CW: death, loss

Vlad x gn reader

Word Count: 1783

A Pureblood vampire has nothing but time. It becomes their only constant, the one fixed thing they can depend on as the world around them evolves and changes. The flow of time brings mighty mountains to their knees and changes the course of rivers. It has seen man crawl, then walk and now, in the late 19th century, begin to run as technology makes leaps and bounds within shorter and shorter time spans. And one sure thing about time: it never stops.

How does one bear the weight of years and decades and centuries? Vlad has found a way. Something that fascinates him. 

People. 

He has loved them with a ferocity sharp and deadly. That their lives are so fleeting, rising like sparks from a fire only to blink out of existence and return to darkness within mere decades, is what makes them precious. Worth fighting for. And he has never loved a human, or any other being, as much as he loves you.

You were the one he waited for. The one who imprinted yourself upon him like a brand, your essence burned into his soul with a heat that never subsided as he waited all those long years for you. And when the time came, when you understood who he was and what you meant to him, when you returned those extraordinary feelings of love and desire, he understood the words Shakespeare had penned when writing his greatest love story: 

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea 

My love as deep. 

The more I give to thee,

The more I have, 

for both are infinite.” 

You gave his world a beauty far beyond that field of roses he holds so dear. Vlad’s heart holds entire universes of love only for you. 

Which is why, when you told him you did not want to be turned, despite the consequence of death, he never once questioned it. He had simply raised your hands to his lips, his claret eyes closing as he pressed a kiss into your skin, accepting your decision. 

And decided then and there he would dedicate every moment you had together to bringing you joy. He would show you the world and in return, give the world the gift of your smile.

Which is why you were in London, exploring the world’s largest city and breathtaking capital of the British Empire. You were staying at Claridge’s, one of the grandest hotels London had to offer, and swept up in the whirlwind of pleasures Vlad had arranged: an outfit tailored just for you at London’s most exclusive boutique, high tea at one of the oldest tea houses in the city, a boat ride on the Thames. As you disembarked, hand in hand, a young boy was waiting with a message for Vlad. A mystery item he had commissioned was finished and would he care to come pick it up or have it delivered to the hotel? His rose-colored eyes had gleamed, his excitement dancing within their depths and along the curve of his lips. He would come right away. When you had asked what this mysterious item was, he had simply smiled softly. You would see soon, beloved. Go, the carriage that would take you back to the hotel was waiting just across the street. He would meet you in the hotel’s salon for supper.

You parted, his smile still warming your heart against the misty London air and you took the time to watch his tall figure grow smaller and smaller as he walked with the young boy down the street, eventually disappearing from view as they rounded a corner. Your heart could not be any fuller, your soul could not be more content. Vlad was the key that unlocked the truth about love: it mattered, more than anything. He mattered more than anything. Loving him had transformed your world into something so perfect it could be called heaven. You were so lost in your starry-eyed thoughts, your mind floating in the clouds on a breeze of affection and anticipation, you did not pay attention as you stepped onto the street.

You did not see the carriage with its spooked horse barreling towards you.

You did not hear the shout of warning.

You stepped out into the street.

And your world went black.

It’s tucked safely into the inside pocket of his jacket, carefully wrapped in the softest black velvet. One look at the pin, a detailed red rose made from the purest rubies with its emerald leaves and curving stem, made by one of the finest jewelers in Europe, and he knew it was worth every cent. It was a work of art and he was proud of the design he had created. He wanted something unique, something custom-made that no one else the world over could have, a symbol of his feelings for you and a sign to all who saw it that you, like the rose, are a rarity worth remembering, a beautiful spirit worth marveling at.

He turns the corner onto the street where you had gone ashore after your boat tour, his mind running through the way he imagines you will smile when he presents his gift, a smile that rivals the sun in all its brightness. All thought however screeches to a halt as he notices the crowd gathered, blocking most of the way. There are police wagons and officers doing their best to keep people away from something on the road. Vlad passes an elderly man sitting on the filthy flat pavement meant for pedestrians, his dirt-streaked face blanched with shock, hands shaking as he tries to drink from a flask. He hears the mumbled words, repeated over and over to no one in particular:

“The horse stepped on a nail. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t stop it. It stepped on a nail. I couldn’t stop it. They came out of nowhere. I couldn’t stop it-”

Uneasiness begins to slowly creep down Vlad’s spine like a spider descending on its silken thread. He was planning to walk around the crowd, his long legs swiftly taking him away from the buzzing and gawking of the crowd so he could get to you, his light, his love, and make sure you were ok. He will never be able to answer why he didn’t stick with this. Why instead of walking around the crowd, his feet begin taking him through it. 

Each step feels like the earth is trying to stop him, gravity is desperately pulling at his legs, trying to slow him. His feet feel like they are made of granite, dragging along as he shoulders his way through the dense, foul-smelling mass. Each beat of his heart becomes louder, the crowd’s murmuring becomes distorted. Fate has wrapped his heartstrings around her cruel fingers and pulls, forcing him to shamble his way toward a truth that will sunder his very soul.

He breaks through the throng. 

And sees you lying there, your soft hair touching the filth of the street, your head pillowed by hard, uneven cobblestones. 

Someone has thrown what looks like a shabby picnic blanket over your body, but Vlad can smell the blood through the fibers, through the grime of a London street. Your eyes are open, blinking rapidly, your lips trembling as you mouth one word. He recognizes the shape of his name.

“I’m here, beloved.” How he manages to speak through a throat full of thorns is a miracle, another question with no answer. He sinks to his knees beside you, feeling the dampness soak through his trousers, the hard stone biting at him. “I’m here.” You turn your head and the effort that costs you is evident in the flickering light of your beautiful eyes. He reaches out with a shaking hand, the movement slow as if underwater, and manages to brush your hair off of your forehead with infinite tenderness. His fingers are stained red with the blood trickling down your temple. He repeats the motion anyway.

Your breathing is labored and erratic but you refuse to look away, holding his gaze for as long as you can.

“I’m…..sorry.” Your voice wheezes, rough with strain.

His heart shatters into a thousand pieces. Tiny shards that embed themselves into his own lungs, that twist his stomach into a Gordian knot, that pierce his very soul and cling, barb-like and heavy.

“No, my love. My dearest one. No.” He smiles. It is a reflex, a gesture of comfort. His lips shift without him even conscious of it. Words continue to find a way through his blocked throat. Because he knows you need them. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His hand, still trembling lightly, slides down, cupping your face, the one he has loved for ages, the one white as bone and red with blood. “I love you.”

A shudder wracks your body and your eyes close. For a moment you don’t breathe and panic seizes him, gripping his mind with hands of steel. No, no. Just another moment. No.

And then you manage another breath. Your eyes open again, seeking his. Your lips part and he leans down to catch your labored, whispered words.

“I’m….scared.”

The truth of it bears down on him. He has seen death so often that it had become as innocuous as the changing of the seasons. Spring follows winter, autumn follows summer. People are born, live out the time they are given, and then die. 

And yet your words have turned the world upside down. Death is no longer an abstract, cyclical idea. It is real. It is on that grimy cobblestone street, leaning over you, reaching down, seconds away from taking you away from him forever. Stealing every place you never went. Every kiss you haven’t shared. Every declaration of love yet to be spoken.

Vlad presses his lips to your cold forehead, his hand still cupping your face.

“I’m here, beloved. I promise, it will be okay. I’m with you.”

Your eyes are on him, but they are no longer focused. The flame of life inside of them is sputtering as the curtains slowly close on your mortality. Your breathing becomes rapid, uneven, louder. The sound forever burns itself into his memory. 

You draw one breath.

His soul quakes. Don’t go, beloved.

And then another.

Beloved……I’m scared.

And then you are still, sightless eyes gazing into nothingness.

……..beloved?......

And his world goes black.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

Your surprise from the sudden hat descending on your head must have made physical work of your face; in the next second, Cyran's shapely lips pull away with a plush crackle and his breathy laugh somehow impresses you with more intimacy than that consummate kiss still rocking your heels. "Sun's a beast today," he remarks while bending the floppy brim into two ears beside your cheeks. The warmth and weight of his hands delights you through the scratchy tweed. "I don't want your head to get hot. You might faint, and while I don't mind carrying you..." He snatches up your hand with boldness that's almost gaudy coming from him. Of all the poems Cyran writes, not a one will ever be about his own dimpled smile, you think with the nonsensical grief of the lovestricken. You ferry your gaze between his lips and the still-shy invitation in his eyes. "...You haven't yet made it clear whether or not you enjoy being carried by me."

a/n: cyran running around while carrying you might be my favorite cyran fact that thewitchofbooks shared. also, a tiny nod to olivermorningstar's "missed connection" theme

🎊Happy birthday Chevalier🎊

happy name day grumpy boy \o/

More anatomy practice with Roger