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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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Forever- Vampire!Lisa Lisa x Fem!Reader (Kinktober Day #16: Biting)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader. Fem pronouns. Vampire Lisa Lisa, biting, blood, possible dub-con/hypnosis (your mileage may vary depending on how you read it - i think of this all as entirely consensual).

You are in search of the Lady of the Island.

The man steering the boat had not wanted to take you out to Air Supplena Island. He had been most insistent of the fact that the moment your feet touched solid ground on the island, he would be turning back - his mouth had set in a grim line, his eyes shadowed.

“I ain’t gonna be responsible for her findin’ me trespassing on her land,” he’d said. “N’ if you ask me, you’re a damn fool to be goin’ no matter what.”

You had still tipped him, of course. He had been the only man with a boat who’d been willing to even make the trip, as little time as he would spend on Air Supplena Island’s shore notwithstanding. You had sat in his boat with your hands folded in your lap and your posture ramrod-straight, anxiety gnawing through to your bones; but you would not rest. You would not turn back. You had followed the legends and the whispers of who the lady of the island was for too long and tried too hard to waste all of your hard work because your fear held you back at the last moment.

You step off his boat and onto the island proper with your purse significantly lighter and evening filtering out the last vestiges of the day’s sunlight. You turn to thank the man who brought you here, feeling unsteady and afraid - to see that he has turned around with a second glance at you.

He thinks you are mad, and perhaps you are.

You are slow as you approach the buildings themselves, aware that night is falling all around you. All of this, from one brief encounter in a warm speakeasy and a beautiful woman at your side?

She had kissed you, once, and you had tasted danger on her lips and felt it when her hands had caressed the shape of you in your ugly dress. The entirety of the world had seemed to stop - everything had become unimportant to you, except her lips and the way her eyes seemed to shift ruby tones in the low candlelight. You had been dragged here by the young lady you had been hired to be the ladies companion of; whilst her parents had clearly thought you’d be a good influence on her, they had also not reckoned on the wild streak in her nature.

So you had been dragged along to all kinds of seedy underground places she should not have known about. You had always stayed in the background, watched, tried to make sure she did not get into too much trouble, waiting to intervene just in case she overstepped that small boundary. But it had been in a smoky underground cavern in Paris (“The fashion capital of the world!” Your charge and companion had told you. “You simply must wear something more fetching than that old thing.” You had not acquiesced.) that had changed you forever.

“Come find me,” she’d breathed against your neck, and you had felt something sharp scratch briefly across the join where your neck and shoulder met. “You could be so much more than this. I’ll show you.”

And she had gone, and you had not been able to shake her lips from your mind for months.

Your companion had noticed but thought it prudent not to say anything; even in the free-spirited nineteen thirties, she was not quite ready to accept that she had seen your eyes glaze and your mouth part for another woman. But she had noticed your distraction; that you were less hard on her for going against her parent’s wishes, that you were wistful and maudlin and daydreaming about the night - eventually, she had taken pity on you and come to you to relieve you of your service with an early pay packet of far more than you’d expected.

“I went back,” she said, off-handedly, though her shoulders were tense. “To that seedy little place in Paris. They told me her name was Lisa Lisa - the lady of yours. They called her the Lady of the Island, though I don’t know which one. She’s Italian, apparently - or she makes her home there, now. Don’t ask me anything else. I don’t know it.”

You’d looked at her, slowly, some of your lethargy fading away as you’d felt a hum beneath your skin of promise.

“Thank you,” you’d said - and you’d left the next day for Italy.

It had not been easy. Though your purse was heavy with your payment for a year spent travelling Europe, you were aware that you were plain and simple and prime victim material for shoplifters and men of opportunity. You had stayed in lodgings that were out of the way, perhaps shoddier than what you could and should have afforded, giving them all the same story; you were in search of an older brother who had ran away and had last been seen in the company of a lady that he called the ‘Lady of the Island’.

You did not get your first bite until you had found yourself in Venice, in a small art shop by a canal. The piece itself was of an island, all gothic cathedral imagery and towering columns; you’d been looking at it, and the proprietor and artist had come to stand beside you.

“That’s Air Supplena Island,” he had said to you, obviously able to tell that you were not a local. “They say that the Lady of the Island lives there and slaughters anyone who comes close.” He had shrugged broad shoulders. “I don’t believe it myself, but people will cling to their stories, won’t they?”

You’d beseeched him to tell you more, trotting out that tired old story - that you had become tired of telling, as weeks had grown into months - and his nose had wrinkled, brows drawn down.

“Oh, the Lady of the Island isn’t interested in men,” he’d said, and the stress he’d put on the last word had convinced you that you were on the right track. You had done your best to tamp down enthusiasm as you’d asked and probed about Air Supplena Island - and as you left, you hid your smile behind your hand as you’d bid the man a good night.

You had wanted to employ somebody to take you to the Island as soon as you could, but you had done your best to be sensible. You asked around a little more, probing for information about this Lady - having your suspicions of her legend confirmed.

“They say that she bathes in the blood of virgins,” one older woman had told you. “They say that she will drink a man dry if he so much as breathes in her presence,” - another. “They say that the buildings on her land are made of bones and teeth.”

They confirm what you had thought; that the woman you met in the smoky jazz and the press of bodies is something more than human. The idea should fill you with fear. You should have gotten as far away from Italy as you could; instead, the thought of her inhumanity sets heat aflame between your thighs and makes your heart hammer in your chest.

If she kills you, you think, you will die happy. At least you won’t dream about her any more - the silky sweep of her hair, the curve of her lips, pinpricks sliding into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your shoes sound very loud on the stone, as shadows begin to claim the island entirely. You continue to walk.

You imagine you hear whispers, rustling, the sound of shadows converging and waiting to be told to jump upon you and consume you entirely - still, you walk. And when the foreboding wooden doors that you think give entrance to the vast majority of the building that dominates Air Supplena Island open as if by unseen forces, you do not question yourself - you walk forward, into the entrance hall.

“I thought you’d come.”

The voice is amused. It is low, and deep - shivering with suggestion in every syllable. You recognise it as the same voice that has haunted your dreams since the first time you heard it. You stop where you are, transfixed as she seems to melt from the shadows, just as beautiful and statuesque as you remember. Her skin seems to shimmer like mother of pearl in the moonlight; her lips are redder than blood, her eyes dark and beautiful. She looks at you and smiles, and you see the faintest flash of sharp eye teeth - and immediately, a rush of confusing feelings tumblr all around inside you.

She’s beautiful. She’s terrifying. You know the rumours are true, from her easy stance and her elegance and how she looks at you like a cat stalking a canary - but you cannot find it in yourself to be afraid. Instead, you feel your thighs slick with desire and your body ache to be touched. If she wished to bathe in your blood . . . you think you would open your veins for her. All she need do is ask.

She steps towards you like a leopard hunting her prey, though you have no intention of running anywhere. Her hips move seductively with each step, her eyes not moving from you for a moment - you take in a deep, shuddering breath as she gets closer and closer to you, waiting for her to pounce. You imagine you’ll see your own neck snap as if from very far away - you wonder if the man who brought you here on his boat is even now laughing at your terrible fate.

“Oh,” she breathes, as she gets closer. “Look at you. You found me all on your own, hmm? I knew that you’d be a perfect choice.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask her, softly. She stops in front of you, raising a hand to your face - her thumb ghosts your cheekbone, traces the lines of your lips, and all you can do is let her. Everywhere she touches you feel trails of fire spring up in her wake, your body singing in a way that you don’t think it ever has.

“If I were going to do that, dear heart,” she whispers, “you would have been dead before you step foot on my island.”

You swallow as she tips your face upwards, studying you in the pale moonlight. You wonder if you’re pleasing to her - the thought makes you feel curiously hot and bothered. You have never put much stock in your appearance, but if it has helped to win her attentions . . . surely you cannot be that unfortunate to look upon?

She laughs as if she can read your mind.

“You’re extremely pleasing,” she says - and then, she kisses you.

Lisa Lisa - she gives you her name like a secret, and you whisper it against the cool marble of her collarbone, marvelling at how it rolls around in your mouth - has you in her chambers in what feels like moments, though you know it must be longer. Her fingers dance over your skin, working open the buttons and hooks of your plain dress - when it falls from your body, you want to pull yourself in and shy away, but she is above you on the bed and she sighs against you, her breath cool.

“Look at you, little flower,” she murmurs. “You’re beautiful. Ripe for the plucking.”

Her nails scratch sharp across your sides as she caresses the curve and dip of your hips and waist. Her hands take hold of your breasts, testing their warmth and weight, squeezing them so that your back arches and a soft noise of surprise escapes you. She bends her head and the sheet of her hair falls across your skin, a silky sweep that has goosebumps rising along your newly bared flesh.

Her mouth fastens about one nipple, her tongue teasing the nubs to hardness. You have only ever touched yourself under sacrosanct cover of darkness, chaste and afraid - but Lisa Lisa is not at all shamed by how she enjoys your body. She holds you as if it’s perfectly natural to do so, and though you feel exposed, you also feel . . . beautiful. Like something precious to be held against her and kissed and stroked.

“You’ll do beautifully,” she whispers, moving her mouth from your breast to kiss up your collarbones, to trace the fluttering pulse point in your neck. She traces your jawline with her lips, up to your ear - you gasp as she nips at your earlobe. “Oh, you were wasted anywhere but by my side.”

“What will you do to me?” You ask her, breathlessly, as she rears up onto her knees and reaches to tug off her own clothes. You are transfixed by her figure, slowly revealed to you beneath the fine fabrics she’s wearing. She’s like a Greek statue - marble, untouchable, unmarked. Only . . . she takes your hands, brings them to her hips, lets you feel how smooth and cool and soft she is.

“Nothing you won’t like,” she says - and as she dives back down to kiss you again with the hunger of someone who’s been starved for a week, you do not doubt her.

As she kisses you, nipping with her blunt front teeth at your lower lip, her hands urge your thighs apart. You feel ashamed to spread them - especially as you hear the wet sounds of them parting - but she breaks the kiss to inhale deeply.

“I forget, that mortals are so warm,” she says, as one of her hands slides up your inner thigh, nails teasing at the sensitive skin. “You’re boiling to the touch, my darling. You’re hot and warm and soaking wet - did you know?” The last words are conversational, her middle finger swiping through your damp slit, briefly parting your labia lips as your hips arch and a whimper falls unbidden from your lips.

“I haven’t done this before . . .” You say, your cheeks uncomfortably warm - and Lisa Lisa laughs, a rich, deep noise that feels like black silk running down your spine.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she tells you. “I’ve done this many times - and you’ll have plenty of time to learn it too. For now . . . relax, dearest. Lay back on the bed. Let me take care of you.”

There’s a sharp edge to the words; even as you let yourself relax into the soft coverlets beneath you, you feel like she is asking for permission for more than she lets on. Still - you cannot think, at this moment, what you would deny her. Not as she spreads your thighs even wider, those same nails scratching at your skin so your spine prickles, her fingertips leaving blazing trails despite how cool they feel against you.

She makes sweet, soft noises - like placating a baby animal - as your thighs jump as she parts the lips of your sex, exposing those slickened folds to the chill of the air.

“Look at you,” she says, enthralled. “Oh, I have picked beautifully--”

You do not know what she means, when she speaks of choosing you. But her fingers are stroking your folds, now - teasing at your clit and your entrance, making your entire body sing, and you cannot concentrate on anything but how that feels and the way that the fabric beneath your fingers bunches up as you fist hands into sheets.

You are sensitive. Your body reacts with shivers and shudders; little electrical currents going straight from the place between your legs to every other part of you, sending signals of white-hot pleasure to your brain. As she slides one elegant finger inside you and your sex clamps tightly about her, she laughs a noise of soft amusement.

“We’ll train you to take more, my dear,” she says, and she pumps the lone finger in and out of you, rubbing against sensitive patches inside of you that have your hips wriggling. You’re aware that you are making little noises - whimpering and moaning, gasping out noises intended to be words. Her lips are a dark red curve in the white of her face. Her thumb swipes across your clit, rolling the bud beneath the pad, toying with the swollen little bundle until you whine.

“You’ll take another,” she says, softly, and you nod - a sob bubbles in your throat at the brief stretch of two, scissoring you open and wider for her - but it quickly devolves into a groan as your hips cant forwards towards her, urging her to be more thorough in how she’s thrusting the fingers and and out of you. She makes a little chastising noise, clicking her tongue - but you can hear the pleasure in her tone as she murmurs. “Now, now. One thing at a time.”

It’s good. It’s so good. The way her thumb grinds against your clit, the way that her fingers rub against those sweet spots inside of you, the feeling of fullness and the sweep of her hair and the knowledge of who it is and what she is that’s making you feel like this . . . Your body seems to seize up, teetering on the edge of something - and, abruptly, fingers are pulled out of you and the pressure on your clit ceases. You whimper out a noise of confusion and distress; that you were so close to something wonderful, and had it torn away--

“One more thing, before I let you come,” Lisa Lisa says, her lips that perfect red curve again. “Creatures like me do not do things for free, you see.”

“I’ll do it,” you say, feverishly - her index finger lazily strokes your folds, toying with your clit in a way that makes you shudder and your head feel cloudy and strange. “Wh-whatever it is . . .”

Lisa Lisa leans down, kissing the mound of your sex. Your back arches as her tongue flicks out, briefly darting to taste you. She makes a noise of sheer pleasure at the wetness on her tongue that intensifies the ache inside of you and makes you feel as if a curtain is descending all over your judgement. Slowly, she laps at you again - her tongue rolling your clit luxuriously, slow rocks of pleasure overwhelming you.

“You’d agree before hearing my terms?” She says, though she does not sound at all surprised - if anything, her tone is pleased. “You’d trust me so completely, even knowing what I am?”

She does not tell you what she is. She hasn’t - you have known since far before you stepped foot onto her island, and perhaps even before you’d made it to Italy. She knows that you know.

“You can have my blood,” you tell her, wildly, without thinking. “Just, please--”

She pulls back again. Her body moves over you like a cat once more, so that her face is close to yours and her cool breath brushes your cheek. Her breasts press against your own, one marble-smooth thigh between your own legs.

“I want more than blood from you,” she says. “I want you to stay with me, here. Forever.” Her hands trace your hips, cold as she grasps you. “You deserve more than a boring little life and a boring little husband. I can make you a Goddess, my darling. I can make you feared and loved and reviled; I can make you like me. I can give you a life by my side.” She lowers her mouth, pressing her lips to your cheek. Your entire body feels like stone.

“You already knew what I wanted from you, didn’t you, my clever girl?” Hands sliding over your thighs, her body moving. Your legs spread wider, urging her hand and her fingers back between them. She laughs, like a bell tolling. “You’ve known since you walked into my home.”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes. To all of it.”

(You have known, this whole time - since those first words and the promise you were made for better things than this. It had taken her touching you and feeling you and driving you to the brink of release to see it clearly, but now you can - you can see you by her side for eternity.)

“My good girl,” she breathes - and, as her fingers dive inside you again, three pressing against the walls of your sex and clenching around her, her thumb grinds back into your clit. Her fangs slide into your throat.

Both of them feel like fireworks in entirely different ways - low between your thighs, like a man diving into the sea, your body all flaming hot wetness as a tidal wave of heat and need crash over you. In your throat, an explosion of colours and sounds as your head is tipped back and you feel the wetness and heat of your own blood cascade down your body. The rhythmic sucking of Lisa Lisa’s lips against you coupled with the rhythmic way she rocks her fingers into you.

You let your eyes close, the sensations wash over you. It’s the first of many, she said. The first day of the rest of your life.

The two of you have an eternity now, after all.

#writing #kinktober collection #lisa lisa #not sfw #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjba #blood for ts #vampires #biting #dub con for ts #hypnosis for ts

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s4mmysbunk3r · 3 years ago

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Sam Winchester x fem!reader fanfic: Wedding Bells part 1

A/N: This ficlet can be enjoyed on it’s own or with the other tie in chapters: 1. Seashells from California. 2. Late for your Date. 3. The Hidden Gem.

Will Y/N be able to marry the love of her life Sam Winchester, or will her insecurities get the better of her? Will Sam be able to calm her down in time to say I do? Enjoy!

“Oh fuck,” you say. “I’m marrying Sammy.”

“It’s ok, Y/N,” says Bobby. “Sammy is just as nervous, I think, but what matters is that you are both so in love with each other than nothing else even matters. He would walk hell for you Y/N.”

“That’s why I’m worried!” you cry. “What if I’m not good enough for him! I’m not, am I? You know that Bobby! Fuck!” You fling your heels off and storm away. Tears streak your eye make up down your face as you hyperventilate. “I can’t do this!”

You dive into the womens bathroom and lock the door. You slide down to the floor. “Fuck!” you swear, and you fold your mouth. Not only are you not good enough for Sammy, but now you’re ruining his wedding by being a little bitch! Large tears roll down your porcelain cheeks to the floor. You hold your hands to your breasts which are soft under your dress and your white teeth clack. “Fuck.”

A fist slams at the other side of the door which shakes your whole body, and you crawl away from the door. “Occupied!” you wail.

“Y/N,” says Sam from the other side of the door.

“Fuck… fuck, Sammy…” You continue to sob.

“I have your heels,” says Sam. “Bobby said it seemed like you were having a hard time with them…”

“It’s not my heels I’m having a hard time with,” you cry. “It’s you, Sammy!”

You can hear Sam start to cry on the other side of the door.

“Y/N…” You can hear a thunk as Sam leans his broad forehead into the door. “Y/N, please tell me what is wrong, I can help.”

“You can’t,” you cry. “Sammy, I’m about to ruin your life!”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?”

“I don’t deserve you Sammy,” you say. “Don’t you see? If you marry me you’ll be throwing your whole life away. Don’t waste it on me, Sammy. Go find somebody who deserves you, please!”

“I already have found somebody!” Sam says. “Y/N, I remember the first night I first laid eyes upon your body. It was so dark and so scary, and so loud, and blood was swirling, and my brain was overloading, and my ears were roaring, and my fingers were biting. And I remember my eyes fading to black as the demonic ichor poisoned my veins. It was the demoness Ruby who bewitched, bothered, and bewildered my mind. I was opening a seal and I did not even know that there was any idea that that could have even been conceived as something that was realistically possible. I was a coward and a fool and I was about to eviscerate the world and succumb to the boiling tenebrosity within my hallowed soul. And as I stood there and cast the demon blood spell I could feel the earth rocking beneath my timbs, and Ruby was howling, cackling, shrieking, caterwhauling like a demonic witch. Evil was thick in the air, with the sweet and sickly scent of pure evil. The horrible scene was unfolding, unravelling, unwinding in front of my demonic obsidian orbs. The horns of Satan were forming and rising out of the swiling whirlpool of blood pooling at my timbs. The Devil was rising in Atlanta Georgia, and he was rising at my hand. My hand was still outstretched, my eyes still black as sin but I could only watch the terror, and hear the terror of the demoness’s laughter, the demonic witch and her laughter. Tears ran thick and fast down my face from my eyes black as ebony. And I knew, Y/N, I knew, that everything was ending and it was my fault. And the incubus whore, Ruby. But then, the doors exploded apart and crashed apart and fell apart on the floor in pieces. And I was terrified. I thought the world was exploding. But it was only you. And when I twisted my body and twisted my neck and chin and moved my eyes to look at what had fallen and crashed behind my face, that’s when the glorious light of the sun broke over the jagged mountains of my hate. And the sun was you, Y/N. It was you. And it was still dark, and the ground still rattled like a snake, but there now ignited a flame of hope inside of my chest. And I didn’t know who you were or what you were doing there or why you had come or how you had found me or what you wanted from me or what you intended to do or why you weren’t scared of Lucifer rising and rising and rising in front of you. But what I did know, was that somehow this world would continue, and it would follow at your high heels. And Y/N, that’s when you strode with your legs into the that darkened House of God, and you walked right past the incubus whore and didn’t even look at her, and she didn’t dare look at you, because you were looking at me, and I was looking only at you. And I felt your eyes swallow me like the deepest throat until all that existed was you and me, looking at each other’s eyes. And you said one word: “Sammy!” And that’s when I knew you were my Supergirl. You grabbed hold of my large hands and held them in your hands, and the spell imploded behind me, and Lucifer melted into a pile of demonic blood, and the demoness whore Ruby fled for her life. And all you had to do was break that evil concentration for the spell to end and the world to be saved and it was only ever you. And I looked at you and I knew inside my body that I never wanted to look away ever again. And when my…brother Dean Winchester came bumbling into that cathedral, all too late to do anything, and you turned and you looked and you laid your eyes upon him and you opened your mouth and you spoke words and those words told Dean Winchester that he was too late and that he was always too late and that I deserved better than someone who only pretends to care about me when it’s too late. And when he fell to his knees in tears, he knew you were right. And I knew you were right. And after he left, and I looked at you and you looked at me and I asked you who you were and you said words I’ll never forget, and those words which you spoke, I’ll never forget them, and I’m sure neither will you. And then I knew who you were, and you knew me, and I’ve always known you, and you’ve always known me. And what we knew, Y/N, was love. Between us. Between you and I. Between one sorry man and one beautiful woman. That’s how it felt. And I know that’s how you felt too. So I asked you out, and you said yes, and we went immediately to Ruby Tuesday. And we ate of the same burger, our eyes locked, our souls bound. And I knew that this would never end. I watched your luscious lips part and encompass the burger patty and all of the toppings, encapsulated in your mouth, and your teeth white as pearls and sharp as daggers dug into the meaty delight of the burger. And you bit deeply, strongly, passionately, flirtatiously and sundered your piece of our shared burger. Your lips smacked together ever so daintily, with a few specks of bun and patty still visible on your rocket red lip gloss. You chewed, moving you jaw up and down, up and down, up and down, juices dribbling down the corner of your mouth and supple chin. And then, your throat tightened, and the lump of this burger, of our burger, slid smoothly, gracefully down your slender oesophagus and toward your little tummy. And then with slender fingers you selected a napkin off of the checkered vinyl table, and you lifted it in your fingers, and then, Y/N, you folded your napkin with all skill and grace of an origami virtuoso, and as if putting the finishing touches upon your magnum opus with the gentle stroke of a brush, you dapped at your rocket red lips until your plump lips were cleared of debris from our burger. And then you curled your slender fingers around your red plastic translucent cup, and lifted it to those matching red lips, and you swallowed gulp after gulp after gulp of chilled Dr Pepper, condensation dribbling down your chin to the checkered vinyl, and I watched as you wiped your napkin over that, too. And that’s when I knew. That’s when felt the truest love I have ever felt in my life. And it was your love, Y/N. And every moment since then, I have been fighting, I have been praying, I have been dying, for you, all for you, always for you, just for you. I brought you that seashell from California, I fought off that nest of vamps that were tailing you to our date, I defended your honour against a demon who only wanted your body. You are my only and my all. You are my greatest treasure and my greatest weakness. You are my left hand and my right. You are my lifeboat and my sail in this tepid ocean. So be my lifeboat, be my sail, and let’s set out across that tepid ocean, let’s sail away! So will you please open up this bathroom door, and come marry me?”

You heave a sob. “Sammy…”

TO BE CONTINUED

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #x reader fanfiction #writers on tumblr #supernatural #sam love club #samloveclub #spncreatorsdaily #spn #spn sam winchester #y/n #bobby singer #spn bobby singer

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titanias-stolen-shoes · 4 years ago

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The Tragedy of Liam Wilhelmina

Read on AO3!

Act I: Neglect

The circumstances of his birth were rather unfortunate ones given that he was born into a land in open rebellion. Do not fret, though, for the “rebellion” was rather peaceful. There were no battle fields to flee or torture to fear. In fact, Liam Wilhelmina would never see war in his time as Duke Joren Jawbreaker’s son.

Even as the only one born to Joren’s lawful wedded wife, he was still one of the youngest. Six older brothers born to partners the church didn’t recognize, more responsibilities fell to him. He was the Count and first in line to take over for Joren when his time came.

But that is not where the tragedy lies. The here tragedy lies in his neglect.

As boy, he was often left to care of his older brothers, his parents or any of their partners, busy. In the time he was with his brothers, they never let him forget how small he was. They never hesitated to laud their bulkiness and battle prowess against him. They never let him live down that he was weak.

And his mother, Spearia Mentha, ever so thoughtful and ever so caring, did not notice. Did not see the bruises that would crop up on his arms from being grabbed too tightly or his back from where they stepped on him, playing their “games”. Did not see that his extended time in the woods weren’t merely from an interest in seeds and local flora.

As for his father, Liam was lucky if he remembered his name.

That’s not to say his parents didn’t love Liam. In fact, they cared for him very much. Spearia, a priestess of the Sweetening Path, taught him her ways. The flow and change of magic as a natural force. Joren, for as forgetful as he was, remembered Liam’s Saint’s Day every year and for his fourteenth, gave him a peppermint pig by the name of Preston—an animal companion that would be his best and dearest friend for years to come.

There is no denying that he was loved. To do so would be a fallacy of the highest regard, but a mere lack of love would not lead to tragedy.

Act II: Alienation

To leave Joren Jawbreaker’s choice to openly rebel against the Concord without repercussions would be remiss. The Concord was something all kingdoms agreed on after the Revening Wars decimated their lands. Peace had reigned for twenty years and yet he still rebelled.

To not promote any active hostilities against him and his people, Joren gave Liam to his nephew, Amethar Rocks, as a political prisoner. And suddenly, through no fault of his own, Liam Wilhelmina was far from his home with no one he knew.

But he was not alone. There were the twin princesses Jet and Ruby, only a year older than himself, and always having fun. Theobald Gumbar, Lord Commander of the Tartgaud, who always made sure Liam was safe and accounted for. Lapin Cadbury, the royal tutor and Primogen of the church, was stuffy but glad to teach him if he attended any lessons. Queen Caramelinda was kind and appreciated what he was doing for his family and King Amethar, while not particularly good with kids who weren’t his own, did his best to accommodate Liam.

So where is the tragedy of this act? He has girls his age he can speak with any time and a myriad of adults to look after him. No brothers to bully him or responsibilities outside of staying in Castle Candy. He is well taken care of and never alone if he chooses not to be.

The tragedy here is in the subtle alienation he felt in the months he tried to make Castle Candy his home.

While Jet and Ruby were close to his age and never too busy, it was hard to break into their dynamic, so wrapped up in themselves. He found their relationship interesting and was a little envious of it. He could never imagine playing pranks with his brothers, let alone getting along with them.

Theo was always nice, but he had an important job to do, and couldn’t always be there for Liam.

Liam did his best to avoid Lapin when he could, sure that the rabbit hated him.

Queen Caramelinda, while kind, always felt more pitying and King Amethar never seemed to know what to do with Liam.

It wasn’t just that he was lonely—he was plenty lonely in his own home. No, it was the knowledge that he didn’t belong which alienated him. This wasn’t his family, this wasn’t his home, and this wasn’t his choice.

And so, in the many months of his stay, he spent most of it in the woods. He and Preston would forage for seeds to collect or walk around when nothing else could hold his attention.

Act III: Loss

There is a muchness to this act in that loss runs rampant through it. The first loss he experienced was the loss of his sense of safety.

In that fight to save King Amethar’s life, he had cast magic in front of a stadium that hated his path to magic. They gasped, whispers of witchcraft floating over the breeze as their eyes landed on him, judging and fearful, until Ruby stood tall, two incriminating water-steel daggers in her hands. For a moment, their attention was no longer on him.

Then time went on and they remembered the witch boy that had disrupted the tournament. They remembered his sins against the church and that night Liam looked into Amethar’s eyes and begged him to not let him die. Amethar had grabbed Liam by the neck, making a promise no one was sure he would be able to keep.

Liam did not sleep that night.

The next loss was soon after, as the next day he was put on trial and Amethar was forced to admit his infidelity and had his title and land stripped from him, making Liam a Prince and his father King Joren Jawbreaker.

The cathedral was the first battle of war Liam ever saw. It was also the first personal lost he ever experienced. Lapin stepped in front of him, eyes steely and narrow as he pushed Liam out of the way, taking then hit for him. And when they were trying to run, Preston had went back to protect Lapin and they both died.

Something dark and bitter and sharp started growing in him that day.

This next loss was his most recent and painful. See, Ruby, Jet, and Liam had been growing closer by the day. Ever since they’d left to Comida that first day, their dynamic had changed. They had included him in things, let him in their circle, and in the end, taught him their secret language. ‘An honorary twin!’ Ruby had called him. ‘You’re one of us now!’ Jet had said.

Jet died in his arms, murdered by a man they had hoped they could trust.

He wrapped her up and placed her somewhere safe, running to get the rest of their family so they could take her. He was invisible in the dark, his tears stuck behind his eyes as he stared ahead with precision.

That dark and sharp thing grew bigger and deeper as they sailed into the night, Amethar holding Jet’s now cold body to his chest and Liam watched, unable to look away.

~~~

The tragedy of Liam Wilhelmina isn’t one of his own doing. If he had had any say in the way his life went, then surely, he would have chosen differently. Surely, he would have been content with his pig and his mother and his magic. Surely, he would have chosen differently. But as it was, Liam had no control over how his life.

And he still doesn’t.

@allsevenmaidens

#it's written like this bc i'm a Dramatic Bitch #a crown of candy #liam wilhelmina #a crown of candy fanfic #i wrote something!

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prophecy-is-inevitable · 4 years ago

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Indulgence of Divinity: Chapter 3

Michael Langdon x OFC

Michael and Ms. Mead follow the Divinity deep below the Sanctuary proper after accepting a dinner invitation. The court's private rooms are unremarkable--with one enormous exception. The woman and Michael reach an understanding of sorts.

Chapter Warnings: mild language, bad-mouthing religion (maybe?)

Word Count: 3756

(Also posted on Ao3 under the same title.)

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Chapter Three: Into the Sanctum

“If you have the time, I would be honored if you could join me for dinner this evening.” She turned to smile at the older woman, her face once again stern and protective as she stepped to her king’s side. “Ms. Mead as well..."

Evening had descended throughout the halls, artificial though it may have been, when Michael and Ms. Mead found themselves in the presence of the “Divinity” once again. Head held high and hands clasped daintily in front of her, she moved with a grace and fluidity unexpected for someone that had been restricted from the rest of the Sanctuary. Once again, she was clothed in delicate white. It was much simpler than before; Michael caught himself musing on the swaths of white linen wrapping over her shoulder, around her waist, sweeping around, and the forest green cords crisscrossing over her abdomen. Quite the contrast to his elegant all-black ensemble of fitted pants, knee-high boots, and satin black dinner jacket with red velvet lapels and Ms. Mead’s usual onyx authoritarian pantsuit.

Murmurs followed in the wake of the trio. Sometimes she would cast the residents a polite smile and a nod that sent them off kilter. Who the hell was this bitch waltzing around like she owned the place? And wearing white in the presence of the Antichrist? How pretentious! Clearly, Michael hadn’t been the only one unaware of her existence within the Sanctuary. Again, the remarks were met with the gentle bowing of her lips and a knowing glance. The air around her simmered with restrained reprisal, something lurking just beneath the serene exterior. No wonder she’d been cordoned off from the others. She couldn’t help wondering if their treatment of her would be as callous had they been made aware of her purpose from the beginning. In hindsight, she would have taken the risk if it meant a chance for true socialization. Each couple or group they passed celebrating the holiday of love with lustful acts filled her throat with a suffocatingly bitter sensation.

Their strides carried them through the towering mahogany stacks of the library. Anything salvaged before the bombs fell was stored within the large interconnecting chambers and provided with the proper care and protection to ensure their survival. Whether it was for educational, historical, cultural, or entertainment, all texts deemed valuable in any fashion rested here for survivors to pluck and peruse. Glistening spines of newer volumes winked from the shelves in the candlelight and then faded from view as the three ventured further. The air grew thick with the musty organic smell of the immemorial collections. Tomes and documents of the most importance were sealed and accessible only with supervision for those that had received the lead historian’s permission.

A large relief carved into the farthest wall depicted a massive tree bearing various fruits. The sculpture was polished and otherwise devoid of embellishment with the exception of two areas. Each fruit depicted was inlaid with gems of their respective color. The focal point, however, was the great serpent woven through the branches and entwined around the thick trunk. Scales of ammolite covered the body in dark iridescence. Candle and firelight refracted within the individual shards to bring life to the inanimate; every flicker of flame gave breath to the creature and the illusion of the rigid body ever-winding around its arborescent host. A golden crown rested atop the serpent’s head and a gleaming cinnabar heart within the fangs poured red water into a fountain below the tree’s carved roots.

Michael watched as their guide reached forward to situate a circular ruby into the hollow depression of the serpent’s eye. The fountain ceased its flow momentarily, the sound of water diverting behind the wall, and propelled hidden mechanisms. One of the dark wood shelves retracted into the floor to reveal a staircase that descended further still into the depths of the Sanctuary. Flames ignited in the channels lining the stairs to provide light when the first footfalls landed on the top stair.

“I apologize for the theatrics. The court was adamant that our chambers not be something a resident could simply stumble upon,” the younger woman explained as she retrieved the red gem she had placed in the sculpture. The bookshelf returned to its original position after Ms. Mead passed through the threshold. Michael heard the patter of her steps quicken just a fraction to stand nearer, and he turned to offer her a slight nod of reassurance. He would never let harm befall her ever again.

The steps carried them deeper into the mountain and below the main construction. Portions of the walls next to the stairs had long been eroded, giving way to caverns of mineral pools and natural ornamentation of calcite draperies, flowstone, stalactites, and other formations. Michael found his eyes greedily drinking in the splendor that he hadn’t known lurked beneath feet since the very beginning. His preoccupation with ending the world had left little time for him to explore and appreciate the wonders below the surface.

“These caverns and passages have been here longer than any human construction above ground. It was part of what made it the perfect place to house the vestiges of humanity. Half of the work to create a habitable city had been done ages ago by nature. Of course, it needed some refinement and polishing to reach the exceptionally high standards of the world’s remaining elite. I preferred for our area to remain more natural.” Her fingers danced over the rough-hewn wall when it reappeared beside them.

A landing appeared around a slight curve illuminated with an inordinate amount of light. The air grew warmer with each step towards the rays streaming through the doorway until they reached the crest of another staircase. The sigh of annoyance was barely restrained when it passed Michael’s lips. The invitation had been one for dinner, not a hike into the bowels of the mountain. When they passed through the doorway, the gentle scuffling of his boots on the floor came to an abrupt halt and nearly caused Ms. Mead to walk directly into his frozen form.

Sensing that her charges were no longer at her heels, the woman turned and observed the slackened jaws and wide, darting eyes of the pair for whom she was quickly developing a fondness. There was almost a reverence to their expressions, and it filled her with gratitude and satisfaction. It showed on the widening smirk gracing her tranquil features. She was happy to let them admire her work for as long as they liked.

The tunnel opened up into a room of immeasurable size, and the elevation of the stairs provided an excellent vantage point. No palace ballroom, no exquisite cathedral, came to mind as an equal comparison. Even the Orangery of Versailles fell dismally short of the grandeur and expanse of the sanctum before their eyes. Towering column reliefs patterned the chiseled walls, and natural springs had been converted to focal water features that bled across the floor--the earth and soil--below in creeks and streams. The rest of the walls were tiled up to the vaulted ceiling in square, mercury glass mirrors. The reflections blurred the reality of a boundary existing within the room and added to the enormity of the space. Climbing vines of greenery and clustered purple flowers rooted into some cracks and crevices and dangled from the ceiling. An ornamental sculpture of a compass had been carved out of the domed ceiling and indicated the cardinal points.

Despite the low symphony of sounds and sights, their eyes were drawn to the burning orb casting light around the room as it sank towards a pond at the western edge. Ms. Mead was the first one to ask what they were both wondering. Almost.

“Is that…?”

“An affectionate imitation of it, yes. It’s hard to compress such a force to fit in this space, but it helps simulate natural growth cycles and circadian rhythms. I’ve been working more within biomes, and it’s helped with determining what areas of the sanctum can maintain which regions.” The younger woman tilted her head and extended a hand to indicate down the stairs. "I'd be happy to show you more if you'd like."

They reached ground level, below the oak and pine boughs, below the rainforest canopy, at the same moment a pale gray sphere rose from a small pool at the eastern wall. She grinned at the appearance of the lunar resonance and stopped next to the water.

“Perfect timing; I’m glad it rose early enough for you to see. The moon was much easier to create. I’ve been banned from creating fire, at least for the time being,” she turned with a slender finger pointed at Michael, “since that’s your job.” She was certainly looking forward to her restraints coming off now that they had been introduced and would soon be testing their abilities together. It was going to be spectacular if the atmospheric tension crackling between them was anything to go by.

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to make of things. For the moment, it was easy to believe that they were no longer underground. Trees stretched above their heads, branches curving around the pathways in verdant embrace, and birds and other small animals flitted along in interest. All of this...had been destroyed by the bombs and nuclear winter, yet here it was in an impossible place miles beneath a mountain. He craned his neck and nearly danced as he spun and twisted to view as much as possible, and he noticed the shifts in flora and fauna the farther their journey took them.

“Gargano used to be the last remaining area of ancient oak and beech forests left in Europe. Many of those trees here are from acorns and beech nuts I was able to salvage when we first came here years ago. It seemed a shame to lose something so beautiful because of the failure of humans.” She gingerly plucked an acorn from the ground and cradled Michael’s palm in her own to deposit the seed in his hand. Her hands gently closed his fingers around her, her fingertips trailing over his hand lightly when she pulled away.

“Repeat after me. ‘Cum mea vita, et vos vivetis.’” Michael did as she bade him and repeated the words softly. They echoed one another as they continued the chant, breath ghosting over each other’s cheeks when she stepped closer and covered his hand once more, and their gazes locked. Spindly roots wrapped around his wrist, snaked through his fingers, and a stem rose through the gap between. “With my life, you will live,” she finished, stepping away to let him observe his work.

Michael’s hand holding the seedling remained outstretched before him. Roots continued to curl along his skin as the stem grew further until two fragile leaves unfurled. Michael stared, eyes wide and glassy, at the vulnerable greenery in his grasp.

“How is this possible?” His voice was soft and bewildered. He’d burned away the souls of others with those very same hands. How could they also bring prosperity?

“While your powers may be unholy, their origin is still heavenly. Your father used to be the most favored of all angels, remember? He was never stripped of his power; it simply corrupted to fit the purposes he needed. All it needs is a little push to remember what it’s truly capable of doing.” She bent and scooped a small hole in the earth beside them. “Ms. Mead, would you mind carefully extracting that seedling and helping me plant it here?”

Ms. Mead looked to Michael for direction. There was a glimmer in her eyes that closely resembled fear. Was their plan to awaken the divine side of Michael’s powers and forsake their master? Would he forsake her? She swallowed thickly and glanced down at the woman kneeling in the dirt. Her Michael had done such wonderful things before, but never anything like this woman had enabled him. More than likely they had only just scratched the surface. Perhaps against her better judgement, Ms. Mead dismissed the doubts and began unwinding the delicate roots from around Michael’s fingers. The smile on his face was one she hadn’t seen in quite some time--one of excitement and delight, and for some reason it called to mind the warm smell of french toast. His eyes were sparkling with newly rekindled purpose.

Once the roots were free of Michael’s jeweled fingers, Ms. Mead stooped to place the seedling in its new home in the rich soil. The younger woman placed a clean hand gently, reassuringly, on Ms. Mead’s upper back until it was time to pack the earth to support the delicate sprout. Very briefly, the women’s hands both covered the dirt and they exchanged a small smile.

“Perfect. Thank you, Ms. Mead,” the younger of the two sighed contentedly. It was important to Michael that Ms. Mead felt included in his endeavors, and he extended his hands to help both women stand. He appreciated this stranger’s consideration where others would usually overlook his maternal figure. “You’re both welcome to visit the sanctum whenever you’d like, but I must ask that you refrain from bringing other guests. It’s better for them to think that their food comes from hydroponics and ingenious animal husbandry than...here.”

It felt like hours passed while they explored the eden. Woodland forests turned to lush foliage and bright flowers with humid air, arid sands grew resilient plants and faded to open water at one end while grasslands turned to frigid tundra at the other.

“How long have you been here?” Michael asked upon losing count of the different species of wildlife roaming around.

“The bombs fell almost two years ago, and you were planning for three years before that… I’ve been here for about five years, then.” Five years. Time had moved quickly while she was occupied with her studies. Now it was time for it all to come to fruition. “They moved me from the safehouse in New England to the Sanctuary here in Italy as soon as you made yourself known.”

They arrived at the far edge of the room and slipped through an archway to a dining hall. It was nowhere near as extravagant or embellished as the common rooms in the Sanctuary proper. The walls were unrefined and the same rough texture as the cavernous hidden stairway. The table was simple cherry wood surrounded by eight unimpressive matching chairs. One of the chairs was currently occupied. Michael tensed at the unexpected guest. He had been under the impression the three of them would be alone to converse leisurely.

“This is Aldair. You might recognize him from this morning. He is the High Priest in charge of my instruction in Neopaganism, which I’ve honestly found to be some of the most useful. The focus on nature has been very beneficial. He’s acting as my chaperone this evening.” The man stood to greet them, his wavy chestnut hair slipping into his olive eyes for a moment when he bowed, and he smiled brightly when turning to face his divine lady. His close cropped beard glinted in the dim light from the large fireplace and tall candelabras as he moved to pull out her chair.

She sat to Michael’s left so that Ms. Mead could remain at Michael’s right hand as he took the seat at the head of the table. Aldair made his way around to hold Ms. Mead’s chair out for her as well and gave her one last courteous bow when she was seated. The domes over their plates disappeared with a quick wave of the Divinity’s hand, and revealed lightly steaming fillets and baked vegetables in a sweet and savory glaze. There seemed to be an absence of meat on her plate, and a wider range of vegetables and grilled fruits took its place.

“I hope that you will find the meal to your liking. Everything is fresh from today. Please, enjoy yourselves, and feel free to ask anything you like. I’m sure you must have a lot of questions, and we can speak freely in front of Aldair. He’s considered a close friend.” She reached over and gently squeezed the high priest’s hand with an affectionate smile before returning to her meal. Michael’s shoulders immediately straightened at the display. Close friend? Discreetly, his icy eyes narrowed and he stared at the man with every intention of reaching into the deepest, most secluded corners of the man’s mind.

“Mmm, this is delicious,” Ms. Mead chimed after finishing a piece of the fillet and subsequently broke Michael’s concentration. “What is this?” The smirk that tugged at the other woman’s lips was nothing short of mischievous in conjunction with the gleam in her resin eyes.

“It’s venison,” she replied, and took a bite of her own food. Michael’s lips stretched tightly over his mouth in an attempt to hide his amusement at the slight cough from Ms. Mead. “I’m glad that you find it satisfying.”

“You said that you are open to any line of questioning?” Michael received a nod from the raven-haired woman on his left. “If you have been here for so long, and known who I am, why haven’t we been introduced? Santori gave his explanation. Now I want to know your truth.” She nodded again and politely wiped her mouth with her napkin. Michael’s eyes bore into hers with the same fire he’d used when conducting interviews months ago; however, he found her to be frustratingly unreadable as his glare unfocused.

“Honestly, I’ve been given the same reasoning as you. We needed time to develop our powers individually. You had a purpose to fulfil far sooner than I did, and they didn’t want to cause any distractions for you. Since the Apocalypse has begun, your abilities have grown tenfold. As you grow stronger, so do I. Now, the only way for us to increase our abilities is together.”

As you grow stronger, so do I. A surge of recognition forced him to genuinely focus his eyes on her and found her gaze already upon him. The same satisfied smirk graced her lips as it had this morning. The words, and the sensations they conjured within him, were more than familiar.

“Are you involved with the Cooperative?” Her smirk grew wider by a fraction.

“Yes. I receive all communications sent to and from the Cooperative. I also helped draft some of the Outpost Construction Plans, picked the location for and designed many areas of the Sanctuary, and worked with Research and Development on sustainability and resources.” So she’d been involved all along. He’s probably been in direct communication with her at some point and hadn’t even realized.

“You know Jeff and Mutt?”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled lightly at the mention of the coke-addled geniuses. “They’ve been working on something for me for a little while. I haven’t been in to see their progress lately, actually.” There was a brief moment of silence where her thoughts on the project took up her attention before she caught the others still waiting for further elaboration. “Of course, they don’t know who I am exactly. My credentials and my email are under a pseudonym, for obvious reasons.”

“You really do not have a name?” Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the table to watch for any flicker of emotion or tell for a lie. He was skeptical at best, and she could tell.

“I do not. My mother--she was a nun--was told not to name me, not to get too attached, because I was ‘a sin’.” She rolled her eyes as she made quotation marks with her fingers. “It’s amazing how people who call themselves believers seek to invalidate something genuine when it doesn’t fit exactly into their archetypes.” Michael hummed and smiled in reminiscence. He knew very well how those of a faith could quickly turn on their own when not precisely conforming to a given image. “I went from the convent straight into the care of my court. There was never much time spent with one person to charge with the task of naming.” Her indifference surprised him for a moment, though he supposed this had always been her reality and was simply considered normal. He leaned his chin on the back of his hand and let his gaze slide over her form.

“And so that responsibility falls to me.”

“You and I are expected to form a bond, so I suppose they decided it would be an ideal start to the bonding process if you chose.” Once again, there was the feeling of receiving a pet instead of a colleague or partner. Michael leaned back to swallow a mouthful of food and watched her push a forkful around on her plate.

“Are there any names that you like?” How was he supposed to choose a name for someone he didn’t even know? She smiled sadly and shook her head.

“Not really. I’ve never thought of names in that way since I knew it wouldn’t be my choice.” Michael frowned and titled his head to watch her. He had anticipated utilizing some of the “Cooperating” techniques when presented with the opportunity to seek his answers, and now the hardened façade he’d prepared was once again crumbling despite himself.

“It could be your choice. If you wanted it to be.” A slim hand reached across the table and clasped his loosely. He found that he had no interest in pulling away, and he rather enjoyed the gentle coolness and pulse of contentment she emitted.

“I appreciate that. I do. To be honest, I’m excited to see what you come up with. It would be quite special to receive my name from my king” She mimicked his inquisitive head tilt and squeezed his hand softly. “I trust you.” The words were nothing but the truth. Michael felt a sense of pride. And a sudden impending pressure to do right by this person that had granted him her trust. It felt like such a strange word after years of receiving worship. Was that considered any form of trust? His fingers inadvertently returned her gentle grasp.

“I believe it would be in both of our best interests to leave that for a time once we are more well acquainted. If we are truly to be equals, your name should be as meaningful as your purpose. Not something derived from impulse.”

She positively beamed. An unlikely someone was showing her respect and consideration, let alone acknowledgement of her role, that sometimes even her own procession lacked. Michael’s chest swelled in triumph at her pleased reaction. Compassion and flattery earned far greater rewards than hostility and impatience, after all, and that was something Michael knew all too well.

#Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon Fanfiction #Michael Langdon x OC #American Horror Story Apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #Indulgence of Divinity #my fics #This is 90% description and I'm (almost) not sorry #I am sorry for any typos that I didn't catch in my rush to post

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emybain · 6 years ago

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Filigree Bracelet

“Can you write a story where Adrian figures out Nightmare’s identity because her sleeve gets torn or burned during a fight and he sees her bracelet?”

requested by @insomnianovanightmare

yall...can I just say that fight scenes go better in my head than when I type them out? fr..

also this has been a nightmare (no pun intended) for the past like 24 hours because it would never post. praying it posts this time, or I will just cry!

Adrian could feel the chill of the cathedral through his suit.

Every one of his nerves told him that he shouldn’t be there, that it’s too dangerous, especially since the arrest of Ace Anarchy not a month ago. But Nova…

Nova was gone.

She had stopped showing up at headquarters over a week ago. Concerned, the Renegades sent people to check out her house, only to come back shaking their heads. Nothing. Nothing except her wristband, which had been found sitting on a naked mattress in what they believed to be her bedroom. Adrian, in denial, went with Oscar and Ruby to check out the scene for themselves. The house had had police tape across the front door, but he hadn’t cared. An investigation had been opened up to find the missing Renegade, but there hadn’t been anyone there when they went. The house had been completely emptied except for a few picture frames of what he assumed were of Nova’s relatives. Completely emptied, as if she and her uncle had decided to just up and move without telling anyone. Or they had been robbed, and something had happened to them.

They had searched the rowhouse, looking for any clues that could help them find their partner. They had gone up the stairs to the second floor, finding two bedrooms and a small bathroom. Adrian had gulped when he opened the door to what was marked, probably by an investigator, as Nova’s room. Inside, there had been two bare mattresses sitting on the floor. Across from them, an old vanity, which struck Adrian as odd. Nova wasn’t the type for that kind of furniture. She was much more simplistic. Perhaps it had been a gift from her uncle. Whatever the case, they had left disheartened. They had found nothing.

But Adrian had a hunch.

He believed that the Anarchists had taken Nova for killing one of their own.

And he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The universe had already put him through so much.

First his mom, then the attack on his dad, then Max, then Danna...he refused to let his girlfriend go on top of everything else.

Voices caught Adrian’s attention. He stiffened, then crouched down behind some debris. A piece of what seemed to once belong to the ceiling of the cathedral.

“...in two days. We don’t have much time.” Adrian held back a gasp. Peeking around the corner, he saw the black uniform of none other than Nightmare, her back turned to him. In front of her stood Phobia, his hood hiding any facial features, if he had any.

“It’s not enough,” he hissed, voice echoing across the cathedral. “It is foolish to even consider.”

“Do you have a better plan? Or are you too busy brooding around here?” Nightmare crossed her arms. Adrian took note of her rigid posture. Clearly, even the Anarchists were wary of Phobia.

“Do not let your inner conflict out on me, little Nightmare.” The room grew cold all of a sudden. Was it just him or did Phobia grow another foot? “You cannot hide your constant battle with yourself. It grows every day. The Detonator was right in believing you would betray us.”

To Adrian’s shock, Nightmare shrank back. When she spoke, her voice was shaky, yet icy. “They’ve taken everything from me. I will kill every last one of them if it means Ace is rescued and we win.”

An airy laugh, if it could even be called that, broke out. “I have seen this fear in you many times over, and before you, countless.” He began to circle her, gliding across the tile. “Abandonment. Loneliness. Not being accepted for who you truly are-”

“Shut up!” Nightmare drew a knife from her belt. “You know, Phobia, I don’t know why I came here in the first place. I thought maybe you would care enough, but clearly you’re still playing the same games.”

Phobia hissed. “It is not I playing the same games, you petulant child. It is you, unable to fuel your anger to revenge instead of fear.”

“I will kill them,” Nightmare repeated, voice shaking. “I will avenge my uncle.”

Cold air blasted through the cathedral, “Of course, child. If that’s the case, then why don’t you start now? I bet your little Renegade friend hiding would enjoy your anger.” Phobia vanished into the air, leaving Nightmare to whip her head around, eyes wide. The grip on her knife visibly tightened.

“Who’s out there?” she called out, turning in circles.

Adrian contemplated leaving, blasting a hole through an outer wall and making a run for it. But he was here for Nova, for answers. He had to find out what they did with her. So, Adrian stood from his hiding spot, slowly, as if he were in no hurry. He stepped out into the light. Nightmare narrowed her gaze.

“Of course,” she growled, before pouncing on him.

He stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the force of her attack. But with a raise of his arm, he sent her flying back with a scream, hitting a wall and slumping to the ground. He made his way to her slowly, as if she were a feral animal. She remained where she was, laying with her head down and back against the wall.

“What do you know about Nova McLain?” Adrian raised his arm again as a precaution. Nightmare tensed, then peered up at him.

She blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrian rolled his eyes. He took a step closer, blocking her only escape. She pressed back against the wall, much to Adrian’s confusion. Since when had Nightmare become so...weak?

“Nova McLain. Renegade.” He swallowed. “Maybe you’ve heard of her, seeing as you keep messing up my life.”

Nightmare shook her head, confused. She must’ve been concussed, or something, from her hit. Great. Adrian sighed and lowered his arm. She was no use to him here; if he was going to get answers, he needed to take her to headquarters. Maybe then she would talk.

“Get up,” he ordered. “You’re coming with me.”

Nightmare started to stand, but fell back with a loud ‘oomph’. Pathetic. She made quite the Anarchist. Against his better judgement, Adrian took another step towards her and held out a hand. She looked at it, dazed, then raised her own to accept it.

Next thing Adrian knew, he was on his back, the wind being knocked out of him. He had gone numb from the waist down. His arms were pinned down by his sides. Nightmare hovered over him, her eyes glaring down at him from under her hood. Despite her surprisingly small frame, she was able to hold him down. It wasn’t hard, when he considered it, seeing as he only had control of his upper body.

“Don’t worry, the effects of the poison will wear off in about...twenty minutes. Enough time for me to figure out who you are. Now tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?” All traces of her assumed concussion were gone, replaced with hard, determined eyes.

“The infamous Nightmare shows mercy? That’s not what I heard two minutes ago,” he mocked. She had hold of his arms with her knees, and she put more pressure on them. Only then did Adrian notice how close her knife was.

“I’m not all bad, if only I was given a chance,” she retorted, batting her eyes innocently. “Is it true, Sentinel, that this helmet of yours comes off?” Her free hand began roaming around his head, searching. He struggled, but she pressed the knife against his chest plate. “All I need is one puncture, one touch. Don’t even try it.” Adrian ignored her.

The back of his helmet clicked, and her eyes gleamed with pride. With one toss, the helmet was sent somewhere across the room, clanking against the cracked tile floors.

Adrian expected laughter. Adrian expected a knife to the throat.

Adrian didn’t expect Nightmare to gawk at him.

He felt the numbness in his legs wearing out. She had said that it would take longer; perhaps it was the suit; perhaps it was a bad poison. Nevertheless, her reaction allowed him to build up heat in his hand, shooting flames onto her thigh. She cried out in pain, her grip on him loosening, enabling him to push her off of him and flip their positions.

They struggled, rolling around. Adrian threw punches at her face, but she reflected them. Only when he had her pinned down did he realize that she wasn’t fighting back like before; she was defending herself. There were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill. Adrian couldn’t decipher what they were from.

A glint beside him caught his attention. A portion of her jacket was burned, exposing red, angry, blistering skin beneath the remains of her sleeve. Apparently, her arm had been caught in his previous blow. But it wasn’t the jacket that caught his attention. No.

It was the filigree bracelet dangling from her wrist, with a star in its center and a clasp made by Adrian.

“Where did you get that?” He turned his attention back to her, dug his elbow into her neck. She gasped for air.

“Where do you think?” Her surprise from before had disappeared, and her hardness had returned. “You were right about one thing, Adrian Everhart. I do know where Nova McLain is.”

“Tell me.” He gritted his teeth. “Or I will kill you. For everything you’ve done.”

She squirmed underneath him, but it was useless. Finally, she spat out the response that Adrian dreaded. That turned his blood cold.

“She’s dead. I’m sorry, Adrian.” Then, her hand was on his cheek, achingly familiar and gentle and calloused. His eyes widened in disbelief, but then closed as the world around him went black.

#renegades #archenemies #archenemies spoilers #nova artino #Adrian everhart #nodrian #my writing #this didn't go as planned really but I dont really care #yeah I dont think its that great but hey #writing is writing #better than not writing at all amiright

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missameliasmithers · 6 years ago

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The Aforementioned Sokai Demon AU

“I Was Dead When I Woke Up This Morning”

-Sora gets possessed by a demon and seeks out the mage (Kairi) that is rumored to work miracles

Read on AO3

“Well, well,” his demon hummed. “What do we have here?”

“Be silent,” Sora mumbled, valiantly attempting to fight the lush creeping to his cheeks. “Slink back into your shadows.”

The hunter had spent the better half of the lunar phase in search of her –and two winters before simply chasing whispers. The sages and holy-men had been next-to-useless, the herbal women ineffective, and the soothsayers charlatans. She was his last hope.

He had heard rumors once or twice in passing before the possession, of the apprentice mage who appeared saturated in light. Gifted, he’d heard, blessed with an old magic. Capable of great feats.

Another cheat, he remembered assuming.

Now however, with the clawing talons of this monstrous darkness embedding themselves deeper into his soul, now he would try anything.

The nearer he got to her village, the more murmurs he caught. A miracle worker, some said. A gift from the Gods Almighty. An angel of innocence and health. The best white mage in millennia. He just hoped she was as good as they all claimed.

He found her hut with no trouble, not because of its size or splendor –as it was a humble lodging—but from the throng outside her door. Thirty heads was his estimate, and since he never had been one to mill about in a queue, he trotted off to the tavern to lose some hours in a bottle.

He returned as the sun was caressing the horizon and abided in the shadows of a maple as he waited for her final patrons to leave. He was rewarded two sun-marks later, when the hutch opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out, bowing and throwing exuberant praise over her shoulder as she left. A smaller figure in hooded red robes followed her out, waving farewell to the departing woman before snuffing out the lantern beside the threshold.

Closed for the night.

But one more patient.

Sora pushed himself off the tree and glided toward the mage’s hut. The soft rap of his knuckles on the door could barely be called a knock, but it served to alert his presence.

The robed figure was on the far side of the room –which was not a great distance considering the size of the dwelling—stooped over a large, open tome on a modest wood table. At the sound of his entrance, the figure raised its covered head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m closed for—oh!” She stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on him, apparently as startled at his appearance as he was with hers.

She was certainly not what he had been expecting. He had envisioned this mage to be a withery old woman, or at the very least someone his senior. The face that greeted him from under the hood however, was a fresh-faced woman, perhaps a year or two beneath himself. She had ruby hair and shining eyes that seemed to glow and pierce him in the lamplight.

There was nothing outwardly spectacular about her –though admittedly she was quite visually striking—yet she emanated a sort of… light. No candle adorned her, nor did she wear crushed pearls as the court ladies did. A natural warmth seemed to seep out of her very being, and it made Sora want to move closer. To bask in her.

The demon in him roused in piqued curiosity and uncoiled like a serpent around his heart.

“My shadows are yours,” he rumbled. “You want her.”

Sora’s blood was on fire, racing to his chest, his face, his—

“I want no such thing.”

The demon huffed. “Are you not yet sick of denial, hunter?”

Sora allowed himself a steadying breath to keep his voice from wavering as he finally spoke.

“I realize you’ve stopped seeing patrons for the evening,” he said, “but I could not wait until dawn.”

“I can see that,” the woman said, her tone light despite the his rather impolite intrusion. “I don’t blame you. With that creature rasping in your ear all day, I’m sure I’d be tired of it as well.”

Sora’s eyes widened. “How did—?”

“I can feel the darkness from here,” she said, gesturing at his torso –at his heart. “You’ve got an impressive demon inside you, stranger.”

“Sora,” he said. “My name is Sora.”

“Kairi,” she supplied. Stepping from behind the table, she gestured to the tea table in the centre of the room. “Sit down, Sora. Let’s talk about your demon problem.”

“I would have you know this beast is not of my own making,” he told Kairi over a cup of Camilla.

She smiled. “I sensed as much. How did it come to find you?”

“The tale is brief, though rather grim,” Sora said with a sigh. “I had been out on a hunt and was tracking a boar through the wood. Midway through the brush, a new set of prints appeared –these belonging to a human. It is not uncommon to find travellers lost on the trail, but these were speckled with bloody drops.

“I do not consider myself a man of highest virtue, however I could not in good consciousness leave a wounded man alone in untamed timberland,” Sora said, tracing the rim of his cup. “I followed the tracks and came upon a young page collapsed in the thicket. He appeared to be my year, with a soft face dirtied and blonde hair tangled. His chest labored with breath and his eyes went wide upon seeing me.

“He told me to leave. Begged me to turn around, but crimson gashes littered his forearms and chest, and I could not bear to leave him in such misery. I tried to bandage him, but he protested. ‘I did this to myself,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to rid him of this realm. You must leave while you can!’”

Sora’s throat burned as Kairi continued listening patiently. “I did not understand him at the time. I believed his injuries were causing delirium. I kept trying to help. I attempted to heft him over my shoulder, but he pushed me away. ‘Please leave,’ I remember him saying. His words are forever ingrained in me. ‘I cannot hold him back much longer.’

“And still I stayed.

“Tears began to form in his eyes. ‘This isn’t how it was supposed to happen,’ he said. ‘He was supposed to fade. Now he will persist in you. I’m so sorry.’ And then, with tears staining his cheeks, the page took a final breath and expired.”

Sora inhaled, long and shaky, before letting it out. “My memory after that moment is spotted and full of fog. The last clear recollection I have is waking up in my cabin with a pain in my head and a strong feeling of nausea. A laugh that was not my own rumbled deep inside me and I haven’t been able to be free of him since.”

Kairi offered him a genuine look of sympathy. “That sounds like a dreadful ordeal.”

“Living with him is worse,” he replied.

“We’ll remedy that in time,” she said. “You have a powerful light inside you, Sora. Keep it lit and drive this demon back.”

Sora winced. “I’ve been trying. It’s been getting more difficult to keep him contained. He’s getting stronger. Takes control more often.”

Kairi reached forward and rested her hand on his. “I will help you.”

That enchanting warmth that thawed his bones earlier returned at the contact of her palm. It trickled up his veins and calmed his frayed emotions. He delighted in the pleasant calm.

“Normal exorcism will not work on this form of demon, I’m afraid,” Kairi admitted, setting down her cup. “But I believe if we draw out your light, it will drive the creature from your body.”

Sora put down his cup as well. “How do we do that?” he asked.

“A kind of meditation,” she said, rising to her feet. Sora followed suit. “I will try and share my light to boost your own, but it may take a few tries.”

“I’m willing to try,” the hunter said.

“Come with me, then.”

Kairi led Sora to a different section of her home, this new room simple and modest as the rest. Draperies and shelves lined the walls, and a small pedestal with cushions lay in the middle. A pleasant scent wafted through the air, a sweet incense.

Without hesitation, Kairi climbed up and took a seat on one of the pillows. She gestured to the remaining one across from her.

“Please have a seat.”

Sora did as he was told and once comfortably situated on the cushion, he looked up at Kairi for further instruction.

Her reassuring smile sent a summery rush through him as she outstretched her hands and turned his over.

“It is important that we maintain physical contact during this meditation,” she explained, grazing her fingers along his upturned wrists as she rested her hands on his. “Our auras will be linked during this time and if our contact is broken, we will be left unbalanced. If you are left weakened, your demon could very well take control, perhaps permanently.”

Sora gulped. “Okay.”

“Are you ready?”

Sora raised his head and met Kairi’s gaze. There was no uncertainty in her eyes, rather a proud determination, as if she hadn’t a trace of doubt in her mind that he had the power to vanquish this darkness. It made him feel strong.

He nodded resolutely.

“Then let us begin.”

He was in an unfamiliar land.

All around him was night, yet the moon and the stars had abandoned the sky. The ground beneath his feet was fashioned from glass, glittering and colourful like the windows of a cathedral. The air around him was thick, but he could not decipher what with. He tasted something sweet, but detected sourness and bitter flavour.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she, hunter?”

Sora whirled around to find the image of himself, vastly the same as a reflection, but mutated and contorted into a more twisted version. His normally brown hair had been inked in charcoal, his skin ashed, and his eyes an uncomfortable yellow.

“Leave me alone, demon,” he hissed.

“You are the one who called on me,” the black creature said. “You and that charming mage you are so infatuated with.”

Sora’s face reddened. “I am not infatuated.”

“Foolish boy, you cannot hide your emotions from me,” the demon said. “I am in every crevice of your mind. I know your thoughts. I know your desires. Though I must say, this was a surprise. Who knew you had a tinge of darkness to you as well?”

“You’re the darkness in me!” Sora growled.

“I had thought the same until recently,” the demon admitted. “There were a few times in the past I thought I saw a glint of shadow in you, but you always stamped it out. Now though, oh now it’s abundantly clear.”

Sora scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“I do not blame you for it, of course. It’s quite natural for a healthy male such as yourself. Even a demon such as I cannot begrudge an attraction to a woman so alluring.”

The blood drained from Sora’s face. “I’m not—I don’t—”

“Lust is my favourite deadly sin after all,” the demon continued. “It is a little absurd that a pair of pretty eyes and the brushing of a hand is enough to evoke this strong of a reaction from you, but I’ve seen worse in my years. At least you haven’t released in your britches yet.”

“You’re what’s absurd here!”

“Come now, as I said, it’s quite normal. That light of hers is delectable, after all. I can’t wait to have a taste.”

Sora glowered. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re wavering quite a bit,” the demon grinned. “Just a little longer and I’ll be able to devour that lady myself.”

Sora grasped for the beast, but stumbled through his haze. Turning on his heel, his attempted to punch him, but was awarded the same result. “Don’t you touch her!” he cried.

The demon smirked. “There it is.”

The hands resting below the mage shifted, but held contact. Sora’s fingers inched along soft skin, gently caressing Kairi’s palm as they moved higher to her wrist. The movement caused a smile to tug at her mouth even as she maintained the meditative link. Such an innocent touch, but one that reminded her of a tender presence.

And then the fingers clenched around her wrists possessively and Kairi’s eyes flung open to see a pair of golden eyes.

“Hello, pet.”

“Demon,” Kairi replied.

“Vanitas,” he corrected. “It is a delight to meet you in person, Princess.”

Kairi frowned and the demon chuckled.

“Do not act surprised,” Vanitas said. “I have lived far longer than you mortals can imagine. I could tell the moment my host laid eyes on you that you were a Princess of Heart. I can feel your light surrounding this entire town. Very impressive.”

“How are you here? My and Sora’s light should have kept you contained.”

“That’s the funny thing with light, Princess,” Vanitas said, using his grip on Kairi to pull her closer. “It always casts a shadow.”

“Not if it shines from all directions,” she retorted.

The demon brought his face besides Kairi’s nudging her cheek with his nose and moving his lips to her ear. “And you believe two beams will be enough to eradicate the darkness? I’m afraid not, love.”

Kairi squirmed as a scorching-hot tongue traced her jaw. “Release me, foul creature.”

“Whatever for?” Vanitas smirked. “Both myself and my host are thoroughly enjoying this.”

“Sora would never—”

He nipped her neck. “You have quite a lot to learn about men, my dear.”

Kairi continued to struggle as the demon laved attention to her skin.

“I can’t remember the last time I tasted something so delicious,” he mumbled. “I ought to sever your connection right here and take control of this body, but I am loathe to drag myself away from this feast.”

The mage’s heart stopped. Sora was certainly out of balance if his demon was in control. If Vanitas let her go, their link would break and he would be trapped, a prisoner in his own mind.

Reaching deep into her heart, she concentrated her light. She dredged up every positive thought she could muster, the kindness she sensed in him, her empathy for him and his plight, her desire to save him from this beast. She wrapped it up within itself, folding light into light and sent it soaring through the link.

Please, she whispered, please let this soul find balance again.

When Sora came to, his tongue was licking a stripe up Kairi’s neck.

Springing away, he yelped an apology and ducked his head. His face burned and his mouth held the curious taste of—

“Sora?”

Timidly, he raised his gaze to meet Kairi’s. Her face was flushed and her eyes were searching.

“It is you, isn’t it, Sora?”

“Of course,” he said, blush still flaming. “What happened?”

“It, uh…,” she started, “it didn’t work. Are you feeling alright?”

“Embarrassed,” he said sheepishly, “but otherwise, I’m fine.”

Kairi nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. “I can still feel your light, just as before. Can you sense it?”

“Um.” Sora took a moment to analyse himself. His soul weighed the same as it did when he arrived –not as heavy as it was the day of possession, but not as light as he would like. Still, there was that brightness that lingered inside him, the one that flared whenever he helped people in need, or watched a sunset, or look in Kairi’s eyes.

“Yeah, it’s there,” he concluded.

Kairi looked relieved. “That’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“So it didn’t work, huh?”

She shook her head. “Not this time.”

Gently, Sora grazed his fingers over hers. “Would you mind if we try again?”

#Sokai #kairi #sora #vanitas #demon au #kingdom hearts #I might write more of this #kingdom hearts fanfiction #sokai fanfiction #missameliasmithers fanfiction #fanfiction

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fierypen37 · 6 years ago

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The Oasis: Chapter 2

In honor of the Boatsex-versary today, I give you another chapter of Masseur!Jon and CEO!Dany

Sweat streamed down his face. His hair had fallen loose from its tie and one curl bounced annoyingly against his cheek as he ran. His leg muscles screamed with each stride, each breath sawing, his heart thundering in his ears. More speed. A block left . . . Ghost loped on the leash, matching him step for step. Half a block left . . . The old Targaryen Palace shone under floodlights ahead. The sky was a leaden grey, thick humid air promising rain. A stitch burned in his side. Gods, almost there . . .

Jon summited the last stair with a last burst of energy. Jon pulled up, folding his hands behind his head, sucking in deep gasps. Ghost circled around his legs, his tail wagging madly.

“Aye, you’re faster than me, as always,” Jon wheezed, grinning. Whew. He loved that burn in his leg muscles, that deep ache in his chest ebbing away to a subtle euphoria. A fierce sense of accomplishment. He’d conquered the bastard.

This early in the morning, there were only a smattering of people gathered on the plaza. Tourists, by the look of them, marveling at the spectacle of the Targaryen Palace behind ornate wrought iron gates. By any reckoning, it was impressive. The Targaryen sigil roared on a massive plate, brilliant in red gold on a background of polished slate. Though their numbers dwindled and government had shifted to a more egalitarian parliament, any man or woman of power invoked an echo of Targaryen strength.

A flash of pale hair out of the corner of his eye. Jon’s heart leapt to his throat. Oh fuck. She did say she ran the stairs on Aegon’s Hill . . .

“Ghost heel, you big lout,” Jon said with a tug on the lead. He yanked his hair into a semblance of order, peering through the clusters of gawking tourists—the woman was at least six inches taller than Dany, neat-featured and cute, her hair a spill of honey blond, walking arm in arm with a girlfriend. Not her.

Jon shook his head, marveling at how the mysterious Dany Steele snared him. The bewildering hunger hadn’t waned in the week since he’d seen her. Not by a longshot. Not only was it inconveniently lustful dreams that left him irritated and hard, but heart-stopping near-glimpses while he was getting morning tea before work, walking home from the laundromat, or running stairs with Ghost. Creamy white skin, pale hair, that little mole high on her shoulder, that fucking moan . . . Shit. His heart thudded as some blood thundered south. Jon exhaled an irritated breath.

He’d surreptitiously poured over her file at The Oasis, mooning idiot he was. A massage once or twice weekly for the past month. Missy’s neat cursive detailed the problem areas in her neck and back. Nothing else. No contact information, no health history, not a measly scrap of information. Consummate professional she was, Missy didn’t gossip about her clients. Not that Jon could summon the guts to ask when they crossed paths.

Jon pulled out his smartphone, finding two texts from Sam, one from Arya, and one from Tormund, his boss at the contractor’s office. A tap opened the text from Tormund.

The fucker Greyjoy called in again Can u pick up a shift 2day? Succinct and to the point, as always. A smarter person than Jon wouldn’t answer their phone on their day off, but Jon had never been accused of being smart.

What time? he tapped back.

9 to 9 The Westerling project needs 2 b finished ASAP I’ll owe you

Jon muttered a curse under his breath. Another twelve? On his day off? The bells within the Sept of Baelor chimed the hour along with fanciful embellishments to wow the tourists. Eight o’ clock now. Time to go home, shower, grab breakfast. Maybe working himself to exhaustion would quench the erotic dreams. After wanking himself blind for the past week, a night of untroubled sleep was appealing.

“A girlfriend would work too,” he said wryly to himself. Working two jobs, he barely had time to sleep, much less find a girlfriend. One night stands after going to the pub with his buddies was the summation of his romantic life lately.

Ghost, a huge white mutt—the lady at the shelter swore he was part direwolf—nudged his hip with a big wet nose.

“Don’t worry, buddy. Sam’ll check in on you,” Jon said.

I’ll be there U owe me

Tormund answered immediately: Thx Snow U r a lifesaver I’ll buy u a beer after work

That doesn’t mean anything U and ur wife own a pub

Then I know the beer’s good! My lady misses you

Jon snorted.

“Come, Ghost. Let’s go home,” he said, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

Heat radiated from the concrete beneath his trainers. A listless breeze tugged at the flag flying over the Targaryen palace: nine gold shields on an azure field halved with a black axe and sickle. King’s Landing stretched out beneath him, the streetlights scattered jewels of orange and green light, the horizon lost in gauzy swathes of mist. The view was part of the reason he subjected himself to this torture six days a week. No time to relish it now. Jon took a steadying breath and picked up the pace down the stair. Only five minutes until the next El train south toward his building.

Daenerys passed a hand over her burning eyes, leaning back in her office chair. A sizable dent made in her emails to colleagues, assistants detailing upcoming court dates, arraignments and board meetings. The war with the Harpy Triumvirate raged on. Rakharo of her security detail sent a weekly dossier detailing the latest threats on her life. The promise of torture, rape, and murder, as long as she spearheaded the effort to block the Triumvirate’s interests both in Westeros and abroad. Standard fare. The words were empty, and bounced off her mental armor without a scratch. Vis vociferously fought her devotion to such work. In his mind any energy not focused on Rising Dragon Inc. was energy wasted. The threats underscored his point.

Another folder held the wedding plans, adequately labeled The Hot Mess. Her cursor swerved determinedly away from that. The caterer backed out to serve some party in the River district. The florist threatened to level a ridiculous surcharge to ferry the blooms she wanted from the Reach district. Daenerys stifled a yawn. She could stare down pitiless lawyers and hardened criminals, endure deaths threats all day, but she hadn’t the mental fortitude to argue with an uppity dress designer. No, not tonight. Daenerys pushed back from the sleek computer, incongruous compared to the ornate ironwood desk, polished to a rich patina.

Alone in the office at this hour, she stretched her arms over her head. The sharp-shouldered suit jacket stretched taut across her shoulders. Rigid muscles ached. She sidled close to the window. Floor-to-ceiling one-way windows filled the eastern wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city and Blackwater Bay beyond. By city ordinance, no building was built higher than the old Targaryen Palace on Aegon’s Hill. The thorny red-stoned towers rose above her building, lit by the cool glow of floodlights. A constant reminder of Targaryen heritage, as Vis was fond of saying. Daenerys glimpsed her distorted reflection in the window. Circles under her eyes. The white silk blouse hung listless. She’d lost weight.

Daenerys kneaded the back of her neck, an angry knot of tension clenched like fist in her muscle. A glance at the clock said it was half past nine. She’d been in the office since five forty-five this morning. Long past time for her to leave the damned emails for the night. A traitorous thought wondered if The Oasis was still open, and if Jon was working. The memory of his hands on her sent a warm shiver through her body. The first flicker of arousal she’d felt in months.

Daenerys heaved a sigh, eyeing the ruby ring on her left hand. Daario Naharis, a wealthy businessman from Tyrosh, was a partner of Viserys’s. His roguish charm and easy humor was disarming and welcome after those long, ugly years building their company back up from nothing. But now . . . now so many things were different.

Her smartphone chirped.

U r STILL @ the office???

“Three question marks, really?” she said under her breath. The pain in the back of her neck intensified.

Would tonight be like so many others of late, with Daario draped over the sofa, his dyed blue hair in disarray, sniping about this guest on their guest list, or the how haggard she looked, and she had a headache again tonight? The thought made her stomach churn with a familiar acid burn of anxiety. Sex was too godsdamned difficult. She could never unwind enough to enjoy herself. It stung Daario’s masculine pride that he couldn’t get her off with any regularity.

Finishing up. Another hour. C u at home, she tapped back. Let him chew on that for now. A quick computer search found The Oasis’s dinky website. OPEN UNTIL 11 PM. Missy would probably be home with Grey at this hour. But maybe Jon . . . The phone chirped over and over again scrolling increasingly irate messages from Daario. Daenerys tapped the lock screen and tucked her phone in her purse. Tonight she’d do something for herself for a change!

The upper floor of Rising Dragon was deserted, florescent lighting a muted, yellow-hued glow. The cool, humming silence held a strange quality, a yawning, almost malevolent emptiness. Daenerys hurried to the lift. The foyer rose to soaring ceilings, a cathedral of glass and polished ironwood and wrought iron. Mr. Strong manned the security desk. Her tension eased by increments. His broad bulk and warm voice always reassured her.

“Headed home for the night, Miss Targaryen?” he said with a white smile.

“Finally, yes. Thank you Belwas.”

“Shall I call your car?” he asked. Daenerys considered a moment, then shook her head.

“No thank you. I’ll take the El.”

A frown puckered Mr. Strong’s smooth brown skin.

“Be careful, Miss. Goodnight,” he said.

“I will. Say hello to your partner for me,” Daenerys threw him a reassuring smile over her shoulder as she clicked across the polished marble floor. The Oasis wasn’t far.

Jon scrubbed his wet hair with a towel. A deep ache pervaded his body, eased by the long hot shower. His building was older, trending toward shabby, but the hot water almost never ran out. Westerling, some West district bureaucrat, requested a complete reno of his King’s Landing brownstone. Today he’d helped Tormund with the fiddly detail work: custom crown molding, installing the cabinetry, paint, and a dozen other little things. His boss had been generous: he had the next two days off, which made for a surprise long weekend. Maybe he could book a train home to see Bran and Arya.

The white glow of his smartphone caught the corner of his eye. Without his glasses, the print was a soft myopic blur at this distance. Jon wiped steam from the fogged lenses and pulled them on. A text from Shae.

D. St. requesting a late appointment. Missy left for the night and Ros is with another client. Can you help?? So sorry Jon No other choice

Jon’s heart thudded hard against his ribs. Dany. He looked at the time stamp. Shae’d sent the message ten minutes ago. The Oasis was a five-minute walk from his apartment. Adrenaline zinged through his nerves and all the weariness of the day melted away. Dany. Close enough to touch, breathing in the scent of her . . . damn. Just the thought had him half-hard.

“Get your shit together, Jon,” he told himself sternly.

I’ll b there in ten, he texted. The phone pinged a half second later: THANK YOU!!!

Five minutes later he was dressed in a black polo and jeans, wet hair pulled back in a floppy half bun on top of his head. He rapped on 302, hearing the sweet, mournful strains of the cello through the door. Sam’s broad good-natured face appeared in the sliver of door beyond the chain.

“Jon! Give us a moment, I’ll get the chain.”

The door slammed shut, with a tinkle of metallic fiddling. Sam reopened the door and Jon was swamped by warm golden light and the rich spicy scent of Pentoshi takeout. Jon’s stomach gave a liquid grumble. The sandwich and crisps that made up his lunch was too long ago.

“Who is it?” a female voice said behind Sam—his wife Gilly. Jon stomped down on a shoot of envy. Sam’s easy domestic bliss made his own life look wan and colorless by comparison. Gods, he dropped everything to go to the client he was mooning over. He chose not to dissect that train of thought further.

“It’s only Jon!” Sam shouted back.

“Jon? Oh give him my love! Little Sam, supper!”

“’Evening Gilly,” Jon said.

“’Evening, Jon. Do you want to come in for a cuppa--”

A higher voice interrupted with something indistinguishable, but apparently contrary, for Gilly’s voice rose in counterpoint: “You said ‘five more minutes’ twenty minutes ago, little lad! Come wash up for supper!” Sam’s smile was equal parts proud and apologetic.

“So sorry. Little Sam’s become quite the cellist. We’re hoping to get him into Dragonstone Academy next fall. You were saying?” Sam said. Jon grinned, feeling a reflection of Sam’s pride. Big Sam had been his best friend ever since he moved in, and Little Sam was smart kid. Sweet. Reminded him of Bran.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your supper, Sam. I got called in to work. I’ll just be gone about an hour. Check in on Ghost for me before you put Little Sam to bed?” Jon asked.

“Of course! Happy to!” Sam said with an easy grin, “truth be told, minding Ghost has gotten Little Sam off the train of demanding his own dog.”

“Thanks, Sam. Ghost’s happy to have the company,” Jon said, turning toward the stair, “He’s already been fed, so don’t mind his begging. I’ll be back soon.”

“’Evening, Jon!” Sam called after him.

The evening breeze was fresh with the briny scent of the sea, the sky overhead darkly overcast. A few people made their way down winding sidewalks, bicycles darted between lumbering buses. Heat radiated from the sidewalk, the buildings, clinging like a wet blanket. Jon loped across the street as the garish blue-hued streetlights clicked on. The grade steepened as he neared Visenya’s Hill. Jon tried to stifle the jolt of jittery energy. For the thousandth time, he wished for a cigarette. The sweet smoke curled in his lungs would give him a measure of calm. The bell chimed as he shoved open the door. Shae unfurled herself from the office chair.

“That was quick,” she said with smirk.

“I live seven blocks away,” Jon said with a defensive shrug. Shae’s dark eyes held his, and Jon squared to meet the challenge in them.

As the proprietor, Shae was a stickler for professionalism. When Ros crushed on Mr. Baelish, Shae had threatened her with firing if there was so much as a whiff of impropriety. At the end of the day, Ros had two kids to take care of, and that was that. If Jon remembered right, Baelish turned out to be a creep, perving on a redhead girl half his age. Locked up in Iron Island Penitentiary serving fifteen years.

Shae must have been satisfied in what she saw. Dismissed with a graceful jerk of her chin, her silken cap of black hair rippling around her face.

“She’s in Room Two.”

Jon made his way down the hall, sucking in slow, deep breaths. Calm. Professional. He paused at the laundry closet, scrubbing his hands clean. Normally, he’d review his notes of the previous couple sessions. But Dany had etched herself into his mind in startling, vivid detail. Jon rapped gently on the door.

The room was dim and warm. Faint mournful strains of a cello filtered through the speaker. There she was, lying on the table, sheet tucked up to her chin. The crisp sheet fell over Dany’s body like a lover. Sweet secrets lurked in those rich shadows. Gods, still as beautiful as he remembered. Her blond hair was loose this time, a long silken spill. Mm, he never thought he had a thing for hair, but he wanted to thread his fingers through it, pet her head, bury his face in it and breathe in the smell of her. The room was so dark, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact shade, or even see the details of her face clearly, something he now passionately lamented.

Jon gulped, reaching for his usual detached calm. Jon tapped the table near her shoulder. Thin eyelids lined with long mascara-darkened lashes fluttered open. Her eyes must be a pale color, blue or green. They didn’t swallow the light like a darker shade would.

“Hey, Miss Dany. I’m Jon. I’ll be your masseur again today. Any changes since the last visit?” Good, his voice was steady, calm. Detached, Zen. Something clicked inside him with massage, a serene place of focus. It was a faint relief he could still reach that place. He had a good memory. With routine clients, he had their problems areas and preferences nailed.

“No,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. Smooth voice, faint upper crust Crown district accent. Lovely mouth. Full pink lips . . . oh fuck. The zen-like bubble wobbled. Blood was surging south.

“W—Would you like something similar to our last session?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said.

With scalp massage, he could indulge his wish with her hair, kneading all those tense spots and ogle the details of her face up close. If he started with her on her back, he could hopefully get his body back in line before she could sneak glances at him. Jon debated the pros and cons for an uncomfortably long time.

“Erm, ok. I’ll get started,” he said, settling on the stool. The angle was better for hard-on concealment. He urged her to move toward the edge of the table. Oh sweet Mother, from the corner of his eye, he saw the subtle jiggle of her breasts as she scooted. Already half-hard, his cock surged to full salute.

“Here ok?” she asked.

Jon sputtered out something hopefully coherent. Sweat dewed under his polo. Beet-faced and tongue-tied. Luckily massage didn’t call for chitchat, and the dim lighting was a godssend. Jon relaxed in the rhythm of his work, fingers gliding smoothly along her scalp. Seeking out tension and trigger points behind the ears, at the occiput.

He gobbled up little details of her face. The slope of her nose, lovely thick eyebrows, the cute curves of her ears. The lobes were pierced. Even through the murky dark, he wouldn’t forget her face now. Oh, that sweet little shudder when he pressed at her crown. Gods. Jon clenched his jaw, reaching for the lotion tube clipped to his belt. A blob in his palm, smoothed over his hands to warm it. A smooth glide up the back of her neck. Mm, he wanted to soak up that warm energy shimmering on her skin. Like moonlight on the water.

“Are you all right?” her voice startled him. Her bright gaze sucked him in, like a tractor beam on a sci-fi movie.

“Hmm?” Jon grunted.

“You’re scowling. Is everything ok?” she asked.

“Yes, just a headache. Don’t worry. It’s your job to relax,” Jon said, teasing. The lie slipped off his tongue easily. I’m trying not to think about how hard you make me. Yikes. He didn’t want to be a creep that used massage to feel up women. Despite his trepidation, his dick throbbed, insistent. Her answering smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. This time it was his heart that gave a sharp flip.

“Ok. Relax. Got it,” she said. A tremor of laughter shivered through him. He was in serious trouble.

Jon took a steadying breath. Zen. Calm. Unhurried, no wasted motion. The bubble closed around him as he worked his way down both sides of her neck, the weight of her skull relaxed and trusting in his hands. Sweeps along her jawline, a press of his thumb along her collarbone. The whisper of the sheet brushed his knuckles. Boundaries. Good.

He loosened the drape of the sheet and instructed her to roll over. A soft gust of her scent and warmth washed over him, sweat and floral soap and . . . yum. Musky woman smell. No mistaking it this time. Not good. Now he was thinking about her pussy. Sucking in breaths of that sexy smell, tasting her juice, licking and loving all her juicy pink girl parts. Jon’s mouth flooded with saliva. Gods, he was actually drooling. His cock throbbed. Fuck, had he ever been this hard? Nope. Enough of that. Fucking enough of this juvenile horndog bullshit. She was a fucking client and he was a fucking professional, damn it. Shut. That. Shit. Down.

Wiping lotion from his hands on the hem of the sheet, Jon cradled the silky weight of her hair, draping it over the table edge. The ends brushed his wrists in a ticklish caress. A delicate sensation that went straight to his dick. Just her hair. Who knew? Jon poured more lotion, paying attention to the tension in her neck and shoulders, careful not to press too hard. Deeper tissue massage would be better therapeutically speaking, but she was sensitive. High-strung, nervy. Like a thoroughbred.

He steeled himself for the effleurage along either side of her spine. Last time it had been . . . memorable. Shifting to conceal his erection, Jon smoothed his hands down her back with light pressure. Slick with lotion, his hands glided down. So smooth. No moan this time, just a puff of exhaled breath. Jon bit back an absurd feeling of disappointment. Did he want to be erotically tortured by an unobtainable woman? How fucked up was that? His hands moved of their own will, performing the same motion again. A soft little whimper. He could picture her biting the plush softness of her lower lip with those white teeth to stifle the sound. Jon exhaled a frustrated breath.

Moving to one side, he sought his trance with fierce determination. After this session was over, he’d ask Shae to assign her to another masseur if Missy was unavailable. This shit wasn’t good for either of them. He’d probably end sucking on her toes or proposing if he had to sweat through this again. Freaking her out with his own kinky bullshit. He finished on her back and legs. He returned to sweep down each arm with even pressure of his forearm. A lot of tension lodged in her wrists. Working on a computer, or with pen and paper. Maybe she was an artist. Jon kneaded at the tendons in her wrists, relishing her quiet hum. He moved to the other side, and a gem’s glitter caught the light. On a very important finger.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

#jonerys #snowstorm #fp37fic #the oasis #mutual pining #UST

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writingismyhappytime · 7 years ago

Text

Handprints Left Behind

Andrew Biersack x Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Extreme Blood and Gore, Murder... Vampire stuff

A/N: Alrighty, I haven’t wrote anything for this in over a year, but here’s another piece! I hope it lives up to the standards with the rest of it’s chapters, I certainly tried!

Handprints, Handprint Killers , Handprints on my Heart

2007

You stand in front of the floor-length mirror, placing the ruby earrings in your ears, watching Andrew's reflection as he dressed.

You watch as the black suit jacket slips over those firm shoulders, how his inked fingers slowly button the lower half. He's cut his black hair, it's no longer low and flowing, but he does look more modern as it falls over his forehead, his blue eyes trailing as he feels your gaze on him.

He smiles at you, and you immediately return it, feeling warmth settle through your body as you finish. You turn around, finding he's already behind you. Your fingers coast up his chest, curling around the back of his neck as you lean into his tall frame.

"Mmm, I'm excited for tonight," you whisper, pressing your red-painted lips against his jaw. "We haven't had a feast in months."

"I know, but it's time for a celebration, don't you think?"

"A celebration?" You ask in amusement, leaning back slightly. His hands are around your hips, holding you against the coolness of his body as you look up at him.

It's so different now, between the two of you now that you've been together for almost a decade. The hotel, with it's gothic architecture, has been fully restored and operational for years now. Humans from all over the world flock to look at it in all it's grand elegance, and the revenue from the visitors is quite helpful for you and Andrew to keep your feedings hidden from the world. Really, you don't care if it fails, you just like the food that keeps delivering itself.

Vampires even visit, although you'd been against the idea initially, Andrew had seen the value. Let them visit, let them feed in peace without worry of the world finding their kills. Somehow, that's given the two of you an extra edge; you're running the only establishment in the world where the hellish creatures can play with their prey and eat as much as they want --- even bring their own, if they like.

Funny how valuable soundproofing is.

Of course, not every guest that visits is a snack pack. You have the entire three upper levels dedicated to just those who are meant to be dinner, whereas the rest of the hotel runs like normal. Humans are completely oblivious to what's going on in the ancient structure, which feels more like home to you now than anywhere else you've ever visited.

Of course, Andrew is always at your side, so that makes anywhere feel safer.

"Yes. Do you know what today is?"

"Saturday."

He clucks, pressing his cold lips against your nose before stepping away, his eyes running down your body. You're wearing the red dress you'd found the first night in the hotel, and he adores how the material clings to your body, giving your a sultry, vivacious look with your hair pinned elegantly on the back of your head.

You're no longer drifters, you're royalty.

No one dares challenge the two of you now, not even the elders. Your establishment, nicknamed the Mortuary, is precious to all your kind; so long as its running, no one is going to bother you. Andrew did all of it strictly so you would be safe; every move he's made, every calculated decision, it's with your welfare in mind, whether you know it or not.

"Why, my dear, it's our twenty year anniversary."

"It is?" You blink, leaning back on your heels. "It feels like we've been together so much longer."

"I know." He murmurs, his ringed thumb brushing across your lower lip. For the past three years, not a day has gone by that the two of you have not been together. Every night, even while you slept, your bodies had only been inches apart, and now he doesn't think he could survive a night not in your presence.

The hotel is your sanctuary, and though Andrew still feels the pull to rest, to sleep for another hundred or so years, he fights it viciously. You're not yet there, you're still so young, just in your sixties or so, and it'll be another before you realize you want to sleep as well.

He'll wait until you're ready.

Honestly, the hotel could burn to the ground and take everyone with it, he would not care. He doesn't mind if the world ends, if every creature on it is scorched from the plains, he just cares about you.

Everything is for you.

The decade he was forced to go without you, it felt like torture. He's never felt so attached to someone in his existence, and ever since the two of you shared those witches blood --- perhaps that's what changed the blood high for the two of you, maybe it did something to your undead bodies. It's the only explanation he can come to as to why you're so... why he can't do without you.

Witches have magic, and magic has a strange way of affecting the dead.

"So tonight is our anniversary, hmm?" You splay your fingers against his shoulders thoughtfully. "Does that mean we have gifts?"

"Hundreds," Andrew murmurs, brushing his lips against your jaw. "We have an entire ballroom of gifts awaiting us, my dear."

How wonderful.

You shiver as his teeth graze your neck, your mind on all the humans ambling below your feet. Andrew had closed off the hotel for the festivities, just like he always does once a year; no one from the public is allowed, the staff is dismissed, and it's just vampires, celebrating for once in their existence what they are.

How much fun this is going to be!

Admittedly, you'd been dissatisfied in the beginning. You'd missed the thrill of the hunt, of chasing your victims and hearing them beg for their lives before you tore into their flesh. Andrew had amended that, turned it into a game; let them flee into the hotel, and murder them as they go through the halls; someone else can always clean up the mess.

It's like rat in a maze, thinking they can escape, having hope only for you to crush it in your hand!

Oh, you simply love it!

You sigh contentedly in his arms, curling closer to him and just holding him for several seconds. You like his body when it's warmer, when the two of you have just fed, but you also like moments like this, when everything is peaceful and you can just enjoy the feel of him against you. Vampires aren't meant to love, you lose your emotions after so many years --- or, at least, you're supposed too. You become more primal, but with Andrew, that's not true at all.

You feel more human around him.

"I love you," he murmurs after a moment, "and I will for eternity."

You smile at the words, snuggling against him. "I love you as well."

~~~~~~~~

"Look at all of them!" You gasp in excitement, rushing towards the golden banister of the balcony that overlooks the ballroom. Your white-gloved fingers curl around the hard wood, gazing downward.

The ballroom ceiling is the highest in the building, with stained-glass windows arching upward in sharp peaks --- it reminds you of a cathedral, although this version is much more twisted with all the dark furnishings. Chandeliers sparkle, the low lights on the wall spread deep shadows across the dark gold paint; Andrew outdid himself.

You can't help but admire it as you look down, staring at all the well dressed food waiting for you below.

Andrew walks slowly behind you, content to watch the excitement on your face. Your dress is split up to your thigh, allowing for swifter movement, and your jewelry glitters on your shimmery, unyielding skin. You're quite the gem yourself, and he finds he just likes watching you, how your face comes to life when you realize you'll get to hunt; it's almost child-like.

"You've really outdone yourself this year, Andrew!" You say giddily, turning to look at him over your shoulders, your eyes glittering. "This looks wonderful!"

"I thought you might like it," he smiles softly, your gloved fingers trailing over his high cheekbones, admiring the handsome lines of his face. He's like a walking Adonis, forever immortalized, and you find yourself just looking at him sometimes. It's no wonder the human females are enchanted with him, he's ethereal in his beauty.

"How many are down there?"

"Nearly a hundred, by my calculations. The waiters are those from the streets I offered a job too, they will not be missed either. The humans are all lower class, they think they won invitations to a grand ball held just because someone has too much money to throw away." Andrew smirks, his hand curving around your hip as he gazes down with you, the lights casting shadows across his face.

"That's twice as many humans as what you usually get."

"Well, I had to accommodate for our guests this year," he sighs, eyes flicking to the balcony across from yours where one of the vampire elders stand. He'd come to overview everything, to see how the feasts are going to be handled. Andrew finds his presence irksome and unwelcomed, but he puts on a congenial face. He knows if the elders are convinced the hotel is useful, than the two of you are set for decades to come.

You purse your lips. "He's only staying a few days, isn't he?"

"Yes. He's only here for the feast."

"Where are the others?"

"Still getting ready, I suppose." Andrew's eyes flick around the room, spotting the odd vampire here and there in the crowd, but they all know they're not allowed to touch the food until you've had your fun; all of this is for you, and your anniversary, and Andrew doesn't want you disappointed; he'll kill anyone who spoils your night.

"Mmm." You bite your lower lip, white fangs glinting in the lights as you lean forward, gazing downward. "How many do you think we can fit on a bed?"

Andrew chuckles. "Our record is six so far."

"I think we need bigger beds."

He grins, his hand slipping over yours where it rests against the banister. You turn your palm upward, threading his fingers through yours.

You like your love making to be in a pool of blood, to feel it soaking around your body as you kiss him. You like to be so drunk and high off of it that you and Andrew can last for hours, moaning into each other, celebrating your time together. You know you go overboard sometimes, that your kills are always messy, whereas he keeps everything so neat and proper.

Maybe you two balance each other out?

You think about what it was like before him, how hard it was for you when your creator abandoned you because you weren't keeping her attention. You still don't know where the old biddy is, what happened to her, but you do know that if she ever shows up, you're ripping her head off. She left you, defenseless as a newborn vampire, to wander the world.

You would have been killed by hunters if Andrew hadn't been there, they would have ended your life before it had really even started. You weren't good as a human, you'd never really started feeling alive until, well, you were dead.

And you'd certainly never loved anyone before.

You let your gaze drift to the tall man beside you, seeing his bright blue eyes surveying the crowd below. Sometimes, you still don't understand what he sees in you. You're not near as beautiful as he is, but rather plain. You know why you care about him, it's impossible not too.

He's kind to you, he takes care of you and he loves you unconditionally. He doesn't care how you like to play with your food, he doesn't judge you for your messy kills or the fact you always get blood everywhere. You've tried to be a little neater for his sake, but it just frustrates you, there's always an errant stream of blood you can't stop!

Now that you think about it, he's actually saved your life a couple times. You sort of owe him for that, don't you? You hope the opportunity never arises, however. You don't want someone to be after his life, and you don't want to have to defend him; you want everything to stay exactly as it is.

"It seems as if everyone is here," Andrew comments, seeing at least twenty vampires circulating the room below. He perhaps has more food than is warranted, but any survivors can be saved for later downstairs; funny how the basement of the hotel serves as a wonderful pantry.

"Good!" You clasp your hands in front of you happily, eyes brightening. "Can we start now?"

"Of course, my love." he leans down, and you turn your face expectantly. His lips brush yours softly, and you lean into him thoughtlessly, deepening the kiss after a moment to let your tongue brush his. Mmmph, you almost hate to break it, you adore kissing him.

"Go on, love," he whispers against your lips, caressing your cold cheek. "Go have your fun!"

You smile at him, and then turn away, leaving the balcony behind and disappearing behind the black curtains. Last year you'd just tossed yourself off the balcony into the midst of them, scaring them before you attacked them, but apparently you're going for something else this year.

How curious; you usually never change your habits, you like fearful prey.

Andrew crosses his arms, his gaze flicking across the ballroom to see the vampire elder gazing at him.

"This is a very nice establishment you have, Lord Biersack." The elder says after a moment, his hands clasped over the cane in front of him. Andrew snorts, narrowing his blue eyes.

"Thank you, Hansel. Have you enjoyed your stay here?" He keeps his voice congenial, but he's very displeased. It's probably a good thing an entire balcony separates the two of them, that they're at least a building's length away from each other. He knows the elders are the one who sent vampires after you for your head, and he has quite frankly not forgiven them for it. Even back then, if he had found out you'd died ---.

"Yes. It's very well run. I've heard of your feasts, I hope this one lives up to its reputation."

"Mmm, it shall. Do enjoy yourself, Hansel. There's no need for control here." Andrew says, seeing you enter the room below. You look like a child at a candy store, passing through the humans, picky about which one you might want; he tried to get an equal amount of flavors, although he'd bypassed more of the sweet-tasting humans for you, despite they're his preference.

You miss the looks the males give you as you sweep by, how their eyes trail over you just as his had the first moments he saw you. You might not think much of your appearance, but it's the air around you, the wildness in your aura. You're a vicious killer when you want to be, and being a vampire was probably the best thing to ever happen to you; you set the standard for it.

He smiles slightly as he sees you finally zero in on someone, a man much taller than you with broad shoulders and long hair. You sidle up to him, your fingers brushing across his shoulders as he turns to face you. Andrew can see his defenses falling away immediately as you laugh at something he's said, the mans hand coming to rest familiarly along your hip.

Andrew narrows his eyes. He hates it when they touch you, as if you're their creature and something to be paraded around. It's all he can do to hold himself back, to not jump down and snap the humans neck like a breadstick.

He exhales heavily, glaring down.

You say something else to the man, but then you're moving away, drifting through the crowd again. Obviously no one can begin the feast until you, but you're finding what you want, leaving the rest of the vampires restless.

You're doing it just to torment them, aren't you? If anything, you're spiteful, Andrew will give you that. You hold a grudge for all those years of running and hiding you'd had to do, and everyone will suffer for that injustice.

His fingers twitch in aggravation as another human steps in front of you, offering you a flute of champagne. You arch one brow before you take it, lightly making small talk with him. Andrew shifts impatiently, disliking how the mans eyes linger on your chest, on the swell of your breasts from the tight bodice of the dress.

Jealousy is not something vampire's are known to feel, only anger and possesiveness when it comes to their kills.

Andrew, however, is a different story.

Huffing, he straightens his jacket before lightly hopping forward, standing on the edge of the balcony as he gazes downward. He taps the toe of his black shoe against the banister, his hands in his pockets as he watches the human reach forward boldly, brushing a strand of your loose hair behind your ear; you should have snapped his wrist for that.

Irked, Andrew steps forward, dropping down easily to the floor below him, not caring if anyone sees him or not. He lands easily with just a bend of his knees, hearing gasps erupt around him at his appearance. He ignores them, striding forward purposefully, his eyes on the male flirting with you.

Unacceptable.

You cut your eyes as he nears with an impish look, and after a moment Andrew realizes you're just taunting him, letting the males come on to you to rile him up.

Well, if that's how you want to play it, very well.

The man just has enough time to turn and look before Andrew's chilling hands are on him, snapping his neck with a firm twist. You watch as the man crumples to the floor, glass shattering as it hits the waxed tiles. Immediately someone screams, and you pout as you look at Andrew.

"There you go, starting the party early."

Andrew rolls his eyes, and gestures as the shuffling crowd, sounds of alarm starting to ring out through the ballroom, people already shoving for the closed golden doors.

"You know I don't like it when they touch you."

"I know," you smile, and lean over the body to kiss Andrew swiftly. "I was just hoping you'd join in on the fun!"

He quirks a brow, letting you take his hand as you laugh and drag him forward, your eyes flicking about as you look for your dinner. You spy who you want, and you lunge forward, catching the woman by the shoulders and tossing her to the ground. She shrieks, immediately doing her best to scramble away as you approach her, obviously frightened and unsure what's happening. Her back hits a white column, her painted eyes wide as you kneel in front of her, your dress parting up your thigh.

You sniff, then your nose curls.

"Oh, bother. Andrew, she's sweet."

Really?

Andrew glides forward curiously, shuffling forward to sniff her.

Well, so she is.

"Here, she's all yours." You say, but he shakes his head.

"You don't want to share?"

"I smelled a spicy one earlier, that's what I want."

"Then let's go find that one," he smiles, and you nod eagerly, both of you standing and leaving the cringing woman behind.

Someone else can have her.

You clasp Andrew's hand, laughing as you see the confused humans trying to find a way out, realizing every exit is barred, that the windows are unbreakable or too high off the ground for a safe drop. They flood past you, dipping into every room, loud shrieks and screams erupting everywhere as vampires have their fun.

Some of the humans try to fight back every year, they bring weapons of some sort, but it doesn't make a difference. They always die.

Your heels are sharp against the waxed tiles below as you walk forward, finally spotting the one that you want. He's heading up the stairs, running at full speed towards the second story. You can already see one corpse sprawled across the bar up there, one edge of the wall-mirror behind it covered in a spray of blood.

Eh, that one must have been sour.

Happens.

"Do you want me to slow him?" Andrew asks after a moment, seeing a vampire slip past the man after his eyes flick to the two of you; it's your prey, and no one is going to touch him.

"No, let him run. The fear makes him taste better," you say, lifting your skirt as you start up the stairs at a reasonable pace. You keep your eyes on him, seeing him sprinting desperately for one of the hallways, his eyes flicking over his shoulder.

You almost clap your hands you're so excited!

Usually when the pantry is getting low, you just get cups of blood, and though it's warm and fresh, it's nothing like a real kill. You miss the times when technology was so far behind, where you could feed on the warm flesh of a breathing human.

It's just not as fun the other way, and what's the point of eternal life if you're not enjoying yourself?

You finally let go of Andrew's hand to dart forward, grabbing the man's jacket and tugging hard, making him fall backward with a yelp. He hits hard onto the red carpet, and you circle him, his wide eyes focusing on you as he cradles the back of his head. You smile at him, and kneel down after a moment, trailing your fingers up his chest.

Spicy, musky --- very man-like. You sort of got a taste for that when you drank one of the hunters; perhaps you only like it now because it reminds you of that time twenty years ago --- today exactly!

"Come share him with me," you say, planting your hand firmly on the man's chest, making it impossible for him to move as you look up. "Let's celebrate our first taste together."

"Very well. Drink him dry?"

"Just like we did the first night together," you smile as Andrew kneels beside you, and you press a swift kiss against his lips. "Remember? We drank him until there was nothing left."

"Yes, I remember." Andrew clucks, lifting the mans wrist up forcefully. The man gasps, squirming, but he's no match for your strength.

"P-please!" He begs, digging his heels into the floor as he tries to pull away from the two of you, unsure what's even going on; his mind has yet to comprehend the situation.

"Oh, don't be a baby," you coo at him, your fingers curling into his long hair as you drag his head back, revealing the vein in his throat. "This will only hurt a little bit!"

Andrew snorts, shredding the man's sleeve with his nails, revealing the tender spot on his wrist. You don't waste another second, the man's deep bellows filling the air as your white fangs sink deeply into his flesh, blood immediately gushing upward against your lips. You groan as it fills your mouth, pressing closer into him. You can feel his hand at your hip, trying to shove you off, fight you any way that he can, but he's no match for you. Blood seeps from your lips, coursing down his neck and staining the carpet below.

Andrew chuckles, and he bites lightly into the man's wrist, only wanting a small taste; he's not as fond of the flavor as you are. The man's heart is hammering in his chest, Andrew can hear every beat, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins makes his blood even tangier.

"Well, I have to say, you two certainly know how to party."

Both your eyes flick up as you see the vampire elder approaching, using a white kerchief to wipe the spray of blood off his gold, round spectacles. You narrow your eyes, lifting your lips reluctantly from the twitching man beneath you.

"Enjoying yourself?" Andrew asks with a quirk of his brows, running his tongue along his red-stained lips.

"Mmm. Is there always so much carnage?"

"We clean for a week after a party, there's no worry of any evidence being found." Andrew says, rising to his feet. He glances at you, giving you a comforting smile as he sees the red smearing your chin, the irritation in your eyes at being interrupted. "Keep feeding, I'll be right back. Don't let him die on you."

Oh, right.

Your eyes flick down, seeing the man is losing a lot of blood from the gaping wound you've left. You trust Andrew to handle the situation, so you lean down, returning eagerly to your feeding.

"Have you fed yet?" Andrew asks the elder, who nods after a moment, replacing his glasses, as if he really needs them.

"Yes. I think you've more food than what's necessary."

"Some of us like to feed more than others, is all. I like for there to be enough. It wouldn't hurt for you to enjoy yourself, have as much as you want. The hotel is abundant this evening."

"How do you intend on getting rid of all of the bodies here?" the elder asks coolly; he as quite surprised at the amount of people when he'd arrived, all the chattering humans buzzing with excitement. He'd been skeptical that the old lord really had everything under control.

Andrew chuckles. "Perhaps you should try the chicken here some night, Hansel. The humans all seem to adore it."

The elder's brows rise. "What if someone investigates and finds out what your dinners are really made of?"

"No one investigates the Mortuary." Andrew shrugs. "I own the police force, I've poured plenty of money into it. Should any body turn up suspiciously or someone question a disappearance, it's handled. I always try to make sure that anyone we take has very little influence, that no one will look for them. Most of them here tonight are of the lower class, or homeless. Even the staff was those I offered jobs too from the street. You will find no issues with our feasts."

He is sure of that.

"Well, even I can admit when something is impressive." the elder allows after a moment, his eyes flicking behind the vampire in front of him as he sees a woman stagger into the hallway, her hand pressing against the wound on her neck as she weeps. "You seem to have everything handled."

"Andrew never misses a detail," you say, both men looking over as you approach. Your eyes are dilated from your meal, blood coursing from your lips and droplets showering across the swell of your breasts; you look like a beautiful woman turned monster, and Andrew immediately feels that stirring for you, the one that makes his skin burn.

Even the elder glances down at your chest, appreciating the view in front of him; it's hard to find those who really appreciate the kill, who wear the blood of their victim with such pride. He's an old vampire, he remembers the days when slaughter was free and vampires were feared instead of myth.

Perhaps that day can come again, thanks to you two oddballs.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have festivities to enjoy," the elder says after a moment, and you both nod, your hand curling around Andrew's arm. He still looks so elegant, you almost feel bad for looking a mess.

The elder disappears behind you, and your eyes flick over your shoulder to see him approach the young weeping woman.

"I see he's having fun," you chuckle, looking up at the man at your side. "Although you've not eaten enough to enjoy yourself yet."

"Don't worry, my love, I will be soon." He murmurs, dipping his head. He kisses you, his tongue running through the blood on your lips, letting it coat his tongue. You sigh, letting him have a taste, feeling his hand cup your face.

It's addictive, the taste of blood on another.

"What do you say we round up a few and bring them to our room?" You whisper, biting your lip thoughtfully. "I would love a bath."

Andrew's slow grin is all the consent you need.

~~~~~~~

You giggle as you prop the man over the edge of the large, white tub. You and Andrew inhabit the penthouse at the very top of the hotel, and so the fact your bathroom is large and lavish is no surprise. You were especially happy over the tub, which Andrew had installed just because he knew you would love it.

You watch as the blood pours through the humans neck and into the tub, your fingers brushing through his dark hair.

"I think one more will do it," you call, gazing at the white tub filled halfway with blood. Really, it takes way too many humans to fill it, so you'd ordered some buckets of blood from the pantry below; with the addition of the live blood, it's going to be warm, and that's all that you want.

Andrew appears with a weeping woman, her dress torn and blonde hair collapsing around her shoulders. She screams as she sees the man leaning over the tub, her hands rising to her face in horror.

How dramatic.

"Are you sure it's enough?" He sighs, dragging her forward by her arm. "It's only halfway."

"It'll be fine with the two of us in it." You say, your hands on your hips. Blood is covering your dress, staining the lower half of your hair and your face. You look frightening as you peel your gloves off, tossing them to the side as Andrew forcibly leans the girl forward, drawing his nail along her neck so that her blood will gush forward, her body slumping.

There.

"Why do you always look so nice after a feast?" You grumble, seeing just the faintest red stains across his white dress shirt. His hands are even clean!

"Because I have more control than you," he says, shirking out of his jacket.

You roll your eyes. "I wouldn't say that. You just want to make a good impression with that old goat."

"That old goat is what's going to keep us from having trouble, (Y/N)."

You pout as you look at him. "No one can stop us from having fun, Andrew."

Well, he's not going to disagree.

He shirks out of his shirt, his eyes on you as you undress, shimmying out of the clingy material and letting it pool at your bare feet. You reach forward, shoving the humans out of the way and running a single finger through the tub's contents. You bring it up to your lips, sighing heavily.

"Mmm, it all tastes so good mixed together! A wonderful cocktail."

He chuckles, stepping forward. He gives it a moment before he slips easily into the tub, sinking down low with a sigh into the warm blood. He lets his head rest back as his body heats, licking his lips as you step between his legs, settling down in front of him. His arms curl around you, dragging you back against his chest as he nuzzles your throat.

"This was a good idea," he says, lifting his hand upwards, watching as the blood courses down his skin. "I haven't had one of these in a century."

"Mmm, I always have good ideas." Okay, so you know that's not true, usually your ideas are a disaster. Still, you try to forget how life was before, just focus on how it is now. It's easy, almost, how things are going, and you hope they stay that way.

Andrew sighs, relaxing for several moments, watching the way the dark surface shifts and ripples, thick against his skin. He presses a kiss against your shoulder, his tongue running through the blood coating it.

It does taste good.

"Mmm, did you get your fill tonight?" he asks after a moment, and you nod your head, pressing your stained lips against his cheek.

"Of course. You ordered so many of them."

"I wanted to make sure everyone was sated," he clucks, watching as you shift forward. You turn around, the blood barely high enough to cover your breasts; it had rose when the two of you had taken up space, but Andrew would still have liked more.

You give him a smile as your arms wrap around his shoulders, your thighs slipping on either side of his hips. You nuzzle his throat, lightly lapping at the heated blood covering his skin. Really, you're not high yet, you'd had more fun catching and killing your victims then really drinking from them. You'd wanted to get high with Andrew, just like always, not by yourself.

You sigh against his skin before you sink your teeth into his throat, causing him to start. You drink deeply, and he groans softly in your ear, closing his eyes in pleasure as your body rubs against his, his hands flowing through the blood to clasp your waist.

His blood always tastes so good, mixtures of all the people he's had tonight. It's hot, hotter than a normal humans as it splashes against your tongue, although you're not sure why. You don't want to drink too much, so after a moment you pull away, running your tongue along the wound as you lean back, hands clasping his shoulders.

"You didn't drink enough tonight," you say accusingly, noticing the glint in his eyes as he looks at you.

"I didn't have too," he chuckles, kissing your chest. You watch as his tongue flicks out against your skin, your fingers flexing. Your body shifts as his lips seal around your breast, lavishing your sensitive peak in attention. He suckles on your flesh, and you bite your lip as his teeth pierce, drawing your blood into his mouth.

You tilt your head back, shivering as he drinks from you. It always feels so nice for someone to drink from you, for your blood to go into their body. Maybe that's where you and Andrew had gone wrong before during your blood high, drinking from each other with so much abandon.

You thread your fingers through his dark hair, feeling that heat between your thighs, that desire growing inside of you. You need some more blood, you're not quite where you want to be just yet. Your fingers brush down his arms, catching his wrist and drawing it up to your lips. Blood gives his skin a nice red sheen, and you run your tongue through it, enjoying it's flavor in your mouth.

You press kisses against his body, feeling his teeth finally leave you with a groan.

"The blood is getting thick," you breathe, and Andrew's red-stained fingers move, slipping against the tub as he feels for the buttons. You grin as the jets turn on, moving the blood, and you appreciate the fact it isn't going bad already; apparently there are wonderful drugs on the market to prevent that these days, and slipping it into the guests food proves very helpful.

You kiss him quickly, his arms winding around your slick hips as he draws you against him. You moan into his mouth when you feel the hardness below you, realizing he's already getting where he needs to be. His hands coast up and down your back, one slipping around to cup your breast in wet fingers, squeezing and pinching until you're squirming.

Andrew's hands brace on the rim of the tub as you pull his mouth to yours hungrily, gripping his shoulders and leaving smears against his skin. You groan into the kiss, and only push back enough where you can look at him, seeing the red smears coating the lower half of his face now.

Much better.

You close your eyes in pleasure as his mouth goes to your neck once more, sucking kisses into the wet skin. He presses closer to you, jerking your body against his and causing a rush of blood to disappear over the edge of tub, splattering across the black and white tiles below. You stifle a gasp as he bites you, just enough to draw your blood to the surface before leaning away, wanting you to bleed for him.

As if you don't already.

You pull his face back to yours in a bruising kiss, teeth and tongue clashing desperately. You run your fingers through the longer black locks at the top of his head and pull him closer to your mouth, opening your mouth further and pressing your tongue more insistently against his.

You lightly run your fingertips up his chest, feeling his breathing increase before he leans back, slowly this time. One hand grips the lip of tub behind you, the other running over your body, wondering how wet you're getting for him the more blood you consume. His face is just below yours, his lips parted slightly, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes.

"Andrew," you whine. You need him to touch you, for his hands to touch your squeeze your body once more. Your voice seems to break him out of his trance, causing his eyes blue eyes to settle on yours one more time, growing dilated, black starting to overpower the color as his needs become more evident. His free hand cups your face gently before tracing the line of your neck, running down until his fingertips are brushing the swell of your red breasts.

His eyes follow his hand, and he groans at the sight of your chest moving the blood with your ragged breaths. His hand cups one of your breasts, and he finally leans back down to your lips, this time much gentler. He squeezes his hand, one of his thumbs flicking lightly over your nipple, causing a moan to slip out onto his lips. He adores how you feel, every slick inch of skin rubbing into his, seducing him all over again. Your wet body is attempting to grind into his, and he can feel the hum in his body from drinking from you, from tasting the blood on your flesh.

The high is starting already, and he welcomes it.

"I want to touch you," he breathes against your lips, your legs widening of their own accord at those husky words. You shiver as his face buries in the crook of your neck, lips and tongue suckling at the rivulets of blood coursing your body. You can feel his hand coasting down your body, squeezing your thigh before slipping inside.

You exhale heavily, eyes fluttering closed as his talented fingers slip between your folds and press into your entrance. You squirm your hips as his thumb puts pressure on your clit, causing electricity to course through your body. This is it, what you've been craving --- the feeling of being alive, of feeling pleasure at his touches instead of just nothing. You hate being so emotionless, you want more, you want this all the time!

He gently presses the pads of his fingers down, adding just enough pressure to make you writhe against him. Slowly his fingers rub circles into your clit and you moan against the skin of his shoulder, your forehead falling against it as you shudder once more. You can hear his breathing, escalating as you nibble on him, making his skin bleed with the sharp points of your teeth.

You inhale sharply as he lightly pushes a finger inside of you, your muscles immediately clenching around him as you grind down onto his hand, the blood moving and shifting around your body thanks to the jets. It feels so nice, and your head tilts back in pleasure as he adds a second finger, moving them inside of you.

You whine as his presses harder against your clit, thrusting his fingers inside of you until you're shuddering in his arms, panting against his neck. You moan shamelessly as his mouth suckles your breast, his cock hard against your thigh. Your eyes are dilated, wide and slowly turning darker the more he pleasures your body, the more he nips and causes you to bleed.

The blood bath was a wonderful idea on your part.

"Fuck, Andrew," you groan, feeling yourself clench despite yourself. You wish you could cum, but you don't want to waste the experience. You want him inside you when it happens, thrusting up into you over and over until you're screaming his name again. The blood high will only last so long, and you only really enjoy fresh blood, so the two of you don't need to waste much more time!

No matter how much you're enjoying it.

You reach between the two of you, curling your hand around his cock and causing him to moan. You stroke your nails against his heating skin, kissing him as you pump your hand around him. You want him to crave your body like you are his, to want to be inside you so bad he can't control himself. You know he wants you, but you want the lust to be all consuming, for him to not be able to think about anything else.

You don't know it's already like that for him.

"I want you inside me," you whisper, black eyes opening to find his the same. "I want you fucking me already, make me cum."

His breath shudders out against your lips, and he pulls his fingers from inside you, clamping them around your hips and drawing your forward. Your fingers curl around the edge of the tub, feeling his head rub teasingly against your entrance, your stomach clenching as he thrusts upward.

You gasp loudly, blood pouring over the edges of the tub once more as your bodies move, Andrew twisting until you're beneath him. He curls his hands tightly around the lip of the porcelain bath, your arms winding tightly around his neck as he thrusts into you. You tighten your legs around his hips, moaning wantonly as he fills you over and over.

Blood courses between your bodies, soaking your hair, causing your grip on him to be slick. You don't mind, you just want to kiss him, for him to fuck you harder. Your can feel that rush of heat coursing over your body, your mind going blank as you focus solely on the pleasure. All you can do is pant and moan beneath him, suddenly glad the tub is large enough for his long legs and your extra form.

"You're so beautiful," Andrew groans, and you gasp as his teeth sink deep into your throat, causing your head to fall back as you jerk. Your toes curl as he drinks heavily from you, losing control for several seconds as his hips hammer into yours, his cock squeezed and milked by your muscles as you groan and whimper in his arms.

"Andrew," you breathe, fingers tugging lightly at his hair, feeling his moan.

This must be heaven, you think, for someone like you. There's no other way to describe the euphoria you're feeling, the sublime pleasure in his arms. You'd never had anything like this as a human, and suddenly all those rough years are worth it. Maybe it's what made you appreciate what you have now, the fact that this creature loves you so much he's willing to risk everything for you, for just a few hours of pleasure with you.

"Fuck," you whimper, his head lifting from your neck, fresh blood dribbling from his lips. You almost feel light headed as you kiss him, tasting your lifeforce on his tongue as it delves into your neck. His hands are so tight on your hips, you can feel his fingertips biting deep into your flesh to hold you still as your bodies slip against each other.

You're not going to be able to handle much more, you're getting too close to bliss. You cling to him, but he knows your body too well. He shifts, angling deeper until your eyes are squeezing shut and you're gasping. He caresses you, traces circles in the blood on your skin, holding you close to him. His hand is curling around your thigh as he sits up, both of you moaning at the new position as you sink down onto him fully.

"I love you," you whisper against his lips, causing a different kind of warmth in his chest as he looks at you, cradling your face between his fingers as your hips move, taking control now.

"I love you for eternity," he responds, meaning those words with every inch of his being. You smile breathlessly at him, only to clench as his fingers dance on your clit, rubbing hard until you're on the verge of losing control, shaking against him.

Andrew doesn't care how many humans he needs to kill, he'll do it every night if it means moments like this with you. Even when he's not high, he still feels that heat for you, that ridiculous attraction that causes his body to respond in ways it shouldn't. He almost doesn't need to be high to desire you anymore, it's becoming natural for him.

It should frighten him, the change in his undead body, and though he's speculated it several times, he generally pushes the thoughts away.

He doesn't want to consider what they mean.

He shudders beneath you as you suddenly cum, his lips capturing your sounds of pleasure as you shudder and shake in his arms. Fireworks go off behind your eyes as you cling to him, nails raking deep against his back and leaving red lines behind. You lose your breath, your body goes tense, you can't think --- everything is muddled as he holds you against him, pumping his hips up into yours until he's groaning as well, shuddering beneath you and holding you tightly.

You relax into his grip, snuggling close to him as your arms wrap around his back.

Mmm.

He always leaves you sated, content. You press your lips gently into his shoulder, liking that he's still holding you, his fingers lightly caressing your hair as you try to control your body. If your heart still beat, it would be hammering in your chest, and you should be breathless, legs weak, but you're not.

Honestly, you could go again, immediately.

"I hope it can be like this forever," you murmur, aware that both of you are covered head to toe in blood. Your hair is heavy with it, clinging to your skin, as is his. He manages to still look elegant, despite drenched and skin growing sticky.

"Maybe it can be," he sighs, pulling away just enough to kiss your lips gently. "Maybe this never has to end."

"Everything always does."

"Not for a long time." His thumb caresses your cheek as he looks at you, black hair clinging to his forehead in red lines. "We can keep this going, we just have to be careful."

"Do you think so?" You sigh, biting your lower lip. "Do you think the elders are going to leave us be?"

"I believe Hansel was having fun, so more than likely." His fingers trail your lips. "Perhaps not in such magnitudes. We might have to lessen our feasts to every few years."

"That's fine. As long as we can still go out and hunt sometimes."

"We don't need to get our old nicknames back."

You smirk. "The Handprint Killers, wasn't it? I thought it had a nice ring to it."

Andrew just sighs, and you give him a quick kiss before you stand, letting the blood rush off your body as you step out of the tub, body still tingling. You leave bloody footprints behind as you walk to the glass shower, opening it and turning on the water. A hot spray of water immediately rushes forward, but you can't feel the heat as you step beneath it, letting it wash the red from your flesh.

You glance at Andrew where he still rests in the tub, head laid back as he watches you.

"Are you not going to clean up?" You quirk a brow at him, running your fingers through your hair. Your body is on display for him, but after so many years, he finds it still just as enamoring. He will never tire of having you, of touching you and moaning into your skin. You're intoxicating, his drug, and he can't help himself.

"When you're done," he murmurs, resting his arms along the side of the tub. You shrug, washing yourself off. You can hear the festivities downstairs are starting to die off, that most of the humans have been caught and consumed. It's a good thing your cleaning crew is so thorough, but considering how much they're paid for their silence, they should be.

You sigh happily when you're clean, turning the water off and glancing at the mess you've made of the bathroom.

"You know they're going to have to scrub for hours tomorrow to clean our mess up," you chuckle, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your form.

"That's what they're paid for," Andrew replies, running a hand through his drying hair. He leans his head back so you can peck his lips before moving on towards the bedroom. He gives it a few moments before rising, reluctantly leaving the bath behind and heading towards the shower. He glances at the bloody handprint left behind on the shower door from your touch as he steps inside.

Really.

~~~~~~

You walk down the hallway, running your fingers through your freshly washed hair as you glance around. The cleaning crew took care of most of the mess while the rest of you slept, so though there's still stains and sprays of red here and there, the hotel is mostly emptied of any corpses. You hum lightly to yourself as you take the grand staircase, walking towards the main lobby of the hotel.

"You know, I miss the old days sometimes." You say, sensing Andrew where he stands at the reception desk, holding some papers in his hands. He glances up from the words, dressed once again in a tailored suit that makes him look so fucking distinguished.

"The old days?" He asks lightly, fingers lightly brushing across the keyboard. He's standing, trying to get the shuffled papers in order; they weren't put up appropriately and some of them are ruined.

"Yes. Going out into the world, hunting, causing mischief and making the humans fear us."

"They thought we were murderers, and we're still feared. No one was ever caught for those deaths, after all."

"I know." You cross your arms as you lean against the desk, watching him work. He took to technology easily enough, almost as if it was second nature to him. You find it amusing, considering how old he is.

"I think we've left plenty of handprints behind, my love, there's no need for more." Andrew says after a moment, eyes flicking up to yours. "Not in this country, anyhow."

Hmm.

True.

"Do you suggest somewhere else?" You ask lightly, seeing his lips quirk.

You've quite a bloodlust.

"It'll have to be somewhere remote."

"There's plenty of those in the world. What about Russia?"

"Where it's cold?"

"Easier to preserve the bodies and cause some fear, right?"

Andrew rolls his eyes, dropping the papers and turning his attention to you fully.

"Do you really want to start all that up again?"

"Why not? It's been plenty of time, hasn't it?" You frown, toying with a pen. "We can consider it a vacation."

"We just had a feast."

"So? We've never had a vacation, Andrew, not since we've been together."

He sighs, and leans forward, letting his arms press against yours as you stand on either side of the desk.

"Is that what you truly want?"

"Yes."

"Then you shall have it," he kisses your nose, and admittedly he finds the idea rather exciting. Causing a stir among the humans again, getting them fearful that they might be next? It had been very... mmm.

"Really?"

"Yes." Andrew cups your face with one hand, not caring who is around to witness the affection between the two of you; you've already been labeled as strange and unnatural vampires, so it doesn't matter to him anymore. "We'll go in a few weeks, once I have things handled here. Somewhere remote where we can hunt in peace."

You beam, and kiss him spontaneously, loving the idea of it.

Both of you, out in the world, hunting again?

Humanity will tremble.

P.S. If any of you are ever feeling generous, you can leave me a tip in the tip jar! There’s a link in the blog description! :D

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monster-massage-blog · 7 years ago

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Do-Over; Part 1, Malicious Revenge

Saga found himself sitting on the throne...this was a familiar sight. He looked at himself. He was an Abra once more...there was the flowers. That meant Asgore was behind him and the human was going to arrive. He took a deep breath...he felt weaker. Of course he was weak. He didn’t have his powers as a deity of calamity and he was a child. He knew how to fight now though. He didn’t have long to wait though...the human, no, Chara strolled into the throne room with knife in hand. Their eyes widened slightly as they had been expecting someone else. The only one in the throne room was that monster that they had encountered a few times but something felt different now. Their eyes were open and their eyes were red as rubies. They had expected a more gentle color. Still they would play this off. “Aha…interesting choice for a final showdown.” Chara said with an amused smile. “You are the prince though. Does this mean I have you cornered?”

“Shut your fucking mouth and come at me.” Saga said curtly and gently hopped off the throne, knife in his right hand, and taking a stance.

Chara seemed momentarily stunned. What the heck? Did they really- “You’ve got a mouth on you all of a sudden.” The Human said, eyes narrowed.

“I told you to shut up.” Saga ordered. “Or do I have to come to you?” Chara was getting tired of this pretty quickly and charged forward, raising their arm up high and swinging down with all their might but the Abra raised his left hand and quickly palmed it to the aside, the right hand thrusting forward and planting the dull knife into the human’s throat. Chara’s eyes widened, but Saga wasn’t finished yet, and tore the knife sideways, almost decapitating the human, where they fell backwards, the crimson staining the flowers. He knelt down as he saw the light fade from their eyes. “Now what you were expecting was it? A battle with magic where your HP would protect you. No...no no no. I’m going to kill you with a pain you can still feel.” The prince whispered, wiping the knife off with the human’s shirt. “These will be mortal blows for sure but you’re not going to die right away. You’re going to lay there until you bleed out. You’re probably not conscious are you? Oh well. I’ll just make sure the next one is drawn out.”

Saga waited there, content with his work while taking a few practice jabs at the human’s limbs to test the power that his smaller limbs contained, but eventually death took the human and there was the familiar tearing as the world seemed to fall apart and then snap back together...only something was different now. Now it felt...earlier. Everything seemed the same though. Just...earlier perhaps? Then he felt the familiar tearing as someone else beat the human, and things were reset. They were fighting Sans. He HAD gone back. As his stomach settled down, he hopped off Asgore’s throne and took off running. The Cathedral wasn’t too far away.

“Heya. You look frustrated about something. Guess I’m pretty good at my job huh?” Sans asked with a smug grin on his face.

Saga was charging as fast as he could, flying past the skeleton and shoulder-checking Chara in the chest, catching both Sans and Chara by surprise, and sending the human tumbling to the floor with a bewildered expression. Saga sighed and turned around. “Sans. You are relieved of duty. I’ll get this.”

Sans amused and laid-back expression had changed into something more serious. “...What happened to you?” He asked. This wasn’t the same kid he’d talked to earlier. That child was frightened but determined. This was...someone else. Something else. His eyes were open as well. He’d never seen that before. Those eyes looked firm and hard. Red didn’t suit him.

“I’m aware of the resets. I always have been.” Saga said with a hint of bitterness. “I guess I found my limit. Now stand back. That’s a royal order.”

“You’re seriously gonna try that one?” Sana asked.

“Papyrus wanted a skeleton to be among the Royal Guard. Ideally it would be him but wouldn’t he be delighted to find out you’d done it?” Saga asked.

San’s expression hardened. “Those are some pretty words...but you don’t really mean that do you?”

“No. I don’t. But I’m going to say to get you to leave this to me. If I lose you can mop up afterwards and this will never have happened. Now STAND. ASIDE.”

“...Suit yourself.” Sans said and started walking off. “...You’re dad is gonna be a sad man.”

Saga was about to retort with something VERY biting but there were more pressing matters to attend to. The human was getting back to their feet.

“You…what the hell is going on?” Chara demanded. “You’re not like this...and now I’m back here! I already beat him! I know I saved before I got to you! Why am I back here!?”

“Don’t wanna tell you.” Saga said and held up the knife. “I promised you pain but you were unconscious.”

The Human glared at him with unrestrained venom before charging forward. Saga swung his own knife, deflecting the human’s strike with a blow to the side before thrusting forward with a rather quick slash and gouging out one of the human’s eyes. They screamed in pain as their vision was abruptly lost, their other eye shutting in pain. Saga didn’t want to wait for them to recover though, grabbing their hair and shoving their head down to meet his raised knee with a rather sickening crunch. Their nose caved and they stumbled backwards, trying to escape this onslaught, but he was far from finished. He teleported behind then, kicked them from behind, and grabbed their wrists as they fell forward. They didn’t make it to the ground, now on their knees as Chara forced their one good eye open, staring back at the vengeful prince. “W-what are you going to do?!” They demanded, but dread was filling their voice.

“You were very naughty with these arms of yours.” Saga said simply. “You punch even when you were disarmed. I think...you would be better without them.” He started to pull with his arms and push with his foot, which was still firmly planted against the human’s back.

“Wait...no, stop! This isn’t fair!” The human roared but they couldn’t managed to get any other words out, the prince yanking even harder, and the human screamed as both arms were pulled from their sockets. The pain was too great...as he released them, the human fell forward, gasping desperately for air. This wasn’t right...how were they supposed to fight? There was supposed to be a back and forth sort of thing. Then they felt something against their shoulders...the prince had picked up their sharper knife and was gently feeling around with it, serving for where the bone and shoulder had been disconnected. “W-what…?”

“I want to cut them off.” Saga said simply. “I want you to stay awake as long as you can as I dis-arm you completely.” Saga said almost cheerfully. “I want you to feel the warmth leave your body and your strength fade. I want you to fully appreciate your death and every aspect of it...because I’m going to come for you. Every time you come back I’ll be there to kill you again. Every person you’ve killed, all the progress you made, every number that you increased, back to how it was, bit by bit. I’m going to make you fear me. I want you to feel what it’s like to lose all hope. To be hunted by someone you don’t stand a chance against. A REAL monster.” He found the spot. “Still...I’m strong, but I can’t chop through bone, even with this nice knife. Good thing it so kindly moved out of my way.” And with that, he started to slice through the flesh. The rest of the strength in Chara’s body and the rest of the air in their lungs was spent screaming as the prince methodically sliced through the soft flesh and the cloth of the human’s sleeves. Their life’s blood spilled generously from the holes and Saga watched with some satisfaction...and then indifference. “Hmmm...sure takes human’s a long time to bleed to death doesn’t it?” He mused. “Oh well. We’re going to spend a lot of time together. I’ll think of some other fun way to snuff you out when you come back. See you then.”

The human’s vision was blurry. They couldn’t speak. They could barely managed to breath. Soon all fell to darkness...and they were back again, this time outside of Asgore’s home. All of their injuries were gone but the memory remained...they needed the knife! They ran forward, threw open the door, and their felt a sudden coldness in their stomach. They looked down in disbelief...at the knife. It was in their gut...and holding the handle was a yellow hand with a lacy pink fingerless glove. “Guess whoooo~” Saga said almost lovingly. “I said I’d be here for you when you came back...I hope you saved often. I’m not letting you escape me...ever.”

#saga #Chara #Frisk #Sans #Do-over

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emybain · 6 years ago

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Total Fluff Where Nova Surprises Everyone

I previously posted something about a mother coming up to sketch’s team in public and asking them to hold her baby while she did something, and the baby is crying and all of that, and no one can calm them down except for nova, much to everyone’s surprise and amusement. I decided to write it because i have nothing better to do with my life. Im gonna say it takes place post-archenemies but pre-reveal so…. Here.

Edit: Holy heck I did not mean for this to be so long Im so sorry. Warning: this is unedited bc im tired.

Nova’s eyes followed Adrian as he paced back and forth. They were in the lounge, waiting to be called in for a patrol shift. Oscar and Ruby were playing Battle to the Death, like they always did, and were volleying insults to one another. Danna was...well...stuck in swarm mode still. Nova’s stomach churned at the thought. Her butterflies had disappeared after the gala a couple of weeks ago, according to Adrian, and hadn’t made an appearance since. Nova was constantly checking her surroundings whenever she was alone to make sure that one of them wasn’t following her the way the one currently trapped in the room she shared with honey was. She tried to push down thoughts of Danna, and how if her trapped butterfly somehow got loose, it would all be over for Nova.

Nova wanted nothing more than to be done with the Renegades, but she still had a mission. A mission that was supposed to have ended two weeks ago, had it not been for the arrest of her uncle, Ace Anarchy. This hero charade was running itself dry. Nova was back on track; her uncle’s arrest reminded her of that. She was expecting Leroy or Honey or Phobia to tell her any day now that she could put Nova McLain and Insomnia to rest. That she could become Nightmare, fully, again.

She waited for that day with anticipation, fingers itching to grasp it. It was only a matter of time before the Renegades caught onto her game, also. Too many clues, too many reckless mistakes, had been left behind the night of the gala. Then, she had thought her time parading around as a Renegade was over. She hadn’t cared about what she did or the damage she left that would lead the Renegades busting down the door to her home and arresting her. She cared now. Every step, every maneuver, every breath, was taken with precaution. Even now, Nova’s eyes left Adrian’s pacing form to glance at the elevator doors, at the exit signs, at the room full of Renegades that could easily outnumber her. Every time the elevator buzzed open, she expected more experienced and higher up Renegades to come bursting in, armed with powers and weapons and handcuffs and Agent N specifically for Nova.

Adrian passed her for the umpteenth time, and she grabbed his hand, which had been used to amplify his rant about Nightmare. She had only been half listening to him, as it was stuff she had heard a thousand times before, how much he hated her and how she would pay for what she did to Max.

Max, who was currently hidden away in his quarantine. No one was allowed to visit him, not even Captain Chromium. After barely surviving being ran through with the chromium spear, and having to go through a surgery that lasted hours, Max had been transported back to his quarantine to avoid the media and to prevent prodigies from being affected by his power. He was on strict bed rest, and would be that way for many weeks. Nova’s heart tugged, and she longed to tell Adrian that it wasn’t Nightmare who almost killed Max, but Genissa Clark, who was no longer a Renegade after being tranquilized by Nova herself. However, there was no way for her to tell Adrian without revealing her true identity and ruining everything. Not that it would matter much if he knew the truth, anyways. He still hated Nightmare with a burning passion.

Ironic, really.

Adrian paused in his ranting, mid-sentence about how in the hell did Nightmare even have access to Agent N and how she was able to take down Frostbite’s entire team alone. Another thing that could trace itself back to Nova.

Adrian looked down at their hands, mouth open slightly. He stopped pacing, finally, too surprised by her confidant gesture. Nova took the opportunity and pressed her luck more, covering the back of his hand with her other one, sandwiching his together between hers. She squeezed his hand softly with the one holding his palm and stroked his knuckles with the thumb on her other hand. She gazed up at him, trying to feign a worried face. She batted her eyelashes, opened her eyes a little wider, raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips. It wasn’t hard, as she was truly worried about him. About his obsession, his lack of sleep, his constant Nightmare this and Nightmare that. He was worrying himself sick over the same person he was letting hold his hand.

“You need to stop, Adrian.” Nova insisted. “You’ve been going on about Nightmare ever since we set foot in here, and you’ve been obsessing over her ever since that night.” He flinched, down casting his eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered. “I have to find her, Nova. She tried to-”

“I know.” Nova sighed, a little frustrated. She pushed down the negativity, though, and stopped her stroking to stand and nudge his chin so he would look at her. He jumped at the contact. “You need to get your mind off of her.”

Adrian tugged her closer, making Nova’s heart race. She ignored it. Mostly. “I’ve tried. It’s just...it’s hard to after what she did.”

“I know,” Nova repeated. They were inches apart. For all Nova cared, they could be the only two people in that room. In the entire world. “How do you think I felt after my family..you know..” she trailed off, then shook her head. “I was angry for a long time, Adrian. I’m still angry, but there’s nothing I can do about it to change what happened.” When his eyes started to drift away from hers again, she placed a desperate hand on his chest. “Adrian, Max is still here. He was very lucky.”

Adrian stared at her for so long that she shifted, feeling his eyes bore into her, making her feel bare. Then, he closed his eyes, let out a slow breath, and pulled the hand that was still holding his to his lips. The soft press of his kiss on the back of her hand was so intimate that it sent a shock through Nova’s body. She felt her cheeks light up. He held her hand there for a second, then pulled back, letting their entwined hands fall between them. She instantly missed the contact, even though they were still holding one another.

“You’re right,” he finally said, with a slight nod.

Nova pressed a smile to her lips. It was tight. “I have an idea: let’s take a walk. Maybe go to the park? They clearly don’t need us here right now if we haven’t been called in yet, and if they do, we’ll get a message through our communication bands.”

Adrian seemed to ponder it for a moment, then nodded again, this time firmly. “Alright. Should we tell Oscar and Ruby, or should we let them continue their bickering?”

They both glanced over at the pair, who had moved onto another arcade game that Nova was unfamiliar to. It looked like some sort of racing game, with seats and steering wheels. Ruby was trying to mess Oscar up by swiping at his steering wheel, causing his car to veer off-course. He cursed her and swatted at her hand, shoving her away, although not harshly. Ruby cackled, trying to do it again while controlling her own wheel, but Oscar was able to keep her away this time. He kept glancing at her, and if it was out of precaution or affection or both, Nova had no clue. She shook her head.

“I think they need some fresh air, too.”

Nova and Adrian trailed behind Oscar and Ruby, hand in hand. Oscar must’ve made a bad joke, because he threw his head back laughing while Ruby groaned, face palming. Nova caught a glimpse of a smile on her face, however. She also noticed Oscar’s failed attempts to reach for her hand, as Ruby was animated and used her hands whenever she spoke. A pang of sympathy went through Nova for Oscar.

“When are they going to get together,” Nova said under her breath, shooting a smile to Adrian. He chuckled and shook his head.

“When they decide to fess up to each other.”

“So never?”

“Probably.”

Nova shook her head, watching the two in front of them. She thought back to her conversation with Oscar back at the gala. He really was charming, despite, well, everything he did. And it was clear that Ruby liked him back; he was just too in-denial to see it.

A breeze blew through, sending goosebumps down Nova’s arm. The weather was starting to turn, becoming chillier every day. The issued Renegade’s uniform wasn’t exactly made with material for winter. Nightmare’s disguise would’ve kept her warm, she thought smugly.

Ahead, Oscar and Ruby slowed to a stop and looked behind them, waiting for Nova and Adrian to catch up. When they did, the four of them started walking again.

“Have either of you heard anything from Danna?” Ruby asked, worry lacing her tone. “Oscar and I were just discussing that, and how her swarm won’t fair well with this weather.”

Adrian shook his head. “No. Nothing since the gala, when I last messaged her.”

“Yeah, we haven’t heard anything since we saw her butterflies at the cathedral.” Ruby shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Nova opened her mouth, about to feign having not seen her either, when a young woman with a crying baby in her arms rushed over to them. The group stopped, all four surprised.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but there are no other mother’s around, and I saw the uniforms. Can you watch my daughter for me for like five minutes? My son just ran off and I can’t catch him while holding her.”

Adrian was the first to speak. “Of course, ma’am.” He smiled at her pleasantly. “Do you need any help finding your son?”

Relief swept over the woman’s features. “No, I know where he’s going, I just need to grab him before he gets there or I’ll be in huge trouble. He’s done this dozens of times that I know his route and how fast he goes, so it won’t take long.” She hurried forward and pushed the baby into Adrian’s arms, forcing him to let go of Nova’s hand, much to her dismay. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back in a minute!” The woman waved a hand over her shoulder as she dashed off in mad pursuit of her rogue son, shouting his name.

Adrian looked to Nova, then to Ruby, then Oscar, panic written all over his face. His shoulders were stiff, and he held the baby at a distance from himself, awkward. The baby continued to cry, harder than before now that she was separated from her mother.

“Help,” was all Adrian said. Nova’s mouth twitched, and she bit her cheek to keep from smiling. It was too comical.

Oscar was less nice about keeping it in, and bust out laughing. Adrian glared at him. Ruby rolled her eyes and stepped forward, muttering about how useless boys were. She took the baby from Adrian’s arms without question, cradling her close to her chest and making shushing sounds. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet, rocking back and forth.

The baby continued to cry, fisting her hands against Ruby’s uniform.

After a minute, Ruby looked up with the same panicked expression as Adrian. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she stammered out, “I used to hold my brothers all the time when they were babies, and I could usually get them to stop crying. Oscar?”

Oscar backed up, eyes wide. “Hell no. I love kids as much as anyone, but me holding a baby is bad luck.”

Ruby groaned, shifting the infant in her arms.

Nova had an idea. A terrible idea, really, but one that would work. She debated for a bit, arms crossed and biting her lip, then stepped forward, arms outstretched.

“Give her to me.” She beckoned for Ruby to place the crying child in her arms. Ruby looked at Nova as if she had grown a second head. Adrian and Oscar held similar gazes.

Nova’s face reddened at the staring. Her jaw tightened in defense. “What? I had a baby sister. I knew how to calm her better than my parents.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She spent multiple nights using her power on Evie to keep her quiet in their tiny apartment.

Ruby hesitated, then sighed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to do. She placed the baby in Nova’s waiting arms, unfurling her little fists from her uniform. Nova held the infant close to her chest, cradling her beneath the head. Her pudgy face was scrunched up and scarlet from crying. It didn’t look like she would be giving up anytime soon, either.

Nova glanced at the others, who were watching her closely. With a great sigh, and a small tinge of regret for what she was about to do, Nova cleared her throat. Her Papà used to sing her and Evie to sleep when they were having rough nights. She distinctly remembered one lullaby that always got her to fall asleep quickly. And if that didn’t work on this baby, well, she had her power.

Reluctantly, Nova opened her mouth, and sang.

“Ninna nanna, ninna oh

Questo bimbo a chi lo dò?

Ninna nanna, ninna oh

Questo bimbo a chi lo dò?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nova saw Oscar’s jaw drop. He elbowed Adrian roughly, whispering. Blushing furiously, Nova turned her back to them, swaying from side to side to the rhythm of the song.

“Se lo dò alla befana

se lo tiene una settimana

Se lo dò all’uomo nero

se lo tiene un anno intero.”

The crying from the baby had stopped, thankfully, and the little girl’s eyes were open. Their deep brown orbs stared up at Nova in wonder, mouth open. Nova cracked a small smile, sad, as she thought of Evie.

“Se lo dò al lupo bianco

se lo tiene tanto tanto

Ninna nanna, nanna fate

Il mio bimbo addormentate.”

The infant did not close her eyes as Nova had hoped. Instead, she reached up and tugged at Nova’s hair. Nova ignored this, remembering that Evie used to do the same thing. She started the lullaby again, doing a little dance now. She kept her back to her teammates, not daring to look at them. When she got near the end of the song, she let her power flow through her gently, like with Evie. She stroked the baby’s soft curls, smiling at her as the baby’s eyes grew droopy, then closed. The baby girl relaxed instantly, curling into Nova. Nova hummed the lullaby, pretending that she was still trying to get the baby to fall asleep as she turned to face three wide eyed Renegades, mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. She avoided their gazes, continuing to hum and rock and look at the baby’s features. The baby was pretty adorable when she wasn’t screaming her head off.

“Thank you so much!” Nova looked up to see the mother, now sweaty and out of breath, coming towards them with a squirming toddler beside her. Nova could see how white the woman’s hands were from holding her son so tightly. He looked very proud of himself, mischief in his eyes. “Oh my goodness, you got her to fall asleep?” The mother gaped at Nova, then glanced down at her child, still fast asleep in Nova’s arms.

Nova laughed nervously. “Um, yeah. I sang to her and she just passed out. I used to sing to my little sister all the time when she was a baby. She was always crying, and my parent’s could never get her to sleep. But, whenever I held her, she would fall asleep almost immediately.” A partial lie, but the stranger didn’t need to know that.

“She hates going to sleep!” the woman exclaimed, still staring at her baby in wonder. “It takes me hours to get her to even close her eyes. You have a true gift!” She turned her attention to her son, made him promise to not run away again, let go of his hand, and took her daughter from Nova, slowly to avoid waking her. “If you ever need some extra money, I would love to have you as a babysitter.”

Nova’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vigorously. “Oh! Um...I would love to, but...I..I’m already so busy with Renegade work and my studies and things at home.” She smiled sheepishly. “But thank you for the offer.”

The woman’s expression fell for a moment, and Nova felt bad. But what was she to do? Nightmare becoming a babysitter was the last thing Nova needed, even if she could bring in some money for the Anarchists.

“Well, okay. If you change your mind, my name is Liliana Hemmings. I walk through this park every day around this time, so feel free to come find me.” She smiled brightly then at all four of them, gratitude written across her features. “Thank you again so much for the help. It’s always good to know we can count on the Renegades. Have a nice day!” She waved to the four of them, and they all said their goodbyes. Nova bit her lip in irritation at her comment. No one should count on the Renegades. They only brought disappointment.

Oscar whistled loudly, moving forward to clap an arm around Nova’s shoulders, which she pushed away instantly. He snorted, unbothered. “Well, would you look at that? Our vicious and antisocial little Nova not only knows how to rock a baby, but she can sing too!” Nova glared at him, then cast her eyes downward. When she didn’t reply, Oscar continued. “And did you guys hear that vibrato? I say she’s a solid soprano.”

“Shut up, Oscar.” Nova rolled her eyes, annoyed, yet trying to keep a smile from blooming on her face.

“No, but seriously, where did you learn all of that, Nova?” Ruby raised an eyebrow, amused.

Nova shrugged, shrinking under so much attention. “My dad used to sing all the time in Italian. And like I already said, I used to help put my sister to sleep all the time because my parents always had a hard time.”

They seemed to ponder this for a moment. Then, all of their communication bands went off.

“Looks like they need us.” Ruby beckoned them. “C’mon, let’s head back.” She and Oscar started walking, and Nova was thankful, for the first and last time in history, for the Renegades for saving her from further embarrassment. She started to follow behind Oscar and Ruby, but was pulled back by Adrian. There was a teasing smile on his face that burned her cheeks, yet she still allowed him to pull her against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist confidently. Through their uniforms, she could feel his heart beating against hers.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he murmured, moving a hand to cup her cheek. His hand was cool against its heat. “I had no idea you could sing.”

“Oh, we’re being Mr. Suave now, are we?” Nova tried to keep a neutral voice, but she couldn’t hide the shaking in her tone. Adrian grinned, much to her frustration, pleased at the not-compliment. The hand still at her waist squeezed, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. Her arms remained at her side, balled into fists. She would not be drawn into his antics.

“I’m feeling much better because of you, Nova. I wanted to thank you.” His voice turned sincere, and he pulled her closer, tilting his head down. Nova’s eyes betrayed her, flitting down to his lips. She glanced back up at him.

“You’re welcome,” she said, although it came out hoarse. She could feel Adrian’s breath on her chin. Unable to control herself anymore, Nova closed the space between them, pressing her lips against his. He grinned and returned the kiss, deepening it slightly.

“We’re in public.” She pulled back slightly, just to have Adrian chase after her lips.

“And?” He moved both his hands now to cup her face, kissing her tenderly. Nova wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into his hair. She could go on like this forever, wrapped in Adrian’s warm embrace, cuddling, kissing, enjoying every second life had to offer.

And then Oscar had to ruin it.

“Ay, lovebirds!” he yelled, almost twenty feet away. The people around them turned their attention to Nova and Adrian. Nova pulled back instantly, but Adrian leaned in for one final peck, lingering a second too long for Oscar’s liking. “Can you keep your faces apart for two seconds or am I gonna have to come over there?” Nova turned, glaring. She wanted to slap that smug smile from Oscar’s face. Next to him, Ruby held her face in her hands, probably embarrassed for Nova and Adrian.

“We’re coming!” Adrian called back, tugging at Nova’s hand.

Not two (2) days later, in the lounge before a night patrol:

“You guys remember that time Nova showed her soft side by singing in Italian for a baby in public?”

“Oscar if you don’t shut up now I will throw this pillow at you.”

#renegades #renegades fanfic #archenemies #archenemies spoilers #nodrian #novian #novadrian #fluff #its so long im sorry #also not sorry lmao #nova and adrian will be the death of me #it is 2 am i started this hours ago #no regrets

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