#Free from the clutches of art block

[noka-exe]

breaking news… local bird comes back to life and is NOT happy…

[simpjaes]

ONE OF THE DAMNED GIRLS PT.1 (P.SH)

Moving to a city with wild nights and charming days felt like the perfect choice in your head upon finishing college. Hours away from home, you accept a job at a local museum ironically placed dead between a large historic cathedral and a booming gothic nightclub. You were meant to curate the art, not be curated yourself by a local priest who found you with buckled knees outside of said goth club. ― part two here!! | MINORS DNI

PAIRING ― vampire park sunghoon x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT ― 20.4k

CONTENT ―  modern vampire sunghoon, cathedral/chapel settings, blasphemous behavior, false holy facades, the main vampire trope i use is the act of drinking blood, luring, and living forever, heavy manipulation and toxic behaviors, mentions of reader being alt/goth

SIDE CHARACTERS―  jungwon as your very very best friend who has an installation at the museum (you guys are attached at the hip), jay as the hot bisexual bartender at the goth club, some goth guy named balor 

!WARNINGS! ― dubious consent (due to the act of mind manipulation), hunting and playing victim, a lot of blood: blood sucking, wounds/puncturing, menstruation in a sexual light, manipulation, near-death experiences, fainting, talk of death, acts of mind control/luring 

NOTE ― here is part one of the first vampire fic i've ever felt compelled to write in my life. shout out to me, myself, and i for being entirely deranged and coming up with on a whim based on a song a lovely anon sent to me. this is semi-proof read, and does require two parts to get the full story.

tags under cut

smut tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic] ― big meat sunghoon, biting, A LOT OF BLOOD, sucking and drinking of blood obv, pussy eating (once while reader is menstruating, and another time where she isn’t), deep penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex bc like…he’s dead so lmfao, missionary, scratching, dirty talk, body worship, praise, jungwon is involved in a bit of an erotic situation but there is not smut involving him, 

other tags [ these tags refer to both parts of the fic]― depictions of death, anti-religious language, the act of dying including intense descriptions of the feeling, mentions of pimping and human trafficking, corrupt government, dead nuns, funerals

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Upon moving to this city, all you have in your mind is the future. Of what could possibly come of you here? The museum is truly beautiful, propped in the center of the historic district, a mere ten or so blocks from your newly renovated apartment. 

Years worth of study has led you here and honestly you’re sure you never would have found this city as lovable as it is if it weren’t for those credit hours you poured into art history and architecture. Truly, you feel at home here. Especially working within the historic district at that beautiful museum. 

The rest of the city is quite modern. A bit boring to look at if you’re being honest but, thankfully, your place of work offers much for the eye to devour. The museum itself is quite victorian, with rococo styling throughout. Many could call this an eye sore, but you find yourself loving every inch of the place. You feel like a willow wisp in the clutches of that museum, and honestly you’re more than excited to grow bored of seeing such beauty on a day to day basis. 

Across the street sits another old building, also victorian in style. The large and tacky sign glowing with neon lights that reads “AFTER LIFE” goes to show that it’s very clearly a club. And the attire of those who go to and fro through the doors only further proves that it’s more than just that. It’s a goth club. 

Which, arguably, high-school you would’ve died to be able to attend. Thankfully, that little goth girl inside of you still lives strong and surely the club will be a place you’ll frequent during your free time. It’s not too hard to dress the part considering you are an art loser. The majority of your clothing consists of black, colored hair, and wild make up anyway. All you gotta do is forego the ratty coveralls or the typical business quirky you go for at work and you’re good to go. 

Last but not least regarding the charm of the historic district, your favorite site. One that is so profound to you and likely everyone else who visits this town mostly because, well, there isn’t much mention of it on any website regarding the city. In fact, you weren’t aware that such a place existed here until the day you came to view your apartment for the first time. 

Seeing it loom from the apartment window very nearly had you sign the lease without so much as looking at the cabinet space or the bathroom setup. 

No, nothing in that historic district, absolutely nothing in this city, rivals that of the cathedral that towers above both the club and museum. 

There, parked just three blocks down from your place of work, sits the cathedral. Clearly old but well maintained, you can just tell that the building has seen more than enough through the passing decades. The arches are pointed and towering, and the flying buttresses only further your heart to beat with love and admiration for what men could build at one point in time. 

You’ll never understand why the preferred style these days consists of primary shapes, anyway. Boxes, cones, spheres. Never twisting hallways or nooks and crannies to hide in. You miss the depth of which buildings used to be. Inside practically a maze, outside a wondrous presentation of knife-sharp features. So intricate, so many lines to trace.

What a shame to find yourself living in a space that’s a mish-mash of perfect boxes, but it’s not so bad when the window offers a daydream, at least. 

You’re in love each time you gaze upon the building, actually. It’s a forever reminder that no human being on this earth could make you feel such excitement. Perhaps you’re just a nerd for gothic architecture though. Honestly, it’s a shame that this cathedral seems to be a forgotten gem despite how it’s blatantly visible at almost any view point in the city. 

Fortunately for you, this only goes to show that the historic district is just that. There for those who admire, and not for those who gawk. There seems to be rarely any stray humans making their way down this street without at least an inkling of interest in the ancient life that’s been breathed here. 

If anything, the streets are filled with what you can assume to be open-minded individuals. Your first day at work showed that much. Tattooed bodies, pierced faces, wild hair, even wilder attire. Yes, you feel right at home. 

And despite the excitement of living in a new city where you seem to fit like a puzzle piece, life can still grow boring after a certain amount of time has passed. For you, it’s taken about three weeks of training, well-slept nights, and cozy days. 

Even through the summer, the nights still have a chill in the air. Which is nice but even your night-time walks have become an auto-pilot task that offers nothing new to your forever hungry brain. So, with the weekend fast approaching, you figure there’s no better time than now to dust off those hot platform boots you bought on a whim years ago and have yet to wear. 

You’re going to the booming “after life”. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well.

“After life” is certainly a perfect name for the club if the intensity of the drinks alone is anything to go by. Inside is adorned with stark black walls and silver trim, loads upon loads of purple and red curtains, women and men near-nude wrapped in straps and chains. 

It only took two drinks to see the black painted walls as a beautiful void in space with wonderful dancing bodies falling into it. You can’t stop smiling through the warmth in your cheeks and dancing to deep bass with husky voiced music. Your arms stay in the air as you dance, and you welcome any dancing partner up until your third drink. 

God, the drinks are strong. Or perhaps it’s just the specific drink you’ve grown partial to. One they call “Red Death”, which according to the handsome bartender, was quite popular in the 90s. You see exactly why it was so popular, considering it basically hit you like a fucking truck in the middle of this club and has you stumbling out the front door without so much as remembering why your feet are moving in the first place. 

Unsure of how much time has passed since you got here, you nearly forget the extra five inches under your feet as you stumble your way through the heavy doors in front of the club. A kind bouncer with the whites of his eyes tattooed helps you with your balance as you step out, chuckling and noting that you’re definitely new here.

His strong hold on you is kind and gentle compared to the bouncers outside of the clubs back home, and despite how drunk you are, you still feel as safe as you do inside of your own apartment when he gives you a small “woah there.”

Thankfully, he keeps to himself after helping you regain balance, once again unlike most bouncers at clubs. You’re left to your own drunken plans now as you wobble around the building in search of a bench to sit on and sober up. Thankfully, that very bench is found sitting lonely on the backside of the building. You can still hear the muffled music from inside, but you’re currently spinning and able to hear just about anything, you think. 

You hear your ass thump to the ground when you try to take a seat, missing the bench completely and falling a full two feet with your head hitting the bricked wall behind you. 

Honestly, all you can do is laugh at yourself as you hold your head. The fall didn’t hurt, and thank fuck no one is around to have witnessed that from you. To think your senses are enhanced at this moment is quite a feat, considering you were so focused on hearing everything that you completely forgot to determine which of the two benches in your drunken vision was the real one.

And as you accept your seat on the ground as the space you’ll sober up in, your senses prove yet again to at least be slightly more amplified than usual. 

A heavy scent of cinnamon wafts through your nose as you breathe in the brisk summer air and immediately you try to adjust your eyes to whatever the scent is coming from. Or, whoever.

Then, a cold hand on your shoulder. You didn’t even see him before smelling or feeling him, but somehow, your vision adjusts immediately as if you’re not drunk at all.

In fact, looking at the man is entirely sobering. 

“Child, temptation has you by the throat.”

“I’m no child.” You scoff at the voice reaching your ears, frustrated as you try to chase the fizzling drunk feeling. A waste of money, you could say, to lose the dizzy feeling so fucking fast. 

The man stands in front of you, clad in black, offering a gentle smile. 

You can imagine you look a mess, sitting on the ground outside of a night club, but that should be expected you’d think. 

“It’s a figure of speech.” The man shrugs with a chuckle. “Now, now. Allow me to help you, my dear, you are in no shape to be left to your own devices.”

You look up at him, noting that the man appears to be a priest. What kind of priest wanders around goth clubs this time of the night? 

Then again, you don’t even know what time it is. What you do know is that you’re nearly entirely sober now for some fucking reason, and you absolutely can be left to your own devices. 

“No, I’m fine. I don’t live too far.” You shake your head at him, but he pulls you up anyway. 

Oh, a rush of woozy nausea. Your ankles buckle immediately upon trying to stand and the man simply keeps his smile aimed at you. 

“My conscience will not allow me to leave you be.” He says, taking your arm and leading you further down the street.

You’re unsure as to why you don’t fight him on it now. There’s a feeling in your body that tells you to go with him, and who are you to fight it? 

Strangely enough, your eyes sparkle as he leads you straight to that very cathedral that floods your thoughts on most weekdays during work. So big, so beautiful, so otherworldly to see so closely. 

You stare up at the towering building even as he helps you through the doors, and then your eyes immediately adjust to the vaulted ceilings and darkened stained glass windows with only the moonlight shining through. 

God, it’s more beautiful inside. 

You’re entirely mesmerized by the building, blinking up at every inch of the walls and ceiling. It’s pristine inside compared to the outside, and the floors shine so beautifully even in the low-light. Your boots stomp with each step against the well-maintained floors, to the point you can feel the vibrations running from your toes to the top of your head. 

You can feel your skin tighten at the viewing experience, every hair on your body raising in euphoria, pupils growing wide and dark. You smile, feeling your face flush as if you’ve got a man between your legs. There is no man though though, no. Just big arches and echoed footsteps.

It’s simply too beautiful to comprehend with a semi-drunken brain for the first time. 

The man saunters through the building with you in tow a bit too quickly than you’d prefer though. You try to soak in the image of the main chapel before he leads you away from it, and thankfully you caught a decent look at the gold and silver adornments surrounding a centered altar. The figure within the altar didn’t quite get more than a glance, but you could have sworn it was no religious figure that you know the name of. 

And then, within three blinks, you’re in a corridor where whispering nuns look on. Their voices sound high-pitched even in a whisper but it slows your heart rate down to that of near sleep. Drowsiness overtakes you as you blink out of sync, barely able to comprehend that you should be at home rather than in this wondrous and magnificent building with a strange priest. 

Still, even as the corridor grows less and less extravagant, where the stomping of your boots on the floor turns to that of breaking up dust and weighing down creaking wood, you find it all the more beautiful behind your heavy-lidded eyes.

The deeper into the cathedral you go, the older it becomes. Where electricity turns to candles, and then candles turn to pure moonlight shining through stained glass windows. 

Even up the spiraling concrete stairs, you feel your feet carry you more than the priest with his back turned to you. He wouldn’t need to lead you through this building at all, as the feeling in your gut would likely have you explore the place inch by inch if you were given the permission. 

Still, even while your mind is sober but your body is drunk, you find it hard to believe that people still reside here. Never once seeing anyone come from the cathedral since being in this city. And trust, you have honestly stared at it day after day during work. 

That means nothing to you now though, considering you’re inside the building, being led to a small room for sleep where your sleepy eyes devour the small bed against the wall.

The man who led you here lends no more words or thoughts to you as he steps inside, presents the room to you, and then quickly leaves with that same smile he gave you outside of the club. 

A nun replaces him with light and silent footsteps, running past you to fluff the flattened pillow on the bed. Another came in behind her with a small bowl of crackers and a glass of water. She holds out the bowl and glass, urging you to take them from her. 

Naturally, you do. Popping a cracker into your mouth and instantly feeling it soak up any saliva in your mouth, leaving it feeling dry and sore before you sip the water. And with a nod from the two nuns, they leave you be. 

This room appears to be that for refuge, surely for those the church takes in when they’re in need of a warm bed and some food. 

You smile, saying nothing as you sit down on the bed and place the glass and bowl on the small ledge by the window. There, you take off your boots and flop back without so much as sinking under the thin covers, and you fall asleep as if there’s nowhere else on this earth you’d rather be. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The sun feels warm against your face when you stir from your slumber. Your eyes feel heavy though, so you simply lay here and breathe in the strange heavy air. Your eyebrows furrow at the feeling of the bed beneath you. Stiff, hard, uncomfortable. Clearly, you’re not at home. 

And, well, that’s when the happenings of last night dawn on you. You can barely comprehend what the helpful priest looked like, better yet how long it took for your feet to carry you to this room.

When you open your eyes and squint to look out of the stained window, most of the city is distorted through the tinted colors, but you can tell that you’re quite high up in the building. Then again, the throbbing in your feet could have probably told you that. 

Still, sitting in this bed now feels much more uncomfortable than it did when you initially laid down. Your head pounds as you pinch the bridge of your nose, squinting around the room and trying to grasp your memory. 

The only thing you remember is the cold hand that guided you here and every beautiful inch of the cathedral. Which can only mean, you have no fucking idea how to get out of here.

Oh, the horror and embarrassment of needing to search for someone to help you leave feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Surely, if you’re silent with your feet, you can search the halls until you manage to find a back door, right? At least the route would be scenic and interesting if you can manage it.

And, well, you do try. Searching for a staircase the moment you leave your room simply because you know that the only way home is down at least a hundred steps. Strangely enough, your instincts seem to know exactly where to go. 

Somehow.

Your socked feet carry you straight downstairs and to the main cathedral. You weren’t necessarily expecting to find a room full of people upon entering the space either. After all, if it were Sunday perhaps you’d have to drag your hungover ass past a crowd participating in Sunday mass. 

Despite never seeing a soul enter this cathedral save for yourself and that priest. 

Weird, there are a few people with bowed heads sitting in the pews of the main chapel. All appear to be clad in black and gold, one or two others with silver. Not entirely cloaked but still incredibly eerie from behind as you look on with each silent foot step. 

And suddenly, your body freezes. 

There, at the center of the altar stands a stoic man. Posture so straight you could argue he is nothing but an ancient statue. Behind him, you note that there is an actual statue of a figure standing much the same, far too distant to make out the face of. 

Only for a moment do you recall glancing at the statue from the night before, noting how it resembled no god nor deity that you’re aware of. It doesn’t even resemble a human the longer you stare at it, actually.

Ah. Yes. The vibes in this cathedral are off. From your feet somehow knowing the place as if it’s your own home to the silent chapel bowing their heads to an even more silent man standing frozen in the center. If at all, you feel like you’ve been caught in a photo, stuck with your feet on this single tile with the front doors just out of your reach. 

That is, until one of those whispering nuns makes her way to you, tapping your shoulder with a nod and a very quiet, “Shall I see you out?” 

And she does, opening the large doors for you and closing them behind you without so much as a sound. 

Strange, because you remember the echo of those doors closing from the night before. But whatever, you guess, as you’re assaulted with the bright afternoon sun forcing your eyes to tear up. 

You take a step through the flash-bang of summer air, slowly adjusting your eyesight to the very museum you work at. Bustling with your co-workers who are made to work this weekend, you try to avoid being seen. After all, as a new employee, the last thing you need is to be perceived as a hungover mess while walking out of that weird fucking cathedral with nothing more than socked feet and a pair of stompers held against your chest.

And so, you make the short trek home, thankful for the walkable city but entirely unthankful for the charming weather your realtor promised for this time of the year. It’s fresher than you’d like for it to be outside today, the warm sun keeping you at a perfect temperature while the cold breeze offers a shiver here and there. 

You’re not sure why it pisses you off. It’s probably the headache that only pounds harder and harder with each step you take. 

Finally, you make it to your apartment. You feel cold when you step inside the lobby and make your way up. Somehow you feel even colder when find yourself at the window, gazing at the same cathedral you just spent the night in, looking hazy in the afternoon sun. 

It looms there in the city, with its elder rooted walls and pointed arches. Still so beautiful, still so mysterious, still so fucking luring. 

Even after sleeping there, and even after you felt the vibrations inside skew your comfort, it stands out not only in the city, but in your brain. With the modern city only forcing it to stick out like a sore thumb, you can argue that the city could be just as old and still that cathedral would offer a shiver down your spine. 

Your head pulses at the sunlight shining through your window, forcing your eyes from the darkened haunt, and you’re quick to make your way to the kitchen to rummage for something to help with the headache. 

And by the time you flop down on your couch, you drift back to sleep, realizing that you’re not entirely sure if you slept at all the night before. Despite waking up, despite not remembering a thing from after you laid down, and despite feeling rejuvenated in every aspect aside from sleep. 

That rejuvenation strangely drains you more as you drift to sleep, finding it so unnatural that you willingly slept in a maze filled with no face you can put a name to.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Making your first friend feels good. Weeks worth of pretending and hoping you and your co-workers would somehow become besties outside of the museum walls fell short, after all. Not that you don’t consider them friends, it’s more so just the fact that they’re all a bit too stoic and up-tight for you. 

You’re quite a bit younger as well. You can tell that they lost their spark for creating art years ago, if they ever even created it in the first place, anyway. It’s all just curating, curating, curating for them. An eye for beauty only, which is respected and appreciated but still, no eye for fun outside of these walls though. 

That’s where Jungwon comes in. A young artist with first-installation jitters dimpling his cheeks as he offers the smallest “hello” that you think you’ve ever heard from another person. 

He’s similar to you in the way he dresses. He works hard, amazing you with each piece of his collection that’s pulled from a tightly packed box, filled with bubble wrap and slammed with “FRAGILE” stickers. 

Arguably, you don’t need to be friends with your co-workers when you have artists like him coming in and out every few months. He’s quite lively, very excited, and almost clumsy in the way he carries himself. 

You were endeared with him the moment you met him and honestly just three days in, the two of you are practically attached at the hip as you push and work hard alongside him to set up the installation as perfectly as possible for the following weekend. 

And, well, the first showing went off without a hitch. His smiling face could have been seen for miles, you think, as you watch him mingle and blush at each compliment and critique of his work.

So bright. 

So full of life.

The exact person you’d want to be around. 

“Jungwon–” You elbow him in the side as he nods and shakes hands through each farewell while the museum comes to its close for the night. “It’s Friday.” You smile. 

He nods you off, paying close attention to each face that came to visit his work. And only when the halls are empty does he make his way back to you with a deep exhale and a loud, relieved groan. 

“Finally.” He huffs, blowing a strand of his hair up and into the air. “Just fifty nine more days to go.” 

You roll your eyes fondly at him already counting down until the two of you are scheduled to take down his work. 

“You do know you only need to be here for opening night, right?” You laugh.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “But it’s my first installation, I worry some kid will come wipe his snotty nose all over my hard work.” 

You chuckle, he chuckles, and then you turn to face him. 

“So, it’s Friday.” 

He bounces on his feet. 

“Yeah, glad to see you seem to grasp the idea of fleeting time and whatnot.” He looks at you with a mischievous smile. “What about it?”

“We should go out. The club across the street has really strong drinks for half the price as most places.” 

You watch as Jungwon’s eyes shine when they flick behind you to glance out the window. Then his face falls, his eyebrow raises, and he tilts his head. 

“You do realize we’ve been here for like, eighteen hours straight, right?” 

You nod casually with a shrug.

“I live super close by, if we get tired, you can just crash on my couch.” 

He pretends like he thinks it over for more than two seconds before ultimately accepting the offer of fun. 

“Cool. Wanna meet me there in an hour? I should probably change and stuff first.” 

You eye over his outfit, and then give yourself a quick glance. 

“Good plan.” You smile, backing away and throwing your bag over your shoulder. “An hour. Be there.” 

You both nod in agreement and go your separate ways. Sleepy, but entirely willing to celebrate Jungwon’s huge accomplishment with drinks that have already proven to be too strong. 

The hour passes quickly, wearing that same pair of boots for a second time now that you have the perfect place and reason to stomp around in them. This time, you even go as far as darkening your lips and smearing your mascara just a smidge. After all, you’re definitely gonna get drunk and your makeup will be smeared by the end of the night regardless. 

You gasp upon seeing Jungwon’s chosen attire, offering him an “Ooooh” the second you walk up to him. He had been leaning against the front doors of the museum, as if he’s simply an on looker and not a working artist with a top-notch showcase within those walls. 

He lends you a matching “Ahhhh” upon seeing your chosen outfit. Both of you somehow match in a way that makes this appear more like a date night rather than friends getting drinks. Which is kind of cute and a welcomed idea if the two of you have one to many and accidentally start making out or something. 

It feels platonic enough to laugh off in the morning, anyway. And really, while his boots don’t lend him extra height, he stomps around in them much like you do your own. With his black knit sweater littered in frays and pulled yarn, and his hair intentionally messed up. 

“Wonnie,” You offer the nickname easily as you grab onto his arm and check the street for cars before beginning to cross. “I think some eyeliner could finish off your look.” You laugh as the two of you practically prance with heavy boots to the club. 

He smiles at the nickname, hiding his face only slightly in his sweater when he blinks back at you with sparkly eyes. 

“Really?” He smiles, dimples on full display for the tattooed bodies lined up outside, already checking out the artist. 

“Yeah, oh–” You huff, digging in your small shoulder bag. “I have some, let’s do the finishing touch.” 

And when the two of you stand at the back of the line, you do just that. Carefully holding his cheek in one hand and lining the lower lashes on his left eye. 

He doesn’t even close his eyes, and instead looks up into the night sky with that same dimple showing. Blinking every few seconds at the sensitivity, ignoring the fact that his eyes start to prickle at the feeling. 

“It tickles,” He chuckles in a hushed whisper, never having a friend be so close to his face like this before. “How do you manage to do this every day?”

“I guess you just get used to it after a while.” You focus on the way the darkened color brings his eye to seem more catty than it already was, taking your thumb and swiping the bottom lid to smear the charcoal makeup.

You note how innocent and shining his other eye looks compared. Nevertheless, you go to rest your hand on his other cheek now.

Just for a moment, his eyes flash down to look at you. So, so close to his face. Instantly, you lend him a pause and your own smile. 

“You’re blushing.” You laugh, holding your hand steady in wait as he shifts his weight to the other leg out of natural nervousness. 

“Sorry,” He whispers out, blinking frantically to prepare for his other eye to tickle. “I’m not used to being this close to someone.”

Ah, you don’t believe that for a second.

“Look up.” You instruct, already lining his other lashes. “Feels like I’m putting the finishing touches to a masterpiece.” You add in a lame chuckle, feeling a little flustered yourself the more you note how his eyes water at the tickle. They shine so pretty.

He laughs out at your comment, a hand shooting to your wrist as you smear the liner on him. Not to be intimate or anything, just simply to steady your hand more.

“I guess I am kinda the canvas like this, huh?” He comments, standing as still as he can while looking up at the moon. “Hey–”

“Hm?” You say, pulling your hand back now and doing the same with your thumb to smear the make up into perfection on his flawless little face. 

“What kind of gum is that?” He asks, blinking a few times before adjusting his eyes properly and pretending like he can’t feel the waxy substance caked on his lashes. 

“Just regular spearmint.” You give him a half smile. “Why, you want a piece?” 

He nods, mostly because if he had known you were going to get this close to his face, he probably would have already had some type of candy in his mouth.

Again, it’s not like he has feelings or anything. It’s just, well, it’s always intimate to have someone so close to you. In your space. Your bubble. No one ever gets that close unless they want to kiss. Or, he guesses, if they’re putting eyeliner on you. 

“You look really cute,” You comment now, stepping back after giving him a piece of gum and looking over how the smeared makeup really does complete his look. “Should’ve brought one of my chokers too. Now that, yeah.” 

“Huh?” He tilts his head as the two of you move up the line. “You’re really into this kind of scene aren’t you?”

You nod shyly. 

“Was a total mall goth back when I was a teenager. I would’ve stalked you around the mall if you looked like this back then, really. Totally my type.”

He lends a bashful blink and a half-hearted laugh, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking to the ground. 

“Well, when I was a teenager I looked like the person who invented calculus.” 

“And now you’re just a little work of art, huh?” You continue the cringey art-jokes, mostly because you like the way he tries to pretend they’re funny rather than utterly horrifying. 

And he does smile at it, ears flowing with heat as he blushes. He probably wouldn’t feel so shy if it weren’t for the fact that he also heard compliments all day about his art. He’s a bit sensitive right now.

“I guess so.” He accepts your compliment like all the others, lifting his shoulder to his cheek with a squinted eye. It’s nice to feel like the world’s favorite person for a night, truly.

And the conversation is even easier from here on out. Albeit, a bit flirty but it stills platonic enough to where the two of you are just…in a comfortable little bubble surrounded by faces you don’t know. Perhaps playing the part of being two individuals who came to a club together rather than separately and alone. 

As the hours pass, there are several strangers approaching the two of you. Words of “need a third?” and “well aren’t you two just fucking perfect?” 

Jungwon basks in it, snickering quietly with you but never denying a single accusation. The two of you play along. Drinking, dancing, and then more drinking. Up until Jungwon decides he’s held his bladder long enough and is off in search of a bathroom while you make your way to the bar. 

For more drinks, of course. Not to hit on the bartender you met the first time you came here.

“Another red death?” The man with inky red hair smiles at you, already grabbing a glass and starting your drink. 

“Yes but, can I actually–” You pause, glancing at the other man behind the bar. 

Red haired man laughs knowingly with a nod and a side eye before pointing silently at his co-worker and raising a brow at you.

You nod back, dipping your face only slightly when you see him take two steps back and whisper to the man. 

Instantly, you feel a bit more shy over asking to be served by this guy but goddamn. His dark hair looks slightly damp when his eyes glance to you upon whatever is being whispered in his ear, probably from something spewing in his face after being shaken up, or perhaps from sweat. 

You try to avoid eye contact under the man’s gaze when he walks over and in front of you. Sharp jaw, silver chain, loose black t-shirt revealing equally as damp collar bones.

God. The shirt is sticking to him. 

“Babe, my eyes are up here.” He laughs, holding an empty cup and leaning on the bar towards you. “Had a little too much to drink again?” 

You nod, dazed by his dark eyes before immediately shaking your head. 

“Red death, please. Two of them.” 

The man nods with a knowing smile. 

“I saw that you came here with someone.” 

He’s flirting. Mostly for tips but it’s not like he hasn’t been known to take people home from work before so, wherever it goes is where it goes for him. 

“Jay, can you grab me the-” The red haired bartender says from behind, and Jay, presumably, hands him a bottle without so much as letting him finish the sentence. 

“He’s cute.” Jay continues talking to you, enjoying the way you don’t realize how you fold in on yourself. “Any reason as to why you asked me to make your drink?”

“Um, oh,” You were gonna be bold, but you feel Jungwon suddenly clinging to you from behind, eyeing the bartender just like you are. “I just think you make them better.” 

“Did he just say I’m cute?” Jungwon whispers behind your ear, watching the man’s hands as he makes the drinks with expert knowledge. 

“You’re both cute.” The bartender smirks, looking between both of you and then offering a wink. “This round is on me.” He adds, sliding both cups forward and brushing your hand just for a moment before turning his attention to someone else. 

Honestly, it’s like you and Jungwon are the same person at this moment when you grab your drinks and you turn to face each other. 

Both of you, bouncing on your feet with whispered squeals over the hot bartender including both of you in the compliment. 

“Oh my god.” You stare forward, tasting the drink and noting that there somehow seems to be more alcohol in this one. “He’s so–”

Jungwon nods to you excitedly, sipping his drink quickly before glancing behind you and meeting the eye of the bartender again. 

“He was just looking at your ass.” He comments, flipping his body to cling to your arm and now turning his back to Jay “You think he’s gonna check mine out too?”

You nod with a snicker, the song changing and the tempo instantly drowning your thoughts. 

“I love this song!” You shout with drunken glee, already making your way from the bar but keeping that little thought that hopefully, Jay will keep glancing at the two of you simply because it’s fun to be watched by a hottie. 

And Jungwon just goes with your flow. Dancing with sticky sweet lips, eyes glazed over from the music and mood. His makeup looks more beautiful now paired with strands of his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen dimples so fucking deep before, and it’s almost painful to remember his face without that smile plastered on it. 

“Wonnie,” You grab him by the shoulder and pull him against you, ignoring how his hair dips into your drink for a moment. “I think you’re my best friend.”

And the way he pulls back with a gasp, smiling wider? It shatters your heart just so it can grow larger. 

“I am?” He does a little bounce through his dance move, eyes shining in the strobe lights, flashes of red and purple shading his cheeks, only deepening those dimples. “Really?”

Never have you enjoyed spending time with someone like this. Never without crushing hard, never without wanting to take them home and fuck them until you can’t walk. Jungwon is different though. He really does feel like a long lost best friend, like the part of you that has been missing for far too long. 

The moment you met him, you clicked in a way that didn’t involve a dick or a hole. I mean, sure you’d probably fuck him for funsies but there’s really no point in it because you feel perfectly happy, perfectly fulfilled, just having him spend his free time with you. 

Surely when he has to travel back home, you’re going to cry. 

“Why do you have to live so far away?” You pause your dancing, making yourself sad at the thought that he will only be here for a few weeks. “Who am I gonna hang out with when you leave?”

Jungwon lends you a pouty sound, a coo, almost. 

“I only live an hour away.” He laughs, leaning forward and plastering his sweaty forehead to yours with a slurred shout so you can hear him clearly. “I’ll come see you all the time!” 

And with that, the mood seeps right back into your veins as the smile overtakes you. 

You dance with him, forehead to forehead for a long, long, while. Up until the club is so crowded with people that Jay couldn’t possibly be paying attention to anything other than making drinks, and you couldn’t possibly pay attention to anything other than the music vibrating the alcohol in your stomach. 

It’s almost suffocating, as you feel a pang in your chest of overheated anxiety. You breathe in, smelling the fifth piece of gum that Jungwon slipped from your pocket on his breath. You exhale, smelling your own sweet alcohol breath before pulling back and dragging Jungwon by the hand into the only corner not packed with people. 

“You okay?” Jungwon slurs as he sways in front of you, eyes trying their best to seem concerned. “You look like you might get sick.” 

You nod, feeling your mouth fill with warm saliva indicating that you should probably go to the bathroom now. 

“Okay, lets get you to-” 

You cut Jungwon off with an off balance sprint to the bathroom and somehow he keeps pace with you, gripping your shirt and refusing to lose you in the crowd. 

Unfortunately, as you press on your stomach to somehow hold down whatever is trying to come up, you notice how there’s a very long line for the bathroom. 

And it’s still suffocating in here. 

And your mouth tastes too sweet. And the music is too loud.

“Let’s go outside!” Jungwon shouts against your ear, vibrating your brain as he navigates you through the crowd himself, pressing you up against the front doors of the club before pushing you outside with him close behind.

The waft of breezy summer air instantly fills your lungs and your stomach settles at the space you have to yourself now. 

You stumble forward, making your way around the same concerned bouncer from before who only smiles at you and Jungwon struggling to find your footing. 

And, like the best friend you knew he became, he tries his best to be the sober friend right now. His voice wavers and crackers when he speaks, but his hands are firm on both of your shoulders as he presses you against the wall behind you. 

“Stay here.” Jungwon says with concern still in his voice. “I’m gonna run back in and get us some water, okay?” 

And you nod in a daze as your eyes follow him when he disappears back inside. You note how he says something to the bouncer before opening the doors, and surely he simply asked that the guy keep an eye on you. 

“You should probably eat something soon, sweetheart.” The kind bouncer comments to you in the night air, stepping closer to you and standing just against the wall next to you.

You feel protected by him, so there are no alarm bells ringing. 

“You know I can’t let you back in, right?” He chuckles as he speaks to you calmly. 

“Oh, I bet.” You laugh, breathing in the air again and again, still not regretting the fun you’ve had for the past few hours. “Just gonna sit here and wait for Wonnie, he’ll help me get home.”

“Good, good.” The bouncer confirms your words, still standing protective next to you when you hear the doors fly open and a few seconds of booming music before it’s muffled again. 

Jungwon flops down in front of you on the sidewalk now, two water bottles in hand with a smile on his face. 

“Jay gave me these.” He smiles. “He said if we can handle waiting til closing time he can drive us home.”

You laugh sheepishly. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too drunk and you know you probably wont make it another hour and a half with an additional however much time it’ll take for him to close up the club before needing to pass the fuck out. 

“I think I’ll have to take him up on that next time.” You slur your words. “You’ll help me walk home right, Wonnie? It’s a short walk.” 

Jungwon nods, still doing his best to act as sober as he can, but the bouncer shuts him down fast.

“Oh, I don’t think so buddy.” The bouncer laughs. “You’re both fucked out of your mind.” 

You laugh, Jungwon laughs, and the bouncer throws in his own hearty sigh. 

“Fuck–” You have a sudden, sober thought. “The tab. Jungwon, did we pay the tab?”

He pauses, eyes widening. 

“Shit.” He explains before jumping up on unsteady feet. “Can you help her call for a ride?” He slurs out at the bouncer, only disappearing inside again when the kind goth nods at the request.

And as you sit here in the silence after the bouncer helps you order a ride, a few minutes pass. Your eyes are out of focus as you stare up into the night sky before closing them. 

You could fall asleep right here on the sidewalk if you’re not careful. 

Another few minutes pass, now a loud slam of the doors rings in your tired ears now and you jolt out of the drowsy state, opening your eyes thinking you’ll find Jungwon rushing to you but instead, you note how suddenly you’re entirely alone. 

You don’t know how long you’ve sat here, or where the bouncer went, better yet why Jungwon isn’t back yet but what you do know is that suddenly, you’re mind is sober and fucking assaulted by the smell of cinnamon.

You glance around, trying to focus on the scent and where it’s coming from when– oh.

There, walking down the sidewalk is that fucking priest from before. Tall, clad yet again in black clothes, and he simply pauses his step in front of you. 

“Again?” The man calls out to you with an amused voice, lending you his hand, but you don’t take it. 

Instead, the doors suddenly fly open and Jungwon stumbles out again, nearly tripping over his own feet with an apology of “sorry, jay was trying to convince us to–”

“Uh, hi?” Jungwon interrupts himself as he takes note of the man standing in front of you. “The fuck are you?” He checks the man out, not quite able to focus on him in full.

The priest nods his head at both of you, staring Jungwon up and down before landing his eyes back on you. 

“Get her home safe.” He says nothing else before continuing his nightly stroll. 

And, well, you do get home safe. 

You and Jungwon are a mess of limbs in the short ride to your apartment, and an even messier pile of idiots by the time you make it inside. The couch is long forgotten by the time you close your front door, feeling Jungwon follow you all the way to your plush bed with drunken groans and giggles.

There, you flop onto the bed fully clothed without so much as a happy “goodnight” and you’re both drifting off to sleep. Jungwon’s heavy limbs are thrown on you as he loosely spoons you. Like he’s still trying to take care of you despite the fact that you no longer feel sick, and you’re both perfectly safe behind your apartment walls. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Have you no shame? 

Fuck no. 

What about Jungwon? Nah.

Both of you have a pep in your step by the next Friday, waiting for the museum to close so Jungwon can walk home with you and get all dressed up and ready for another fall into the infamous “after life”.

“We should try to stay until closing, maybe Jay will bring us home this time.” Jungwon wiggles his eyebrows as you put his eyeliner on for him again. 

“We’re gonna have to look real good then, yeah?” You smile at his pretty smeared eyes, reaching your hand up and ruffling his hair.

And you do. Both of you dress up in the darkest, blackest, sexiest fit you can find in your closet. Jungwon is sporting one of your pretty, sheer lace undershirts beneath his own unbuttoned black cardigan, pants tight and low on his waist. 

You, with another semi-transparent shirt. Sheer, showing all the goods if you hadn’t put on a nice fitting bralette under it. Cute skirt that shows your thighs, the stompers, of course. 

And the finishing touch this time? Matching chokers. 

“Cute.” You comment, leaning forward and popping a minty kiss to the tip of Jungwon’s nose. 

“You too.” He smiles, pinching your waist before turning to face your vanity mirror and checking himself out. 

Cute is right. Jay’s probably gonna fall to the floor when he gets a look at the two of you. 

And, well. The night is a blur. 

Jay does, in fact, eye the two of you with that sharp smirk like he did last weekend but you, unfortunately, drink far too much yet again. 

Jungwon slowed down a bit towards midnight but he kept an eye on you for the most part. Trying to secure the ride for both of you by orbiting around the bar and making flirty talk with both bartenders when time allowed it. 

You stayed on the dance floor through it. Sometimes dancing with Jungwon when he comes up behind you with clingy hands and updates on the Jay situation, but after a few songs he’d wander off again. 

It’s nice, kind of. Having someone with you that can maintain control through your own drunken stupidity. You don’t mind dancing alone, after all, you’re not entirely alone giving the pretty men and girls who come by to dance with you every other song when Jungwon isn’t around.

And of course, around the same time as last time, you find your mind feeling suffocated by the time the club is at capacity. 

You sway on the dance floor in search of Jungwon, unsure of which way the bar is because your eyes simply can’t adjust to the darkness and flashing lights by this point. 

Dimples. You need to find the sunshine face in this void of darkness. 

And you search. 

And search. 

Until you’re stumbling out the front doors alone, knowing that if Jungwon is looking for you, he’ll probably know you stepped out to breathe at some point. 

Just like the week before, the crip summer air outside instantly settles your stomach and breathing comes easier. You feel more sober than you thought you were as you sit here, making small talk with the bouncer who finally introduces himself to you. 

“That’s a good name for a big goth teddy bear.” You mock the man. “Balor.”

“In the flesh.” The man waves you off. 

And then, suddenly, the bouncer is stepping closer to you with a stiffened shoulder, the air outside shifting to something else for him, but you’re completely unaware of it. 

“I need to step inside for a moment, will you be alright for a few minutes?” He knows he shouldn’t step inside, but in all fairness, it’s kind of the protocol at this point. 

Considering that man has made himself very clear that if he’s near the club at all, it’s for good reason and he’s not to be interrupted. At least, that’s what code is for the bouncers here at this club. 

It’s a shame though, to know he has to leave you to the night. You’re a fun girl, peppy and sweet, not rude or hard to make small talk with on the long nights of work. Maybe you drink a little too much, but still. It’s not like the bouncer knows why he is to leave the sidewalk when a certain someone wanders by. What he does know is that more often than not, he’ll sink away inside only to resume his position alone, with no one left on the sidewalk.

Probably just a pimp. 

Or human trafficking. 

He isn’t sure, but time and time again he has been told to leave it be. That it’s nothing wretched. That it’s simply a territory that isn’t their own. 

Still, you nod to the bouncer. 

“If you see Wonnie, can you scold him for letting me get lost?” 

You miss the look of concern on the bouncer’s face. 

“Hey, come back inside, I’ll help you find him.”

“Oh, hello again.” A voice echoes from around the corner, causing the bouncer’s shoulders to fall as he immediately offers you a small “I'll find him–” before disappearing behind the heavy doors with haste. 

And then, cinnamon. The spicy scent wafting through you so fast that you’re almost dizzy. 

More dizzy than you already were, anyway.

“Have you learned nothing?” The priest walks up to you, chuckling and raising his eyebrows. 

“Weird ass priest.” You say, paying no mind to the happenings of just now, totally unaware of the energy surrounding you.

“And to what god do you believe I pray?” He tilts his head as he stands in front of you, hands behind his back, leaning down at the waist to position his face in front of yours. 

The question makes you look up at him with a skewed brow. 

“The usual one?” You ask, rolling your eyes at the silly meeting. 

Again.

A third meeting. 

“Ah, the usual one.” He mocks, nodding his head before standing back up and towering over you. “Do you seek him out?” 

You nod momentarily, having never been religious but at this moment, as drunk as you are and as alone as you feel with this strange man, only god could answer your curious question as to why you keep meeting him. 

As to why you’re always all on your own when he appears. 

As to why he forces a hope in your mind that god is really out there, and he’ll protect you when the bouncer isn’t here.

“Was that a nod?” He smiles at you, landing a cold hand on your shoulder. 

“Yes,” You whisper out, feeling heavy and more and more dizzy by the moment. Not from the alcohol but from something else. “Do you know where I can find him?” 

Your voice calls out on its own to him. You don’t recall wanting to ask him that, nor do you recall even thinking those words before saying them.

“He’s right here, love–” The priest pulls back, presenting the space in front of him before turning his hands inward and presenting himself to you. “I am God.”

You freeze, a rush of cold running through your veins. Surely you’re hearing him wrong despite that voice echoing those words in your head three, four, five, six times. 

“Isn’t that considered blasphemy?” You try to play it off in a joke, hiding the chill down your spine. 

Pretending you’re not interested. 

Wondering why it is that you are, actually. 

“Perhaps on any other street.” He confirms for you, now crouching down and showing his face plainly to you. “Do you keep secrets?” 

Your body nods before you can think to do it yourself, and you narrow your eyes for a moment at him. He’s…insane looking. Unnaturally flawless. Like those little speckles of moles on his face were placed with perfected intention. 

You’re mesmerized as he looks at you, eyes glancing to each part of your face, watching your expression change and fall, then rise and– he chuckles fondly, deeply. 

“I believe you.”

Why do you feel proud of that?

“Come back with me, yes?” 

There’s a long pause as you fight to think for yourself. If Jungwon were here with you right now, surely you’d be more grounded than you feel right now. Surely, you’d be having a heated conversation involving some sort of shared fantasy over that bartender. 

What was his name again? 

J…J-

Your eyes adjust to the face in front of you as you lose your train of thought. Something inside of you pulls. You can’t tell if it’s your heart or your thoughts but it appears to be instinctual when you replay his invitation in your head. On any other night, with any other man, you’d say no. 

Under these circumstances alone, you should be running away. 

This man. Dressed as a holy priest, walking to and fro from what you assume to be his home within that unnatural cathedral, presenting himself as god.

You should stand up and disappear into a crowd of rowdy dancers. 

You should find Jungwon and cling to him. 

You should push him away, and you should be recoiling by his cold hand that brushes your cheek. His voice shouldn’t feel so good in your ears. Like a siren, something inside of you doesn’t want you to run. 

“Temptation has you by the throat, my dear.” He smiles as his hand brushes your warm cheek again and again. “You seem rather fond of the feeling.” 

And now he flashes his teeth to you. Glistening brighter than the moon, he appears all but natural to you at this moment when you spiral internally at how fucking beautiful he is. Surely this guy is just a turbo goth that truly lives the life. Probably gives his heart to satan and only fucks during a full moon. 

And oh, wouldn’t you know.

You glance up at the sky again, the moon full and nearly pulsing in the sky like it’s a living being itself. Then your eyes fall back to the priest, his smile still present. 

A weirdo. A freak.

But…aren’t you too?

You barely feel yourself stand up and take a step forward under his arm. You follow the scent of him if nothing else. Heavy in your nose, like a hidden treasure cloaked by the darkened fabric draping over his body.

You want to smell it deeper. Maybe if he were to take off those clothes you could–

“By the throat.” He mumbles quietly as he leads you away from the club. 

Away from familiarity. Away from Jungwon. Away from the public.

There, straight back to that damned cathedral.

You’re more unnerved this time though, because the moment you step through the doors, you cannot, for the life of you, recall what you were supposed to be doing. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up with a weight on your side, you smile at the feeling of what you assume to be Jungwon next to you. As you lay here, not quite comprehending what happened in the blur of the night before, you start to take note of something. Color. 

The light behind your closed eyelids don’t match the yellow-white light of the sun shining through your bedroom window. No, you’re seeing colors. 

Blue, red, green– 

“Wonnie?” You call out, squinting your eyes open, not quite processing the room before you feel a pit in your stomach. “Wonnie?”

Holy shit. 

You thought it was a dream.

You thought coming back to this cathedral was nothing more than a drunken dream. That the weight on your side was more than just a misplaced pillow. 

And as you lay here in a room that isn’t yours, and most certainly a different room compared to the one you slept in previously here, you try to think. 

Was it not a dream? 

The way the priest held you close and inhaled you? The way he put you to bed and left you here in the darkness? The way you– oh. 

This feeling in your chest, pulling, pushing, weighing so heavy. Something inside of you wants to see him despite your uncomfortable awakening. No, you need to see him. This feeling, you know now, only becomes more aggressive when he’s near too. Which can only mean he isn’t far outside of this room. 

You think hard about him and what you can remember outside of the blur in your head. He’s attractive. His face is otherworldly, with eyes so dark you hate that you can very nearly see yourself floating in them. 

The image of his face sits clearly in your hungover brain as you try to think. The feeling of his cold skin against your face, his lips, his…

Red.

Panic washes over you when you jump out of bed, ignoring the head rush and the way you immediately topple over and onto the floor. You need to go home, you need to find Jungwon and make sure he made it somewhere safe last night. You need to find your phone, and your…purse? 

Your shoes?

Where the fuck are your things?

You plant your hands against the cold wooden floors, staring straight down as you try to think. Still, nothing comes but blurry images of the club and then solid images of Sunghoon flashing like still photographs behind your eyes.

Are you losing your goddamn mind? 

Finally, you take a deep breath and stand on your feet, rushing for the door and expecting it to open easily, just like last time. But no. It’s locked. You’re fucking locked in. Which is– fuck, you can’t think straight. And while you still recognize that you’re not expected at work today, surely Jungown is worried, right?

He’s probably looking for you. Hell, with the way his nerves get to him, you wouldn’t be surprised to know he’s plastered posters all over the city looking for you. 

He’s definitely looking for you. 

Fortunately though, only a few minutes of pure panic pass when you hear the door unlock and a pale-eyed nun opens the door for you. She instantly sees the fear in your eyes when you take a timid step back. 

“Oh, you poor dear–” She coos out, lifting her brows in pity. “Do you not remember?” 

You hear her sympathy, feeling your body shiver with relief at her safe and calm voice. Looking up at her, she can already see the question in your eyes. The need for an explanation. 

“You did request that I lock the door for you. You were just simply petrified when–”

You gasp at her choice of words, not remembering a single bit of fear from the night before. 

“Petrified?” You whisper carefully, wrapping your arms around yourself and nervously looking around the room. 

The shrouded woman purses her lips, glancing away from you. 

“I do believe Master Sunghoon startled you. He meant no harm, my dear.” She tries to calm your nerves, but the information only stiffens your shoulders more. 

“Master?” You question with hesitation. “Do you mean Father? Reverend?” 

“Oh.” She purses her lips tighter now, a small smile breaking out at the corners of her lips. “It’s worse than I thought. Please, come with me.” 

You shake your head, backing yourself up against the wall. 

“It’ll only be a minute,” She waves her hand for you to come. “You’re not in danger, I assure you.” 

And as you stand here, knowing that you likely have no choice but to follow her, you hope that her words indicating no danger are truthful. You kind of need them to be, after all. 

“Come now, dear.” 

Reluctantly, you follow her. 

All the way up a too-dark spiral staircase, down two long and dark hallways with vaulted ceilings, and upon rounding a corner, you smell it and you fucking feel a tug in your chest. One that drives you to walk a bit faster, nearly in front of the nun as your feet carry you to where you feel you’re supposed to be. 

She chuckles when you reach the large double doors before she does, dipping her head at you before seemingly gliding back down the hallway in silence. 

Before you can even knock on the doors, they open with a rush of air hitting you square in your face. It nearly knocks the breath out of you at first, but you inhale deeply the same scent of cinnamon before your breath is actually caught in your throat. 

There stands the priest. Or god…or whatever he is. 

“Terrified.” He clicks a knowing tongue at you, stepping to the side to invite you into the extravagant room. “Just when I thought I had you too.” 

You stand in silence in front of him after stepping inside, that tug in your chest trying to pull you directly against the man. Still, you refrain with furrowed brows as you remain silent.

“And yet, here you stand.” He softens his frustrated voice, leaning comfortably against a wooden desk behind him. “The human brain truly is fascinating.” 

“Human brain.” You repeat his words to him in an attempt to process them.

“Yes, of course. Yours in particular.” The priest, in his night clothes of a loosened white shirt and long pants makes his way to a bookcase. You watch his slender fingers pull a ratty old book out before he flip through the pages. “I’ve heard about people like you.” 

You pause as you watch him push a pair of gold-trimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, a memory flooding to the forefront of your mind as you recall last night to your best ability. 

Again, red. 

“I used to be like you.” He just talks, offering no context but keeping his sharp gaze on you despite having the book open in his hands. 

You find yourself nodding as you listen, feeling your hand raise to your heart as you try to ignore the way the priest, Sunghoon, takes a deep inhale. 

There’s nothing that follows his inhale. He doesn’t release that breath as he stares at you and instead just…smirks.

“Last night, you believed me to be god.” He smiles wider now. “You stood in that very spot and undressed  yourself.” He takes a step closer to you now, tilting his head with his words. “Do you know what you did next?” 

A shaky breath leaves your lips and a shiver runs through you again and again as you shake your head at him. Forgetting just for a moment how to speak. 

“You got on your knees and you prayed.”

You drink the thick air in the room like a glass of wine, swallowing harshly, struggling to maintain any type of steady heart beat. You feel allured, aroused, mesmerized, embarrassed. 

“What–” Inhale. “Did I pray for?” 

Exhale. 

“Me.” 

Inhale.

Within a split second all the memories come crashing through your skull. Rattling images of that very instance where you were on your knees, right here, fucking praying. Your hand instinctively shoots up to your neck, and there, you feel the drainage points. Two small pricks, just like in all of those movies you watched growing up. Sore, swollen, hot to the touch. 

Well, goddamn. 

There goes your balance. Your eyes start to blur and you feel yourself fall. Only, you don’t. You can’t when you hear him drop the book to the floor and feel his cold body shoot up and against you to hold you up. 

He says nothing at first as he looks down at you, and you couldn’t say anything if you wanted to. You look up at him in a daze, trying to focus, trying to think, but all you can process is the way he inhales again, deeply.

“You ran.” He whispers to you, studying your face and the way your body went from limp to almost holding up on its own in a shorter time than he expected. So strong, you are. Such a fighter.

He inhales again, seemingly drowning in the smell of you before rolling his eyes up and closing them just for a moment. Then, he groans before looking back down at you with eyes almost as dazed as yours.

“You didn’t run away, though.” He adds.

Even as he releases his hold on you, he smiles and inches his face closer and closer to yours. Almost as if he’s making an attempt to stare straight through you. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped you, love.” 

Your body feels weak as you soak in the truth of last night, your lips instinctively wanting to kiss him. No longer do you feel the need to run away, or to find Jungwon. You’re no longer afraid, even. 

Words can’t explain how you feel right now.

“Why didn’t you leave?” 

You have no answers for him when you hum out as a response. In fact, you’re not sure if you’ve ever had the ability to answer questions in the first place. 

All you feel is euphoria as he continues to talk to you, sweetly smiling and lowering his voice to something that drips like thick syrup down the walls of your brain. 

“I can trust you’ll be back then?” He hovers his lips over yours, watching you pucker them for him before backing away with another deep inhale of your scent. “Or would you rather I come pick you up from the vomit-covered sidewalk again?”

You find yourself laughing at that, smiling as you blink at him. 

God, he’s so charming. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon had shoo’d you away shortly after, and you managed to make it home in a daze of sunlight and uncanny admiration.

You’re not sure if you can ever feel normal again after that. In fact, you’re quite dissociated and disconnected to the world until you find Jungwon slumped at the entrance of your apartment, sound asleep. 

Like a guiding light, his presence grounds you so fast that you feel more dizzy than you did in Sunghoon’s arms. Like your spirit is slammed back into your body and reality is hitting you again. You crouch down in a rush with light taps to Jungwon’s face, those bright eyes widening the moment he realizes that you’re here. 

“Where were you?”  He whispered drowsily, his dry throat forcing his voice to crack as he shifts his body comfortably against your door. 

Immediately, your face is apologetic and your voice is soothing in repeated apologies. 

“I’m sorry, Wonnie–” You hiccup, nearly wanting to cry. “I ended up going home with someone, I didn’t mean to leave you there alone.” You continue, pushing your hands under his arms and hoisting him up to stand. “I’m sorry.” You continue, and continue. “I should have left my keys with you, or–”

“Hey,” He whispers sweetly, finally standing on his own and stretching his arms out with an even drier sound. “It’s okay, you’re the one who missed out.” 

You tilt your head in question as you reach for your shoulder bag, the one Sunghoon had tucked within his desk drawer, and pull out your keys. 

“Oh?” You smile at his lack of care, but part of you kind of shatters at it. 

What if you really needed help? How long would it have taken Jungwon to see the red flags? Then again, how long is it going to take for you to see the red flags?

“Oh yeah.” He nods to you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you push open your door and push him inside. “Jay brought me here, he stayed for a little while, even offered to bring me back to his place.”

You’re a little jealous. You did miss out, it seems. Still, you feel…fond of what you went through last night. Despite the feeling of rot within you when you think about it. Knowing it’s weird. Strange. Unnatural.

A vampire? Really? Surely not. 

“Why didn’t you go home with him?” You ask, making your way to your room right behind Jungwon, paying no mind to him as you undress and throw on a t-shirt. “Why’d you sleep at my door?” 

Jungwon shrugs, now taking his own outfit off while rummaging through your closet for a shirt you probably got from an ex boyfriend. 

“Well,” He looks at you now, really looks at you. “I’m fine if you wanna go home with people but I was a little worried, wanted to make sure you’d actually make it home.”

You pause as you dress yourself for a second sleep, feeling something in your chest flutter out of you at his worry. So he did see the color red. 

Not as brightly as you did, but he still saw it. 

“I really am sorry.” You furrow your brows as you watch him put that over-sized shirt on and lay on your bed. “I promise, I won’t do that again.” 

“You’d better not.” He chuckles, blinking at you and waiting for you to come lay with him. 

“Let me go get us some water first, I think we have a lot to sleep off.” 

He nods happily to you, only one dimple peeking out at you when you turn to head for the kitchen.

And after that, it’s nice. Not much sleep happened though, mostly just a lot of water chugging and pillow talk before Jungwon shifts with a gasp.

“What the fuck is that?” He bolts up, hovering over you and practically pinning you to the bed as he forces your face to the side. 

You know exactly what he’s looking at and explaining it isn’t the hardest thing in the world. After all, you were very drunk last night. So drunk that you’re sure you woke up today still drunk. 

A vampire? Hah. There’s no way. You were right to think Sunghoon is just like, really goth. Embarrassingly so. Probably thinks he’s a vampire lord or something. 

That pull in your chest? The inhales with no exhales? 

It’s all an act and, well, you’re kinda into it if you’re being honest, being hunted and all. The dude is hot as hell, and you don’t mind exploring a little bit of his world. 

“Well…” You trail off, lending your looming friend with the smeared eyes an embarrassed smile. 

“Those look deep.” His voice drips in concern as he keeps your face turned. “Did it hurt?”

You feel his fingers touching the two puncture wounds. Gentle, warm fingers. They pulse at the touch and sting when he pulls them away to let you turn your face back to him.

“To be honest, I don’t remember feeling it.” You think he’d probably panic if you told the truth right now. About how you were clearly too drunk when it happened. About how you prayed to a man only for him to pierce your neck and drink you up like you did to the drinks just hours prior. You aren’t even sure if you had sex with the guy.

To you though, sober or not, you probably would have still left with Sunghoon last night. With that flawless skin and those dark eyes. Sober or not, if he’s into biting and blood, you’re into it too. More than willing to play his victim. 

The fact that you were probably far too drunk at the time doesn’t bother you much because even now, with a grasp on reality, you’d like to think you’d let him do it again. If anything, just to feed your own curiosity.

“Wow, you really are into some freaky stuff–” Jungwon comments playfully, rolling back off of you and then taking a breath. “Make sure you clean them. Who knows where the mouth that did it has been.”

All smiles when you’re with Jungwon, honestly. So much comfort and concern, so much laughing and safety. If it weren’t for him, you honestly wouldn’t know how you’d be feeling right now. And it’s nice knowing that he opts to sleep over with you again. Seemingly preferring your apartment over the home he dropped a hefty wad of cash on for a two month stay. 

The feeling of having a best friend swells inside of you with each passing day, and his presence here allows you to go to work and sleep through the night without much more thought to Sunghoon. You love this city and you love the little artist that found himself at your doorstep even more. 

Hopefully he meant it when he said he’d come visit you all the time once his time here is over. Unlike you, who changed your mind the moment you saw Jungwon asleep at your door. 

“I can trust you’ll be back then? Or would you rather I come pick you up from the vomit-covered sidewalk again?” Sunghoon had said to you. You remember it despite the state of your mind at the time, and you also remember nodding to him. 

He seemed satisfied with your confirmation, yet since then you’ve felt no push or pull. No need to have him sucking on your neck or making you feel like he’s a demon wearing the skin of an angel. 

Perhaps you’ll just need to be sure you don’t find yourself drunk and alone on the sidewalk again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By mid-week, Jungwon looks sad to know he needs to go back to his respective space for a little while. Not because he wants to, and not even because you want him to. 

It’s simply because you need to be alone. You’ve always needed to be in your own space when this happens anyway. 

Month after month after month. For years and years. 

It never gets comfortable and you’ll never understand why you’re fated to hurt so badly every twenty two days. 

Going to work is already difficult enough, bloated in your quirky outfits and smiling through the twisting knots in your gut. Having Jungwon in your space when you very nearly want to strangle every person who asks you how your day has been would only lead to more owed apologies. 

“It’s not forever, Wonnie.” You genuinely smile through the pain at his narrowed eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” He throws his arms up and motions at you. “You just told me you need a few days to bleed out on your kitchen floor.” 

“Well, yeah...” You laugh and he frowns. 

“I have a sister, you know.” He rolls his eyes. “Who’s gonna buy you snacks and bring you microwaved water bottles?”

“Jungwon.” You land your hands on his shoulders and force him to look at you. “I really just don’t like when people are around me when I'm on my period.” 

He blows a strand of his hair up before pursing his lips, accepting the fact that maybe he’s a bit too clingy. Then again, you’re the only person in this city he knows and arguably the only person in this world he’s managed to grow so close with.

Given the fact that the two of you only met like, what? Two weeks ago? He should probably tone it down and not make an attempt to change your lifestyle just so he can sleep next to someone. 

“Fine.” He huffs, frowning harder. “But if you need snacks or–”

“I’ll call you.” You shake his shoulders before forcing him into a bear hug. “Thanks though.” 

And with that, you go your separate ways at the end of the work day and try to ignore how the pain medicine did close to nothing all day to help with the twisting in your abdomen. 

Still, you’re relieved to know you can tough out the next few days in silence due to Jungwon backing you up on your false-sickness nonsense nearing the end of your shift. 

“I feel like I’m coming down with a fever.” You whined to your boss, happy that the first day cold-sweats from your period makes it appear as just that. A fever. 

“She’s been a bit out of it all day. If you need me to help out on the down-low while she’s recovering, I don’t mind.” Jungwon had added, smiling at your boss and not at all bothered by the unpaid work he’ll probably have to do for your sake. 

A great friend he is. You’re lucky to have met him. 

An amazing friend, really. For helping you find space for yourself in crowded clubs and within your own bed. For lending a hand at work and showing up every day for your shifts despite simply being an artist that’s presenting his work there. No where is he needed within that museum outside of, well, you. 

And he’s always there. So for him to not be here now, when you’re making your way to your apartment door? It feels...wrong. Mostly because, as alone as you are when you walk inside and as silent as it is, you don’t entirely feel as alone like you once did here. 

Still, you go about your nightly routine and fall into bed with those same cramps in your gut. It’s not long before you’re drifting off, pleased to know that at least when you’re sleeping, there’s no pain in your body. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

A strong scent wakes you, forcing your eyes open in the darkness of your room. 

Familiar. Warm. Spicy.

Cinnamon.

A tug, just a little pull inside of you brings you to your feet as you wander through your apartment. Straight to the front door. Straight out of the front door. 

“You know where I live?” You whisper drowsily, rubbing your eyes and walking straight into his grasp, ignoring the feeling of sticky blood leaking out of you just from getting out of bed alone.

“No.” Sunghoon speaks against your hair, rubbing your arms as he holds you against him. 

“Oh.” You accept his answer with a nonchalant feeling inside of you. Who even cares how he ended up here? 

“Come back with me?” He whispers, already taking a step back and smiling wickedly when you instantly follow, forcing your nose further against his chest and up to his neck. “I hear it dripping, love, come.”

And you do. All the way downstairs and into a car with heavily tinted windows. 

You feel comfortable, safe. 

The cramps in your belly are nowhere near as you slowly but surely come to your senses. Half-awake but feeling buzzed next to him. Still, you smile while keeping your nose planted up and against his neck even as he drives. 

You like the sound of his little laughs each time he tries to push you back to your seat, and you like even more the way he mutters to himself through it when he relents and lets you do as you please. The short drive in the dead of night doesn’t offer much in terms of danger anyway. 

And slowly still, your mind clears. Breaking out of the buzzed fog when he brings you through the cathedral

 silently. Past the pale-eyed nuns with pursed smiling lips, past the windows and hallways. 

No longer are you buzzed by the time you make it through those heavy doors of the extravagant room. The same one you prayed in. The same one you nearly fainted in. The same one you tried to forget. 

“How do you feel?” He asks just moments after the doors close. 

You can sense the slightest bit of hesitation in his voice when he asks you that, only now realizing that you’re in your pajamas and fucking staining them.

“What do you mean?” You ask, squeezing your legs together in an uncomfortable show of what’s happening between them. 

“Are you awake?” He asks now, still slightly hesitant in front of you. You can almost see him hold himself back. 

From something.

“As far as I know.” You tilt your head, glancing around the room. “Um, can I go to the bathro–”

“Can you read that clock?” He interrupts you and points to the candle-lit wall. 

“Three thirty–” You pause, squinting to make sense of the exact minute. “three.” 

He smiles at the fact that you’re entirely awake with him this time, despite the drowsy lure he had you in when he appeared at your door. 

You’re here of your own free will, and you’re not running. 

“Do you want to go home?” 

You’re confused by the questions. As confused and drunk as you felt upon stumbling out your apartment door, you very much came here willingly. If anything, you’re just a little weirded out by the fact that you were paying such close attention to him that you missed the way blood seeped through your clothes. 

“No?” You offer back to him before taking a deep breath. “Can you show me where the bathroom is though?” 

And before you can even comprehend it, Sunghoon is right up against you. Looming and staring down as his hands rest on your shoulders before sliding down to your waist. 

“Now, now.” He chuckles, lowering his face just an inch, resting his lips on your forehead. “Why would I want to do that?” 

“Because I’m gross right now?” You laugh awkwardly, trying to take a step back but realizing that his grip on you tightens. 

“Oh, have you forgotten?” He laughs out, lowering himself more, dragging his lips all the way down your face, neck, chest. 

“Ah, wait–” You panic when you feel his nose against your stomach, threatening to go lower. “I’m like…” You’re embarrassed to say it now. 

After all, you came here with the clear indication of fucking. Period or not, you’re not afraid of a little bit of blood but…this.

“Sunghoon, I’m on my period.” You finally speak into the room, trying to push his face from your stomach. 

“I know.” He smiles, pressing his nose harder against your stomach. “Drove me crazy all day.” He dips his face down instantly, inhaling deeply between your legs.

Something inside of you is insanely turned on by his blatant interest in you. 

“All day?” You ask, hands reaching for his hair as he drags his nose straight through the mess you’ve made. 

“Could smell it, darling.” He laughs, pulling back and looking up at you. “Smells so sweet, not gross. Delicious.”

Why the fuck is the blood smeared against the tip of his nose so alluring? Jungwon was right, you really are into some freaky shit. Then again, it’s not so weird considering you’ve never done this before. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere when it comes to kinks, right? 

“Can smell something else too.” He looks back between your legs, ignoring that you are trying to act like you don’t want to let him. “You’re aroused.” 

Oh. 

And just as you’re preparing for some sort of pressure between your thighs, you feel a waft of cold air rush up your body when he stands and grabs your face with both hands. 

“You never came back.” He hisses against your lips, dragging you back and further into the room with him. “I had to sniff you out like a fucking dog.” 

Your mouth falls open at the spiteful shift in his voice, following his movements all the way into the room until he’s spinning around and pushing you from his hold. You fall back against something insanely soft, and instantly you moan at the feeling of silk against you. 

Barely able to catch your breath, he’s over you. He’s on you. Tucking his face into the crook of your neck with a low rumbled growl in his throat and inhaling over and over again. 

Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. 

And you can feel him nose his way all the way up to your face, opening his eyes and staring straight through you with slack lips just over yours. 

You’re mesmerized by him at this moment. Never has a man acted this way with you and it’s insane to think you’d ever be satisfied with someone who wouldn’t. You almost strain your neck to kiss him, and you truly would have if it weren’t for the fact that you feel him sink his hand into your shorts.

Not even a second to truly comprehend how ice-cold his fingers feel when he slips them down and slides two of them into you. He watches your face when he does it, his own slack lips turning to a smile when you moan out at the smallest of pleasure he wants to offer you. 

“Oh, look at you,” He coos, feeling your arms shoot around his shoulders when he continues to slide the digits in and out of you. “So sticky, what a pretty little mess.” 

You groan in embarrassment at the act, knowing full well that you’ll have to face the fact that you like it at some point after he’s finished with you. You don’t mind admitting it so much now though. The way his fingers slide through the thick mess, forcing the scent of brass to mix with his own cinnamon aroma? To die for, truly. 

“I could just eat you up–” He chokes in a whisper this time, struggling to maintain his composure from the sickening sweet smell of your blood. “Would you like that?”

You lift up instantly, kissing against his slackened smile. It’s one sided, as he simply lets you do it and nothing more. Mostly because he, himself, is spiraling into a frenzy of what he needs more than what you want. It’s all pleasure the same though, as he feels your tongue trace against one of his sharpened teeth.

Just a small bite. Just a taste.

“Ah–” You pull back in a wince, the flavor of blood hitting the back of your taste buds as you look up at him with confusion.

He doesn’t allow much looking though, as you hear that same rumble from his throat right up against your lips. You feel his tongue lick you up, slurping the blood straight from your new wound and moaning through the flavor of it. 

His eyes flutter closed as he tries to hold down his thirst, knowing that his fingers are fucking dripping with this same sweet, red slick. It wouldn’t take much now for him to break and let it all drip down his throat. He could end this now if he’s not careful.

And when he opens his eyes again as he pulls back from your sweet tongue, he notes the look of confusion still on your face. His eyes roll in fond annoyance at you for that, only because you have this stubborn need to question despite having the clear answer bleeding from your mouth. 

“You’re still trying to pretend you don’t realize?” He asks, whispering real close to your lips, darting his tongue out and offering a small kitten lick as he buries his fingers deep. 

Your lips open for him in a moan and he licks into it again. Your still bleeding tongue only drives him further and further from a stable mindset. No one, not in hundreds of years, has tasted this fucking sweet. He almost can’t savor it with the way his body rises from slumber at the mere fucking scent of you from ten blocks away. 

His cock pulses for the first time in decades for you. God, he feels more alive than he did when he was actually cycling blood through his veins. 

“You just sliced open that pretty tongue on my teeth.” He chuckles, basking in the warmth he can only feel with you beneath him. “My fangs, love.” His fingers continue their slide all the while, the sounds of squelching blood filling his ears more than your soft groans for more. “Still, you seem to deny what this is and what I am.” 

You can hear his words, but comprehending them isn't quite as easy. Like, yes, he’s got a vampire kink. Whatever. 

“I get it, you’re kinky.” You huff out, missing the way he stifles a laugh at your denial of the truth. 

“You’re a stubborn one–” He smiles, flashing the same fang that sliced through your tongue. “It’s a bit frustrating. Perhaps even endearing.” 

And then, suddenly, his fingers come to a halt and he waits for you to look at him. Just as you go to speak, he’s sliding his fingers out of your mess so quickly, shushing you with his red stained digits. 

“Now, listen.” 

It’s silent. More silent than you ever thought the world could be. 

“Do you hear it?” 

You shake your head, feeling his fingers leave a trail of your blood against your lips as he drags them away and up to his own mouth. 

There, he hangs his fingers from his mouth, licking gently and tasting thoughtfully before sliding them further in. He sucks them clean in an erotic show of his blood-lust before letting them fall from his still licking tongue. Then, he’s slotting them right back between your legs, wanting more to taste. 

“No? You don’t hear how loud it is?” He asks now in a lower tone, still thirsty, still in need, dipping down to lick the blood from your face. “All that blood in you, bundled up right–” His fingers press hard against your clit. “Here.”

Your body jolts in pleasure, eyes rolling back at the mere sensitivity he forces your body into. God, kinky is right. He knows how to use words. His voice is so elegant while spewing the filth, so proper.

“Ahh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He questions you in a moan that mimicked your own, now lowering himself from your face and kissing down your clothed chest. Down, down, down. “Do you think you’ll believe me when you feel the blood drain out of you?” His voice echoes in your ears, reminding you of the vampire-like thirst he’s trying to act upon. 

And when he slips your shorts down your legs, you don’t even protest. Which at this point isn’t weird at all. The dude is insanely into it and you can’t help but feel like you can vibe with it if he keeps acting like this. He’s good at roleplaying. 

Instead of an embarrassed protest, you respond to him by spreading your legs and presenting the red mess he’s smeared all over you. Inviting him.

He glances up at you as he watches, saying nothing, thinking nothing except for the fact that– you are perfect. 

In every way, spread out and dripping blood, perfect.

You feel an intense jolt of pain shoot through your body just seconds later, followed by a loud and almost animalistic moan from the man between your legs. You lift slightly as you try to look down at him, witnessing the way he sucks the flesh of your thigh into his mouth, blood weeping from the new wounds his teeth create.

So much blood. He’s the one drunk now, utterly fucking mesmerized by the amount of it you pour for him. Your fleshy thighs offer the freshest, he couldn’t help but take a sip before giving you what your quivering body is truly begging for. He has to quench the genuine thirst before playing with his food, at least. 

And as you watch him it’s like you’re nothing but a piece of meat at this moment. He’s sucking and sucking against your thigh until you’re sure your toes are numb. They’re tingling, and you can physically feel the blood being pulled from you. As if his teeth are two syringes seeping it out of you. 

Af if they are. Not because they actually are, right?

And by the time your toes are effectively filled with static, he finally releases the fleshy bite on your thigh. You stare down, listening to him smack his lips and lick the corners of his mouth, seeing the way he doesn’t make eye contact with you at all before he’s turning his attention and burying his tongue into your crimson coated cunt. Without warning, but with so much eagerness with his tasting lips. 

Your eyes flutter with a loud and strained gasp, eliciting a groan of his own to bubble into the blood that falls against his tongue with each passing pulse of you. He licks in time with your heartbeat, which is fucking insane that you can tell he does it. Never before now have you heard your heart beat so loudly, so frantically in your ears. 

And you would be embarrassed, perhaps even worried that the taste is awful. Maybe it’s too much for him, maybe this kink is all just for show and this is a limit he’s only willing to try once before realizing himself that he doesn’t necessarily like drinking the blood from a woman’s pussy…except– Sunghoon gives you no reason to feel like any of that is true. 

No, no. Oh no. He’s fucking relishing in it and you can tell by the way he moans and skews his head to dig his tongue deeper. You can tell by the way he smothers himself, not coming up for air for even a second of the time he’s spending down there. 

And god, you can feel the mess of it all. Sticky, smearing all over your thighs when his fingers trace you mindlessly before gripping your thighs just to pull you down the bed, closer against his face, sliding his tongue ever deeper.

Moaning, fucking slurping it out of you without so much as a breath. 

He’s not breathing.

And now? You panic, focusing more on the time he’s spending burying his mouth and nose into you than the feeling of it. Your hand shoots down into his hair, pulling his head back and away from you. 

Then your breath is caught in your throat at the sharp image. His eyes blown out, widened at you. Nose, cheeks, chin, tongue all glistening with sticky crimson slick, and a smile.

He smiles at you. 

At least before his tongue is clicking and he’s poking it into the side of his cheek before reaching back, grabbing your hand, and shoving it out of his hair before sinking his face right back between your legs. As if to show you that he was annoyed by that. 

You don’t get to think about it though, because this time he’s licking you more frantically than he already was. Fast tongue flicking and fucking you, his teeth dragging against your pussy lips, refusing to let you believe that he wants to breathe fresh air right now. 

Your hands find purchase in his hair yet again though, and you feel him grip your legs and stiffen his shoulders to keep his head in place just in case you try to pull him from you again. You hear the deep growl. You feel it rumble against you as if to warn you to keep your hands to yourself if you’re not going to let him do exactly what he said he would fucking do. 

So, you don’t pull him away. Instead, you play in his hair with your weak hands. Twisting and twirling strands of it between your fingers until he’s pulling his tongue back on his own. 

A shock to you, truly, that he does it at all. But you guess it makes sense when you feel another sharp pain in your thigh, right below the preview bite he had given you. 

Just when you were gaining feeling back in your toes too. 

And he goes back and forth like that for a while, until his face is utterly soaked in diluted blood and pussy-slick. Until he needs to look at it pulse, and watch how beautiful you still, fucking still, have more to pour out for him. 

He’s amazed, really. Never has he served himself a woman that’s openly bleeding for him like this. After all, he prefers to drink his dinner from the carotid artery and be done with it. He was far more creative back in the day though, you know, when his cock still worked. 

Most of his sexual pleasure came from drinking alone. Never getting hard but always reaching climax in one way or another when he gets that last, delicious drop of blood from his victims. But now? Oh, now. You’ve stirred his arousal back to life. Not from pure hunger, but lust.

It’s been so long that he’s lusted. So, so fucking long since he’s cared enough to fuck his prey or give in to the temptation of menstrual blood. In fact, he can’t even recall ever allowing his victims to fall away from the drowsy lure he puts them in. Many of them didn’t know what was happening to them before death and he preferred it that way. 

Until you. An average looking commoner with insane fucking blood. Devilish blood. Divine, demonic, angelic, fucking celestial tasting blood. 

After all this time, he’s had beautiful face after beautiful face. He’s had men, women, celebrities, false-prophets, and even purely divine bodies.. But you…oh no, he can’t simply kill you like those utter throw-aways.

There was a reason he didn’t end you the first night. Something in him caught fire on the taste of your drunken blood. The alcohol you had ran through his veins along with a taste he’s never once fathomed existing. It was the first time in hundreds of years where he forced himself to let you walk out of his quarters. 

Blood with no comparison. So thick, so sweet, so…damning. How could he have just killed you there? How could he pretend like it’s not addicting? Like he didn’t want you to continue producing more and more of it, all for him to drink up?

Of course he wants all of it. He wants to drain you to your last fucking drop, but then he’d never taste it again. Not in thousands of years, at least. So now, as his cock pulses awake and your heavy flow only produces more and more for his hungry mouth to lick up– fuck.

It’s been so long since he’s felt something for a victim like this, and even longer since he’s wanted to use his cock. No, needing to use it. It feels almost foreign to him now after so many centuries, to fuck and eat at the same time. To indulge in all the pleasure, and not just the one that keeps him alive. To want you to feel the pleasure too, to need you to want him without the false sleep forcing it.

You. 

You’re the one. You’re the one he’s going to keep. For as long as you’ll let him, and when you stop letting him, he’ll have no choice but to lure you again. Forever. All for him. 

“Love,” He rasps out, staring at the way your pussy shines so prettily in front of him, the pulse drawing him to near starvation despite being drenched in his meal. “Never have I wanted to fuck before I–” 

Kill, is the word he almost used. It’s instinctual, but instead he releases a moan from his throat at the mere thought ignoring that instinct. Drinking, sipping. Forever just a fucking appetizer and never the full meal. He can settle. He will settle.

Never. Truly never has he wanted to stop himself from drinking just to fuck and he needs you to know that. The feeling is too erotic for even him to comprehend right now, meshing with his hunger and making him feel –-

Gods be damned, he could kill you. 

He should kill you. Given the fact that he has never let a meal leave this room without being drained entirely. Never while they’re awake and fully aware anyway. Insanity. You’ve made him go insane, losing his wits enough to treat you as something more than a victim.

Despite hunting you as one. Despite never having to hunt anyone like he has you. Wanting you to be here willingly. Wanting you to love the feeling of his thirst. Wanting you to learn how good the drain feels. Wanting you to know what he is and needing you to love it. 

Needing you to stay alive. 

Insane. 

He’s fucking losing it.

He knows that if he can never smell this scent again, if he can never taste it, or have your fingers in his hair, if he can never want to fuck again? Oh, he’d crumble. 

He’d take a walk at noon.

You’re not dying tonight. In fact, never shall you feel the cold slab of a morgue freezer if he has anything to do with it. No blood wasted when it comes time for you, and no life truly lost either. 

If just for the sex. If just to quench a never ending thirst. 

If just to live in insanity.

“Before you–” You release in a breath that he chases. As if craving the life under him like an animal. “Before you, what?”

“Kill.” He whispers as he swallows each breath of yours, tasting the sweet sleep that you once held in your body. His own eyes feeling drowsy as if you have your own lure on him now. 

Even the panicked gasp you release at his choice of word there, he swallows it, kissing you hard in a drowsy groan and smearing the blood all through the kiss, letting your breath rumble out of his mouth as if the moan were from his own lungs. 

“So vacuous.” He chuckles now, feeling the pleasure of his cock jolt through his body. He presses himself between your legs, relishing in the sticky blood seeping straight through his sleep pants. “Do you feel that?” He continues, rutting against you as if he’s a virgin of all that he’s experiencing right now, licking each smear of blood from your cheeks and chin. 

“Ah, Sunghoon,” You groan, but you try to be serious in your tone. Feeling the orgasm that once was bubbling up settle back in your stomach. “You’re making a mess.” 

“Mm, I am.” He mutters mindlessly, pressing harder against you now as the taste settles in his throat. “Love, tell me. You feel it?” 

Of course you fucking feel it. 

The nod you lend pleases him, knowing that it’s not just his imagination. Finally, he can feel the warmth of a living being wrapped around him. Finally, he doesn’t feel so cold. 

“You can’t fathom what it is that you do to me,” He continues his sweet talk, running his lips down to your neck, leaving trails of that blood all the way before immediately piercing his teeth into the same wounds he left on you already. He feels your pulse against his teeth when he sucks and only groans weaker against you as he ruts. 

“Ah–” You wince in pain again, feeling the wound reopen with a cold and sharp prick. The pain ignites something inside of you to press your hips up, sliding yourself against his red-drenched pants. 

He chuckles into his bite at your willingness, his hands reaching straight down to shove his pants down in one movement. Euphoria runs through him at the feeling of your warm blood against him when he presses back against you.

Really, the feeling alone paired with the taste of your fresh blood yet again only drives him to keep going. After all, he has all the time in the world. His intention to keep you here only lends him the ability to press his length straight into that bloody, sopping wet hole of yours. The one pulsing for him, the one that lends his favorite smell, taste, and feeling in the world. 

His teeth are forced to retract when he throws his head back at the sensation of sinking deep into your cunt, one fluid motion reminding him of how much he loved this feeling before. How often he’d fuck, and fuck, and fuck until suddenly, he just– couldnt. 

You’ve ignited so much life within him, even while doing nothing more than lying here bleeding. No longer does he feel bored with the world considering he’s managed to find you in it. He could possibly even love you if you let him.

Especially with the way you react nearly the same as he does. As if you haven’t fucked before. As if you’ve never mixed scents with another being before ever coming to this city to chase your own demise. The little sounds you make could be so much more than what you think they are. 

They’re so similar to the ones you make when he bites, when he sucks, oh, so so similar. So deeply seeped in pleasure, pain, hesitation.

“Darling, are you afraid?” Sunghoon manages to say as he feels himself warm from inside of your tense body. “Do you believe me now? Do you understand now?”

You frantically shake your head at the tear of his cock spreading your walls open around it. That one slide rendering you near faint considering the amount of blood he’s taken from you already. The feeling of…ice. It’s in you, running from your veins all throughout your body. So, so, fucking cold. 

No, no, no. No living being on this earth could feel this hard inside of you while being this…oh. His hands have been cold on you too. Always. His scalp under your fingernails as you scratched. His lips, his tongue, all of it was freezing until your blood was coating him. Everything about him is ice.

Still, you shake your head through the pleasure, cock warming him both literally and unintentionally. He just sits inside of you, feeling the beat of your heart gush that same blood past his length and out of you. Your eyes slightly open to look at him, afraid of what you’ll see. 

He’s smiling. His eyes are…brighter.

“C–cold.” You manage to stutter out, nearly feeling brain freeze from the way he pulls his hips back and plunges into you again, warm blood splashing out and against his pelvis, coating your thighs more. And oh, that bite on your thigh, it’s dripping again. 

“So cold, yes?” He chuckles when he dips down, moving his hips steadily in and out of your sticky mess. No longer thirsty, just…aroused. “Do you understand?” 

You frantically shake your head again, grabbing onto him from over his shirt. You’re panicking inside, your fingers gripping so tight, trying to find heat. Needing heat. 

How did you not think about this more? It took this to recognize that he never warms? And he’s smiling at your panic? 

God, but it feels so, so fucking good. 

“Love,” He coos at your panic, pistoning his hips easily with the slide, bringing both of his hands to your face and forcing you to look at him. “I’m dead.”

Ah. 

So he is. 

Yet, the feeling of him inside of you feels better than you’ve ever had. The way his hands hold your face, the way his eyes blow out for you, the way his entire face is tinted in red. He’s so alive yet…

Entirely dead. 

“You’re afraid?” He asks through his own forgotten pleasure, wanting you to stay but entirely willing to put you to sleep so this doesn’t have to end. 

“Sunghoon,” You interrupt any words he’s about to give you, opting to continue fighting the truth when you note the softer tone of voice he uses despite the quickening pace of his hips. “Harder.”

Oh, the fire within burns colder than it ever has at those words. He doesn't even need to pull you? You don’t want to pretend this isn’t happening? You’re accepting him? 

If you want him to go harder, he’ll make you feel like no other. Harder he goes, using all of his pent up frustration of not being able to drain you fucking dead, all of his strength, all of everything he’s missed out for the past centuries– all of it. It’s behind his thrusts now as he slams into you. The blood that splatters out only makes the moment all the more grand to him. 

Breaths leave you with each slam, the sticky sound from below being drowned out by the sheer sound your heart rate in your ear. You’re still panicking, but you can’t help but want more. After all, surely what’s left for you after he’s done is….no, it’s not real.

He feels the fear pulse around his cock and moans out at it, the squeeze so tight, the gush so delicious. This entire room smells of you, and he wants it to be fucking drenched in you. The fear inside of you right now only intensifies the pleasure, and he knows he should be calming you through it, he knows he should tell you that you’re making out of this alive, but–

The way the heart beats so frantically when one is terrified. You’re dripping with fear, the smell of your blood intensifies with each petrifying pulse squeezing his cock to the point he feels his own heart make an attempt to pulse. Your life runs through him entirely out of fear that you’ll lose it. 

He can’t tell you, not when your body reacts so flawlessly. Exactly how it’s supposed to react. So delicious is that fear, he wonders if it makes your blood taste any hotter. He dips down, sinking his teeth into your neck once again and confirms his suspicions. It does taste hotter, sweeter, and it pumps itself so beautifully against his eager fangs. Almost as if you truly bleed for him, because he’s not even needing to suck for it at this point. 

It just drips, and pours, and bubbles out all for him to swallow up. 

You push through it though, the pain is so good, and if this is what it’s like to die, perhaps you’ve found yourself in a lucky position. At least you’re not being ripped to pieces by a stranger, or crushed beneath your own car on a highway. At least this way, you’re being held and seemingly adored.

And the fear, excitement, and pure adrenaline in your body forces it out of you. A rush of heat slamming Sunghoon right in his gut when you convulse under him. Legs shaking as you moan out both in disbelief and intense ecstasy. The blood tastes even sweeter now for him, so sweet that he has to pull back in a guttural and demonic growl.

It’s been so, so long since he’s felt a woman cum around him. His own body reacts in an instant, releasing his own thick secretion into you as you shake through it. Sweating, panting, drooling, crying, bleeding. All for him. 

And the explosion behind his eyes is a reminder to keep you alive. He forces himself to keep the inhale from happening as he plunges into you one last time, coating the inside of your bloody walls with a flurry of freezing ropes. Amazed at the feeling he has long forgotten, his body shakes through it and renders him near psychotic for the release. 

You continue to shake with him, shivering at how the man makes you feel as if you’ve been lying in snow for days, but you keep your eyes closed. 

You’re terrified of him, of this, of the truth hitting you square between the eyes as if it wasn’t obvious all along. Fantasies, legends, fairy tales. How many of them are based in reality? 

You know what’s coming now, based on those same stories. 

The last bite, the drain, fuzzy images, death.

And you embrace for it, trying to relish in the post-orgasm bliss before it happens because you know there’s no way to run from him. If he’s truly what he says he is, there’s no chance in this world that you can stop him. You’re going to die, and the strange way in which your brain accepts the inevitable is more calming than petrifying. 

You never knew you’d be able to prepare for it like this, but here you are. Waiting for it. Accepting it. And when you feel the air of his body shift down to you, right up against your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath.

His cold hand tilts your face and all you can do is anticipate as you feel his teeth graze the abused and swollen marks there. 

Here it is. 

You inhale deeply, hoping that if there’s an afterlife, this last breath will be a good memory for you until–

A kiss.

He kisses the wounds. He licks them. He nuzzles his cold nose against them, and then he pulls out of you and lays directly on top of you. 

It’s silent as you lay here, still trying to prepare to fucking die and he’s just prolonging it? 

“Get it over with.” You gripe, frustration dripping out in your weak voice. 

It’s laughable, really, that you’ll sound so argumentative and petty over the loss of your life. So laughable that even he’s chuckling about it, right against your ear with no breath fanning against your skin. 

“Get what over with, darling?” He asks, not having felt this drowsy drained state in so long. 

Your mind is racing though, seemingly trying to think of everything that has ever happened in your life onto everything you wish still could happen, only to consistently land on the fact that you don’t want to believe what’s happening. 

You know very well the denial you’re forcing yourself into, even in the face of demise, you don’t want to believe any of this. 

“I still can’t believe that you’re— No,” You dead-pan before taking in a terrified breath, still keeping your eyes closed. “They’re not real.”

“I’m very, very real.” Sunghoon argues back, infatuated with the denial you try to keep. “You know that I am.” 

“So, you have to kill me then?” Your voice gets smaller as you accept the truth little by little, your breath shakier. “Fucking get it over with then, stop trying to savor it, it’s not like I can run now, right?” 

You still like the way he laughs, so breathy despite having no breath of his own. And through that laugh, he lends another kiss before you feel all of that weight lift from you and dip onto the bed next to you instead. 

“Don’t beg for it.” Sunghoon warns, pulling away from you and forcing his instinct to remember the release of the orgasm he just had. “I won’t be able to stop myself if you ask me so prettily.” 

You pause, your eyes opening against your will as you look at him. He’s facing away from you, but you can see the damp blood drying in the strands of his hair. Your eyes trail down, a puddle of blood staining nearly the entire lower half of the bed and it’s still dripping out of you. 

Or perhaps, that’s whatever it is he fucking shoved into you and fucked out of himself. 

“None of this is happening.” You say to yourself. “I did not just fuck a vampire.” 

“You’re right.” He comments with another laugh. “A vampire just fucked you.” 

Well. You’re still not ready to believe that. Even with the absence of heat, even with the lack of breathing. 

“Prove it.” You ask, unsure as to why you’re wanting it both to be real and just a dream.

You back away when he immediately does as he’s asked. Turning to you and crawling over you. There, he lowers his body, chest to your cheek. 

“Listen.” He says, reaching to hold your face and press it up and against his chest. “Anything?”

You wait, listening for a thump, anything to prove he’s wrong. Fucking any sound at all to blow his cover. 

You’re frozen as you listen, your body going into fight or flight as the seconds turn to minutes. Unfortunately, your body is not a fighter, nor a flier. You’re stuck with his hand on your cheek, holding you so tightly against something you wish was alive. 

A little thump, thump, thump could be the most relieving sound to you, but no. There’s nothing. 

You pull away from him now, body still frozen but head running a mile a minute. How many proofs does he need to provide for you to understand that it’s not fantasy? 

And finally, you feel your body jerk away from him on its own. He’s startled by the movement and you use that short second to roll off of the bed. You do your best to stand, but your brain immediately pulses in pain. Your vision goes fuzzy, dizzy.

Right, you’ve lost a lot of blood tonight. To think your toes aren’t still numb, to think you’d be able to stand without dropping to the ground.

“Thousands of years.” Sunghoon stands quickly, stalking over you and wrapping his arms around you. There, he presses you back on the bed and straddles your hips. “I’ve never told another soul and let them live to remember it– until you.”

You shake under him, the weight feeling more dead now than it ever has. He’s heavy as he holds you down, but somehow his grip on you is gentle. His voice is soft. His eyes are hesitant. He’s not holding you here to hurt you, it seems.

“My love, I told you time and time again,” He glances away from you, feeling something within him shrivel at the thought that now you’re unwilling. “Is it different now? To find that I’ve told no lies to you?” 

Still, he soothes you as you try to comprehend reality. You think hard through the dizzy fog of blood-loss, running more with your mind than your body. He did tell you. And you’re still alive. He just drank and drank from you, and you’re still alive. 

He came to your apartment, he told you he smelled you. 

He’s never lied. 

You just refused to listen. 

He drank you, he fucked you, he held you, and now he’s holding you. 

“I don’t want you to fear me.” Sunghoon admits with sad eyes, trying to ignore how long it’s been since he’s felt sad at all. 

So many emotions you force him to feel, this was not one he was looking forward to. 

“How can I not be afraid?” You breathe out in slurred speech, as if to mock him, because you now know that he truly can’t do it himself. 

“It’s too late to be afraid.” He says apologetically. “You’d have died weeks ago had I wanted it.” 

Why are you still falling in love with his voice? With his stupid grammar, and his horrifying dead-skin? Even with the fear in your stomach, why does this make your heart flutter?

“I’ve never felt so full,” He admits now, releasing his grip on you slowly. He can smell your heart slow, knowing you’re starting to calm now. “Until now.” 

You stare up at him as your eyes recover back to clear vision, in awe of how gentle a killer is being with you. Inspecting the way he’s drenched in your blood, yet you truly still are breathing. He could have killed you time and time again. 

But he didn’t. 

He’s never once lied to you about what he is, and still you struggle to believe what he says. Even when his words match his actions. Sure, he’s a vampire, but he’s not going to kill you? 

What reason do you have to believe him save for the blatant truth behind it? Do you want to believe him? Would you rather be dead?

He knows you can’t fathom the truth so quickly though, and that’s why he’s being gentle. He has nothing more than patience to give to you, if it’ll end in your acceptance anyway. The fact that he can hear your heart beating correctly again only gives him hope that he’s right about not having killed you on the first night.

After all, he truly hasn’t lied to you. Never has he felt full, even after killing several a night. Always hungry, always thirsty, always needing more and more of the syrupy life strangers offer to him under his lure. But you. Entirely aware, flowing with blood that drives him crazy…you’ve managed to fill that desire in him. 

Why should he lie to you? Why would he kill you if there is no need? Despite fighting the instinct, he’s satiated by you. His cold body warms with yours. He will never get enough of you, so how on earth could he just…take that away from himself?

And you do stop fighting. In fact, you lay with him in a bloodied mess and sleep. Despite wanting to ask questions, wondering if he can even sleep at all. Your body is tired, your mind is still petrified, and your hands still cling to the source of it, unsure if you’ll make it to morning at all.

Still, somehow, this feels holy. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

PART TWO Fanart by @a-the-na 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[littlemissmasokitten]

Welcome To The After Show Part 1

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (Minors DNI), Exclusive Situationship, Light Conflict w/ Healthy Communication

Synopsis: Christian Yu, or better known as the workaholic DPR IAN, and you are in a situationship only prevented from being more due to his heavy workload, otherwise, you two absolutely adore each other. Now with the first portion of his tour handled, he's more than ready to give you the attention you've both been needing.

Content Warning: Smut, pet names (Darling, Princess, Baby), LOTS of preface, L-bomb (More on the sweet side, curse my Asexuality), light fingering, nibbling, marking, nipples (lightly mentioned), open-ended.

Ngl, was supposed to have more smut but I got writer's block bad and I just want to throw this out into the world already. BE FREE!

Networks: @othersideoutlawsnetwork Part 2 Continued: Here

It had been a short while since the last time Christian had toured, and yet, so much has changed since then. Even though you hadn’t the chance to be by his side back then, you were proud to be here for him now.

Your relationship had been kept a secret and held a bit ambiguous for some time but everyone on the team knew something was going on between you two. All the times you left his recording studio looking more disheveled than the last, but the rumors still held true. The only thing Christian loved more than your body under his was the art he was creating day in and day out.

Even while you’d wished for your relationship to become something more, you continued to sit back, silently admiring his sleepless nights. You lived for the odd hours he’d wake you with a gentle caress of your face, happily presenting the 4-5 samples he’d created over the last hour you’d been asleep. Being woken by him was always a treat in itself though his diligence not only shone in his work but in the way he’d treated you as well. He was always certain to reward you for your patience and that was more than enough for you. 

The coming days of the Seoul concert were busier than ever. You’d honestly expected he’d disappear off into his own world so you were surprised when he brought over matching luggage cases and invited you along to South Korea with him. Even though you’d only be able to stay in his Seoul apartment while he worked, it was a refreshing change of scenery and felt like a good use of your vacation time. You cozied up in his bed with a book or two and a bit of tea, staying up a little late into the nights just to see him back safe and sound. 

Everyone knew the first day of the concert would be hectic and you stayed behind then as well. Despite the way he returned, stumbling into the apartment worn and exhausted, his eyes lit up telling you every little detail, and how much it warmed his heart getting to see "the lovely Dreamers" once again. In a moment, he clutched your hands in his and he begged you ever-so sweetly to tag along for his second performance the following day. Despite your initial hesitance toward the potential of being spotted, you agreed under the condition of staying in a secluded backstage waiting room.

Now here you are, as you promised you would be. A silent room with a few snacks and beverages, a couch, a chair, and the greyest walls imaginable. It was moments like this that made you wonder if it was really okay to continue living this way. You opened your phone for the Nth time, only to see fancam after fancam of his performances taking over your social feeds. A lighthearted sigh leaves your lips when you see him tying a bow on his head. “He’s so precious, of course this was all worth it”.

As the words leave your lips, you hear a light knock on the door. You eagerly sit up, a twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah?~” The door creaks open with Christian peeking in before sneaking in and closing the door shut behind him. You make your way up and both run into each other's arms once again. “Darling, it must get tiring to always be waiting on me like this but I can promise you…” he leans in, tucking your hair behind your ear to softly whisper against it “I’ve been waiting to get to you just as much as you’ve waited on me”. As each word gently falls upon you, your senses become enveloped by him. 

The softness of his words tickling your ears.

The way his body fits perfectly against yours.

The scent of his sweat infused with the woody cologne he’d put on before the performance.

The sight of his stage makeup drying after running down his face.

By all means, he should be exhausted like any other day but the twinkle in his eyes as he looks down at you says everything you’d needed to hear.

In a moment, your lips are on his, your fingertips tracing up his shoulders to the dampened back of his neck. He gently caresses the small of your back as you exchange feelings for each other with actions alone. Between the heavenly plush of his lips, the delicateness of your tongues just barely swiping between desperate kisses, and warmth of your breaths colliding, what was meant to be a moment of understanding was rapidly spiraling into a deep, familiar desire. 

A breathy moan escapes your lips and he takes it as an opportunity to graze your tongue with his. As quickly as you get a taste, his mouth leave yours and relocates to the base of your neck, one hand reaching up, tangling into your hair as he ever so softly marks you. “You taste delicious, Darling. I'm so lucky to have all this right here, waiting just for me". He guides you back against the arm of the couch and mumbles against your skin "Now, let me show you proper just how I appreciate you".

With a small whine of acceptance leaving your lips, he guides you to lean back, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze, thumb rubbing at the soft plush. He presses kisses down your chest, only stopping to mouth over the peak of your nipple clearly protruding beneath your thin t-shirt.

You loved the way it felt how he touched you, the butterflies in your stomach when he'd give in and spoil you with endless affection. But as his hand crept up your thigh, so had the worries deep in the pit of your stomach. "Christian..." you held his hand in place, causing him to look up to you once again. "What is it, Darling? Is something wrong?"

You swallowed hard and stayed quiet a moment before responding, averting his gaze. "I don't love the way things are ambiguous between us. Sometimes... I wish..." your words trail off.

"I love you, y/n. No doubt about that in my heart" he softly caresses your face. "You've stayed beside me through my best and worst days, you've held on through my busiest months and have been the anchor and breath of fresh air I needed in the times between. If 'official' is what you want, I'm more than ready to give it to you."

Your eyes widened, "Do... do you really mean it?" you say in a near to hushed whisper. He kisses you softly, slowly deepening the kiss, one arm snaking around you before leaning back to whisper against your lips. "More than anything, Princess. If it helps..." his free hand rides the rest of the way up your thigh, rubbing your heat through your leggings, a finger slipping between your folds "you can be as loud as you'd like now and we'll explain it all later."

Your breath hikes in a damn near squeak, only needing to see you eagerly nodding before he returns to ravaging your mouth once again. A second finger slipping between and you'd swear on your life the next day if asked that his fingers had never felt thicker. He nibbles your lip as his finger teases your entrance through the leggings. You give a small yelp, to which he kisses your lip all better.

"Don't get shy on me now, Baby. Lets lay you down this couch and I'll give you good reason to be loud."

The lingering time between then and the couch is spent up in a blind tango, your lips endlessly caressing each other's. Even as he sits you down and leans you back, his body only casts over yours the whole while. You pull him down closer by the loose hanging fabric of his shirt, yearning for him more desperately.

"Is my pretty girl already so needy? Well Darling, I'm more than happy to oblige." He props himself up on one arm, looking deep into your impatient doe eyes. His free hand brushes between your thighs, taking in the sight of you trembling with your breathy, half-lidded gaze. His fingers brush past your clothed core before snaking their way down your waistband and teasing your dampened folds. Your hips buck up for more but he raises his fingers away, kissing you deeply as he settles your hips back down.

"ah ah~, no moving for you, Darling..." he leans and whispers deeply "I've got you."

Part 2 Continued: Here

[campingwiththecharmings]

Some Like it Hot (2)

AN: HIIIII. Right. So. Part one is here. This...diverted quite a bit from what I had originally intended but, I can't say that I'm too mad about it. 🤭 This has very little to no plot, negl.

(Un-beta’d)

Poe is your muse and you can't help but see the beauty in everything he does.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,481 Pairing: Firefighter!Poe Dameron x Photographer!F!Reader Warnings: PWP, smuffy af, p in v, idiots in love, morning sex, please let me know if i missed anything. AO3

——————

You wake gently, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, filling the room with its glow. You smile, eyes fluttering as you stretch, allowing yourself to sink into the mattress a little. The sheets rustle beside you as Poe shifts, drawing your gaze. You take a moment to study him, splayed on his belly, your eyes tracing the soft curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, smooth brow, and stubbled cheeks. He’s a work of art, really. Just…stunning. Every inch of him is perfect, as if he’d been chiseled from a block of marble by the gods themselves. And if that wasn’t enough, he also had a heart of gold. Never in your life have you met someone so kind and caring, so ready and willing to help others. 

You’d started dating almost immediately after your encounter at your studio (quite literally that same evening), and now here you are, months later waking up with him in your bed. Maybe it’s strange but you love watching him sleep, love to watch the light from the windows play over his bare skin, love to study the way his short curls fall across his forehead. The artist in you longs to capture this moment, and you can’t help but give in. Silently, you reach over to the bedside table and grab your phone, quickly swiping the camera app open and pointing it at him. You take a few moments to get the angle just right, then click the shutter button. 

He knows, of course, knows your gallery is full of photos of him (and occasionally, him and you). That’s not to say that he really gets it though, how inspired you are by him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just a regular guy. He’s supportive though, indulging your fascination.

Unable to help yourself, you roll toward him, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. He stirs almost immediately, his full lashes fluttering as he opens his warm, brown eyes. You smile at him, pushing your fingers through his mussed curls.

“Morning,” you greet, your voice soft as you rouse him from sleep.

He returns your smile, eyelids heavy as he shifts and rolls onto his side to face you.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. 

His eyes drop to the phone still in your hand and his lips quirk in amusement. “Taking creeper shots of me again?”

You chuckle at his teasing, your cheeks warming. “Guilty.”

He grunts, reaching over and plucking the device from your grasp. “My turn.”

“No, stop,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t even washed my face yet, come on.”

He tsks, grabbing your hands and playfully pushing them away. “You got me, only fair that I get you.”

You groan theatrically, pouting at him as he sits up and quickly your phone into position. “Yeah but, I’m not you.”

He snorts, the click of your shutter reaching your ears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, you lunge, kicking the blankets away to free your legs and arms. He chuckles, moving the phone out of your reach. 

“Not all of us are as photogenic as you, Poe, just—give it back.”

He rolls onto his back laughing, your phone still clutched in his hand. “A photographer who doesn’t like getting their picture taken. Aren’t you a cliche?”

You growl, crawling over and up his torso, arm outstretched as you reach again for your phone.  “Shut up.”

His laughter becomes muffled as your chest presses against his face, the vibration sending a tiny shiver down your spine. You rise up slightly on your knees, the hand not reaching for your phone braced on his muscled shoulder. His free hand comes to rest on your lower back, steadying you as you reach. 

When you finally manage to take your phone back, he doesn't put up much of a fight, instead taking the opportunity to pull you even closer with his other hand. He nuzzles your breasts through your t-shirt, your breath hitching when his nose bumps against your nipple.

“You had ulterior motives, I see,” you breathe, the fingers of your free hand tangling in his hair as his hands slip down and underneath your shirt.

He chuckles, moving his face back from your chest as he pulls your shirt up and over your head. His hands slide up to your shoulders once you’re bared to him, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to take your nipple in his mouth. Your lips part in a gasp, your fingers tightening in his curls, and he groans at the slight sting of his scalp. The vibration makes your hips jolt against him, your body instinctively seeking friction as desire quickly wells inside you.

You sigh his name as he releases your nipple, mouthing his way over to your other breast to lavish the same attention. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbles, flicking the tip of his tongue against the pebbled flesh before sucking it into the molten heat of his mouth.

Your head falls back with a moan, your phone slipping from between your fingers and landing on the plush comforter of your bed. Poe’s hands slide down to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he encourages you to keep grinding against him. You can feel the hardness of his cock even through the thick fabric of his pajama pants, your need for him growing. He groans as you move, pulling back from your chest, the absence of his mouth dragging your gaze back to his. You swallow hard, the combination of lust and awe in his eyes making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He pulls your mouth back to his then, licking into it languidly, as if he has all the time in the world. You melt into him, your bare chests pressing together as you wind your arms around his neck. You let yourself get lost in his kiss, in the soft, wet slide of his lips as they brush against yours. It feels like you’re drowning, drowning in a sea of bliss, a sea where Poe is your only lifeline.

Poe slips his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, his thumb briefly circling your clit as he slips the others lower. He works you open gently, your cries of pleasure muffled by his lips and tongue. He brings you to your peak quickly, drawing out your pleasure with each pump and flick of his fingers.

You share a moan when you finally sink down onto his length, your slick heat welcoming him, engulfing him. He pulls your mouth back to his as you begin to ride him, your body rising and falling shallowly at first. His hand on your hip helps to steady you as you gradually increase your pace, your hands braced on his shoulders. 

“Poe,” you whine, throwing your head back as you chase the pleasure racing through you. “Feels so good—fuck, so good.”

He groans as he watches you, his eyes almost black with desire. “You feel like a dream, sweetheart. So beautiful like this.”

A shiver races through you at his words, at his attention. He’s always like this, so present, making you feel so desired, like there’s no one else he’s ever wanted so badly as you. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as you race toward your release, groaning as you move and clench around him. You moan when his thumb finds your clit, his touch bringing you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes, pushing his hips up from the bed every time you sink down onto him again. “Take what you need.”

A few more thrusts and you’re there, body going taught, mouth slack, as you sail over the edge. His moan is broken as you fall apart around him, your body squeezing him, trying to take him with you. He spills himself deep inside you with a groan moments later, his hips stuttering with the force of his release. 

You stay like that for a while, just wrapped around each other, his softening cock still sheathed inside you.  It’s comforting, having him this close, feeling this connected to him. Poe strokes your back soothingly, leaning in to press a soft kiss against the corner of your mouth. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he melts into you.

“You working today?” you ask, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He makes a noise, then shakes his head. “Nope. I’m all yours today, baby.”

You chuckle, eyelashes fluttering as he presses a hot kiss against the side of your neck. “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notification

[pompinipump]

I AM FREE FROM THE CLUTCHES OF ART BLOCK. well, for now anyway

anyway

silly me

[crowpickingss]

Seashells

morgie x gn! reader with water powers

summary: morgie catches you by the beach and asks you for a favour

warnings: fluff

a/n: sorry for the hiatus, writers block been hitting me hard

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Ever since Hook introduced Morgie to the beach it instantly became his favourite place. He had a small draw in his closet filled with of seashells and other things he had found while strolling by the shores. After class if he wasn’t scheming with the VK’s or practicing his animal sounds he was at the beach.

The beach was your secret getaway from your stressful life as council president at Merlin academy. The endless ocean was also a place you could practise your water magic. It started as just making waves but soon turned into an art form and relaxation for you.

One day late at night you were lying on a beach towel relaxing on the sand and listening to the ocean. That was until you heard the faint sound of a twig snap. You swivelled your body around quickly trying to locate the noise.

Just then the sound of footsteps rang through your ears. You grabbed your beach towel and started backing towards the water. You could now see the shadowy figure growing closer to the beach.

You used your free hand to form a water ball. You waited for the perfect time and threw the ball. You were greeted with the familiar voice of Morgie. He stepped through the tree, his outfit drenched in water “Did you do this” He looked you straight in the eye which startled you “I- uh- yes…” He stared for a few seconds before jumping in the air “That’s so cool, you can control water I’m so jealous” His reaction threw you completely off guard.

He started walking closer, shaking his body to get rid of the water “stand still, I’ll get it out” He followed your order and stood still and within a matter of seconds all the water on him disappeared “Woah” He walked a little faster until he reached where you were standing

“Can I ask you a question” You weren’t in the mood for questions but his eagerness and very clear joy overthrew that mood “Sure” He smiled “I love seashells and there are some in the water there, but I don’t like getting wet so…do you think you could part the water for me”

You smiled at his cute but childish question “Out of all the VK’S you fascinate me the most, but sure I’ll part the water” You dropped the beach town and focused your energy on parting the water long enough for Morgie to collect his shells. He ran forward and started picking them all up one by one.

After a couple seconds he stepped back which you took as a cue to let go. Taking a couple quick breathes you returned to look at Morgie “Thank you, These are going to be perfect for my collection” He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek “Bye” And with that he walked off leaving you dumbfounded and clutching your cheek.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

[champagneand-strawberries]

He loved me too (D.M)

Sequel to ‘Thank you for loving him’

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Every memory of him was tainted with betrayal. So why did her heart still stop at the sight of him. And why did she still want to save him?

Warnings: Swear words. Mentions of suicide, death and violence

Words: 2.3k

A/N: The pacing of this is so weird im v sorry. This was so hard to write though, I didn’t know whether to include the battle or time skip idk. She is very description heavy bc I hate writing dialogue but I really wanted to write a reunion so here you go. 

Everything had changed.

She supposed everything had changed that night, as she was staring at the body of Dumbledore struck dead at the foot of the astronomy tower. She supposed it was then that the world started to crumble around them, with their only protector dead and Harry Potter missing it appeared there was nothing left to do but stay alive.

The letter had stayed tucked away in her trunk, far from the prying eyes of anyone who might rifle through her things looking for a reason to crucio her. For once being a Slytherin had its perks; even if the rest of the school still despised the colour green it was the one thing that offered her an ounce of protection against the cruelty of Hogwarts’ new dark professors.

With Snape as Headmaster and the Carrows running free it was a wonder anyone was still choosing to be alive. She awoke every morning, dreading the day to come. The castle was no longer filled with laughter and joy, instead it was filled with pain and anguish. It became an unspoken rule to not mention the tortured cries of the younger students coming from classrooms or staff offices, instead everything went ignored for fear of receiving the same punishment.

Defence against the Dark Arts was the worst. Having since been renamed to Dark Arts, the use of dark magic spells had become almost a daily occurrence and Amycus Carrow believed that they were best practiced on other ‘disobedient’ students in order to teach them a lesson. Eventually the screams of students as they twitched and contorted on the dusty floor faded into background noise and with every unforgivable curse that left her lips and the tip of her wand, she reminded herself of what it would mean if she refused.

Maybe everyone else has it easier.

If a Gryffindor refuses, it’s expected. If a Ravenclaw refuses, who cares. If a Hufflepuff refuses, they are weak anyway. If a Slytherin refuses… They are a traitor. If a Slytherin refuses, they are to be made an example of. If a Slytherin refuses, they should hope death is kind to them for the Death Eaters will not be.

…

“Harry Potter… is dead.” His voice echoed around the broken courtyard, only overpowered by Ginny’s scream as she was held back by her father. In that moment she knew they had lost. He was their last hope, the only one who could have done what so many others had failed to do. Voldemort’s voice faded into white noise and her vision blurred as she staggered slightly, her legs failing her as she collapsed to the ground.

She could feel her chest heaving as she clutched onto her clothes, the fragments of rock around her; anything to ground herself as she felt herself slip further and further away from reality. Then suddenly, a pressure on her shoulder before something black blocked her view and a hand tilted her face upwards.

Draco.

She could see his lips moving, muttering words to her but everything was still ringing in her ear until she felt his lips pressed to hers for a split second before the warmth of him left as quickly as it had appeared.

She watched as he slowly walked across the graveyard of the Hogwarts she once knew, her chest heaving from the battle that had since ceased. Her eyes barely focusing as Voldemort wrapped his arms awkwardly around the boy she once loved.

The boy she still loved…

Their words still rung in her ears, the memory of that night reliving itself over and over again as she watched his mother pull him into her arms, Lucius Malfoy cowering slightly by their side. Her throat burned as tears filled her eyes, blocking her vision once more as she tried to regain any semblance of a reality that wasn’t this one.

The screams and shouts from the students surrounding her, however, were the thing that managed to bring her back to reality. Forcing herself up onto her feet, she looked across the courtyard searching for the head of platinum blond hair she was so desperate to see. But instead, she saw something infinitely better.

Hope.

Hope in the form of Harry Potter darting across the courtyard behind the archways lining the halls, throwing hexes blindly behind him to block the barrage of spells coming from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. She fought against the rush of students heading inside towards the great hall for cover, away from the rage of the battle on the grounds outside. Her eyes finally caught a glimpse of long white hair in the carnage and knowing that Lucius wouldn’t be far away from his son in the midst of the battle, she ran.

Death eaters had begun to disappear the moment Harry rolled out of Harry’s arms, only those closest to and most devoted to Voldemort had stayed by his side, the rest had run far from his perilous clutches to save themselves from him.

Unfortunately, the most devoted were also some of the most experienced and with every step she took there were twice as many curses that the few death eaters left hurled at her with as much venom and power as possible.

Hexes and forbidden spells flung from wands on every side, the threat of death looming closer and more threatening than anything the ministry could conjure up. She ducked and stumbled her way across the courtyard, eyes dancing frantically across the rubble for a glimpse of the platinum hair she had run for before. Only now she had no sight of it. No sight of the Malfoy family. Not Narcissa’s ducked head as she led her only child away from the battleground. Not Lucius’ pitying frame as he stumbled after his wife and son. Not the boy she loved under his mother’s arms as they took themselves away from everything their trust in the mighty Lord Voldemort had led to. 

Suddenly she was flung to the ground, sharp rocks and pieces of debris tearing through her shirt and into her skin as her body tumbled over itself and rolled through the remains of the castle. Then, white hot pain like never before surged through her body. The screams echoed throughout the edge of the courtyard as she twitched and shook on the floor, driving dust and stone further into the gashes on her skin. 

She vaguely saw clashes of green and red light from behind the mound of dirt she lay behind before it suddenly stopped. 

Everything stopped. 

The light. 

The pain.

She thought she was dead. For a split second, she hoped she was dead. That relief would have been easier than coming back into the world she resided in. In the corner of her eye she saw a flash of black as a death eater apparated away; then came the pain again. 

Her body ached as every muscle twitched and relaxed over and over again and her throat felt as though it had been ripped to shreds from the screams. Her jaw and neck covered in spit and bile from dry heaving the moment the gods granted her mercy enough to breath. 

If this is karma, I deserve it tenfold. 

To think, this was the curse she inflicted on children. Innocent children whos only crime was to want something better. To want to live better. To want to live without fear. And yet, she had given them plenty to be scared of. 

Suddenly, the same light as before lit up the remains of the walls of the courtyard above her. Green and red battling before her very eyes. She watched as the green faded into the red and, as before, it disappeared once more. A faint whimper the only indication of anyone behind her. 

“Harry.” Her voice hoarse and quiet.

Rolling over she pulled herself across the floor and between the rocks, enough to peer around to see the victor. Eyes welling up at the sight of Harry Potter, the boy who lived, stood before the body of Voldemort, covered in black cloth, in the centre of the courtyard.

“We won.” She whispered, pushing herself onto her knees, still weak from the effects of the cruciatus curse inflicted on her before. 

“Draco!”

... 

There he was. Finally, after what felt like hours, she had finally found him. Nestled between his parents in the remains of the great hall, the three of them tucked away in the corner away from the harsh glares from those who weren’t tending to the wounded or crying over the loss of loved ones.

She stood, staring at him. Allowing herself to mull over every single thought rushing through her head: angry, then sad, then happy; all before the cycle repeated itself over and over again. Losing herself in her thoughts her eyes closed, flashes of him appearing as memories flooded her thoughts so strongly, she swore she could smell him from across the room. Forcing her eyes open she was fronted with black. Specs of dirt covered the fabric of the suit she lay her eyes upon, the marks smeared into the stitching where someone had tried to dust it off. Travelling upwards she saw the chain of the necklace he always wore peaking underneath the collar and then there he was.

He looked much the same. The sharpness of his jaw, sloping up to his ears. Then the slight roundness of his cheeks, covered in dirt and scratches. The curve of his nose, leading to his piercing eyes. Only now they seemed softer, rougher, and sadder all at the same time. Her hand reached up to trace his hairline, up to his forehead where a hex had caught him, leaving a scratch, following the bloodstains down to his chin where she rubbed her thumb across his faint patch of facial hair. Her eyes never met his, and yet his didn’t leave her, watching her every move and willing her to stay despite his betrayal.

They stood there, ignoring everything. His parents. Her friends. The staring. The silent whispering. Then suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the Great Hall.

People ducked and fell to the floor, unsure whether it was death eaters back for a final round as revenge for killing their Dark Lord. Those who didn’t opened their eyes to see Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of her, clutching his cheek as she stared where his face was in front of her. His father was up in an instant, beginning to storm over to where she stood before Narcissa grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked down at her confused, as she shook her head and gestured over to Draco still on the floor. She ran her hand down his arm, grasping his hand in hers as they watched their son climb to his feet, not even bothering to dust off his trousers as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words were the only ones he could think of to even try and redeem himself from the mess he had put himself in, and they seemed to capture her attention perfectly.

“I’m sorry that I left you. Th-that I didn’t tell you, but it was only to keep you safe. All of it was- everything I did was to keep you safe.” He stuttered over words, pausing mid-sentence to catch his breath before stumbling over his words all over again. She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, watching as he flinched slightly in anticipation and closed his eyes.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me because I can’t even find enough words to say I’m sorry but please… please just know I never- had you have stayed in the bloody bed maybe it wouldn’t be like this and for god’s sake will you say something!” His eyes snapped open at her silence. Mouth open ready to counter whatever she was going to throw at him, instead he saw her. The corners of her lips tugged upwards into a small smile; her eyes filled with tears as she reached up her other hand to rest it on his other cheek.

“I don’t know if I could ever forgive you Draco. But I do know that I never stopped loving you.” Draco’s hands reached up to grab her own, brushing his thumbs across the back of her hands down to her wrists as he traced the skin he had not touched in so long.

“That’s all I can ask of you.” He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and pushing his face into the crook of her neck as he surrounded himself in her, his nose buried in her hair as he clutched onto the fabric of her clothing.

Not enough time had passed before they were interrupted. Draco opened his eyes to the shadow of his mother stood beside them, her eyes moving between the two of them.

“May I speak with you?” Her gaze looking to the girl stood in Draco’s arms, hands folded in front of her as she waited patiently for a response.

“I- Yes of course.” She began to uncurl herself from Draco’s hold, who seemed reluctant to let her go. “I’ll be back soon my love.”

She followed Narcissa out to the bridge overlooking the valley and Black lake where they stood against what little remaining wall there was left, listening to the wind whistling and pushing small stones across the paving beneath their feet. 

“My family has been through hell these last months. I don’t doubt you have been through something of a similar nature, but I want you to understand that I will do anything for my family. Particularly my son.”

She looked over at Narcissa almost cowered under her intense gaze.

“The love you gave him before... I suspect he will need it now more than ever. But I need to trust that you are willing to give him that.”

She looked back at the scene in front of them, eyes following a bird as it launched from a treetop and flew over the valley.

“You thanked me once, for loving him. But he loved me too. And for me, that is enough.”

[anjelicawrites]

The winner takes it all

Series masterlist

Chapter VIII

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: inspired by the Æthelflæd and Erik's storyline in The Last Kingdom. Might be spoilerish if you haven't seen it (go watch it!!!), even though I've just stolen the inspiration and went on with the story my way.

Warnings: Canon compliant violence, Aemond’s brothel experience, talk of rape..

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns are used (they are called “lady” and “daughter of the North”). The only descriptor is that they have long hair.

A/N 1: this is an AU. Look at me taking the canon story of Westeros and yell “Parkhour!” as I jump out of the window clutching it in my hands.

Understanding what started this war makes accepting it still difficult. You understand political intrigues, the wanting of a crown, of power that makes people make the worst decisions and actions. You have seen it all your life, the schemings big Houses like yours had run for years to become the one true ruling House of the North, the marriages and betrayals, you remember and you know, but it still hurts to see how the defenses of the North are crumbling against the Valyrian invasion. It’s taking more time than the southerner planned, but it’s happening and you have realized that a free North will be no more than a dream. It destroys you to know that it’s the only outcome where you will survive, where the other Lords will not come for your head. If only the late King Viserys hadn’t remarried, but your heart cannot take the idea of a world where you didn’t have the chance to meet Aemond, as complicated as it had been.

You two share a bed but he hasn’t touched you and you hadn’t initiated anything, your heart still at war towards him. He has taken on sparring with you using fake swords, going slow to help you get back into the complicate dance that is a fight and you can’t help yourself but admire him and his perfect form, the way he has total control on every muscle of his body, even his hair seem to move in tandem with the different position he finds himself into while blocking your attacks, as if he has control over it as well. He truly is a work of art, dangerous and fascinating, pulling you towards him, like a sailor lost at sea. You pour all your complicated feelings into this training, charging every blow with your sadness and anger, trying to keep your head clear and not let the turmoil win. It takes you a little while to go back where you once were before getting married, your muscles stiff and slow in following what your mind commands, but you are getting there and you realize it the day Aemond’s demeanor shifts and stops pulling his punches when you enter his defense and almost disarm him. For a second he stares at you incredulously and then proceeds to counterattack. The fight ends with him victorious and you breathless.

“You should be proud of yourself - he tells you while he is escorting you to your shared quarters - not many people can say they have almost managed to win over me”

“Maybe next time I will”

“You might as well have already done it” he says so low that you can’t hear him over the ruckus that’s the stomping of your guards.

You can’t help yourself but worry for him when he leaves for battle, hoping he will come back unscathed, while losing against the army of the North. The bed feels big and cold without him, you can’t fall asleep easily without hearing his breathing and random snoring; during those long nights you wish you still had the pendant with your parents’ portraits. You didn’t wear it during the kidnapping and you wonder if your husband had destroyed it, along with all your belongings the moment he came back from the failed negotiation. Sometimes you wonder if this has been his plan all along, in order to get rid of you without murdering you, which would have probably caused an uproar in the Houses loyal to yours; you marrying Aemond had been a curveball, he probably expected you to be killed, but branding you a traitor will wash his hands the moment he’ll try to kill you. You know he will try, given the chance, which will happen, sooner or later; Aemond is not stupid enough to bring you along when in battle, but one day you’ll be face to face with you husband and he will try to pull something, you know how his mind works and you are positive he will try to make you pay for disrespecting him during your last encounter.

Those thoughts surface at random in your head, you being swamped with work and having to practice sword fighting even when Aemond is not around. To top that, you can feel unrest in the men, but without knowledge of High Valyrian, you have no idea of what they are talking about, why they all look so sullen, despite the many victories. Again, it’s the woman you consider your handmaiden that sheds light, explaining that Aemond has forbidden the soldiers from raping the civilians; they can kill and loiter but, if he gets wind of someone not following his orders, there will be consequences. Prompted, she can’t explain the reason behind Aemond’s actions, just that from the moment you were attacked and the man punished, Aemond had instituted this weird rule. You are in equal parts grateful and curious: why would he care about the wellbeing of his enemies? Protecting the bounty you can understand, what about all the common folk no one truly cares about? With a sigh you realize you know next to nothing of the man you married; you know every crevice of his body, know the sounds he makes when he’s close to orgasm, but have no idea of the inner workings of his mind, of what truly lies behind his lonely lilac eye. The flash of the sapphire appears in your mind, how he scrambled to hide it, but why would that have anything to do with him banning his men from raping your people? It feels like you’re missing a detail, something you’ve seen or heard and it’s now escaping you.

“This is frustrating”

“What is frustrating, dōna ābrazȳrys?”.

You, literally, jump out of your skin with a shrill scream

“Aemond!” it’s all you can manage over the furious beating of your heart

“I apologize dōna ābrazȳrys, I didn’t want to scare you”.

No ill feeling on your side still, you want to throw something at him out of sheer frustration and you almost do, your hand tight around an inkwell. Aemond observes you, he is positive you will not hit him, even though your eyes are blazing and you are still trying to catch your breath; you are so dear to his heart, every day he spends next to you, every time he spars with you, he realizes that the pull he feels towards you has a name he dares not pronounce, because the Kinslayer can’t hope to have his feelings reciprocated. He’d be happy to live his life by your side, without asking anything from you other than the warmth of your presence and even that he doesn’t deserve. He had been a fool to believe you would have him in your arms after everything he’s put you through, even sleeping next to you feels like an undeserved miracle; for a moment he wishes he was Aegon, he wishes to be able to drown all his sorrows and regrets in wine and whores. If he were his brother, though, he would have never been able to appreciate you, he would have never felt the spark that binds him to you and as much as it hurts to be physically distant from you, he’d rather be himself and cherish existing with you, than feeling nothing at all.

“I suppose I have to thank you - your voice stops his unruly thoughts - for sparing my people the shame of rape. I don’t understand why drawing the line there, but thank you”

“Rape is an unforgivable crime” he says, hoping this will be enough of an explanation

“I still don’t understand why a man would care about that. We are no more than another battlefield in the end”

“Deaths are bound to happen in war, it has always and will always be this way. Other things don’t”.

He can see the way your eyes are zeroing on him, not unlike when you are sparring and looking for a way to enter his guard and he has to physically force himself from stiffening his stance: you must never suspect or know.

As you stare at him, your mind goes back to the night he had that nightmare, your brain trying to remember his precise words: what did he say that didn’t go there with murdering his family?

“I don’t want this. You said ‘I don’t want this’! And why would you tell your victims that?”.

Reaching the only, logical, conclusion it’s a matter of seconds, Aemond realizes and you can see his skin becoming a disturbing shade of gray. You don’t give him time to do anything, swiftly you go to him and take his hands in yours with a gentle hold.

“Is that person dead?”.

You have to repeat the question several times before he seems to be able to focus on your words.

“I don’t know. I never went back - his fingers curl with yours in a desperate attempt to keep himself under control, his stomach churning painfully - it doesn’t matter”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t”.

With gentle movements he uncurls his fingers from yours and heads to the door. He doesn’t have the courage to look at you, fearing what he could find there.

“I would have stopped my man anyway” he says grabbing the door handle

“Thank you Aemond”.

He doesn’t expect the seriousness in your tone, pity maybe, contempt even, but not the quiet firmness that makes him stare into your lovely face, where he can see your sadness and concern.

“You were the only one ñuha jorrāelagon, the only one I ever truly wanted - he hates how his voice sounds now - if you’ll excuse me” he says with a curt bow, before exiting your shared chambers, needing to be alone with his thoughts.

When you wake at sunrise, after an uneasy slumber, your handmaid tells you he has gone into battle. Your heart trembles at the thought.

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess

[breannasfluff]

Brittle Memories

Brittle isn’t a word applied to heroes, but it fits Legend. For all the sass and snark, backed up by biting comments, Wild can’t help but see him as—brittle.

The realization is made worse by recognizing the same trait in himself. He has no right to complain; his interrupted adventure was only one in comparison to the Veteran’s multiples.

Wild understands the grouchy facade and keeps his distance in deference to the other.

The scream of a moblin and the crash of Legend’s sword blocking the blow aimed at Wild’s head slams him firmly into the battle at hand. His bow broke and he switched to a spear to jab at the taller monster.

Unfortunately, spears are a poor option against clubs up close.

“What are you doing?” Legend grits his teeth as he shoves against the weight of the club bearing down on his sword.

His power bracelet pulses and he shoves the weapon aside. A quick slice and the monster screams, kneecap mangled by the sword. Black blood oozes from the wound, but it doesn’t go down. “Can’t you clean up your own mess?”

Wild is still off-kilter from the blow that knocked him down, fingers clumsy as he trades the spear for a sword. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s lots in the din of battle.

Once again armed, he joins Legend’s side. “Bow broke,” he tries to explain.

The Veteran gasps as he fends off the monster’s greater weight. “Maybe if you didn’t have such shit weapons it wouldn’t be a problem.”

It’s true, so Wild doesn’t push back. The art of making weapons was lost in his Hyrule and few good ones remained. Combined with his fighting style, it’s a miracle anything survives in his hands.

The moblin finally goes down and the battle slows around them. Time finishes off his bokoblin before glancing around for a head count. Hyrule darts around the heroes, hands glowing pink as he checks for injuries.

Leaning on his sword, Legend glares at Wild. “You’re a hindrance to the group and you’re going to get someone hurt.”

Sky, picking his way through the bloody field, catches the comment and cuffs the Veteran’s head. “We’re a team. There’s no need to be rude.”

Wild waves him off with a practiced smile. ‘He’s right,’ he signs, sword already stowed in his slate to free his hands. ‘I’m not the best at working in a group.’

Clapping him on the shoulder, Sky ignores the instinctive flinch. “You’ll get the hang of it, don’t worry.”

Behind him, Legend sends another glare and stomps off to fuss over Hyrule.

The next portal dumps them in an in-between time with no hero. It also dumps them at the seaside. Legend, upon catching sight of the water, distinctly pales and clutches at Hyrule groaning next to him.

The sea is rough and crashes on the rocks sending salt spray misting over the group. No gentle waves and soft sand beaches of Lurelin here. Wild breathes in briny air, trying to clear the dizziness from the portal.

Time reaches out to catch Four before he faceplants into a rock exiting the portal. Despite the rocky terrain, tropical trees beckon from up the slope.

“Let’s head for higher ground and then we’ll rest.” Time chivies the other into motion, a hand periodically reaching to steady himself on Warriors. Even he isn’t excused from the dizziness of the portal.

The rocks are slippery with spray and Wild’s thankful for his climbing skills. The others struggle and Sky needs a boost to get over the last lip, but finally, they are up and moaning in the wiry grass. It melds into a tropical forest and craggy rocks extending up and down the coastline.

“Is this an island?” Legend’s voice is rough and something edging on panic tints his gaze. “Are we on a goddess-forsaken island?”

Hyrule, despite looking like he’ll tip over in a stiff breeze, scoots closer to lean against him.

The others are silent until Wild breaks in. “It’s coastline or a really big island.”

“How do you know?”

Confronted with Legend’s focus and glare, he retreats into signing. ‘Look, up and down the coast you can’t see any curves. And these types of rocks are similar to the cliffs in my Hyrule. There’s no sand, either. Islands usually have some sort of beach, carved out by the waves.

The assurance doesn’t seem to help. Legend squints at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The jab hurts, but Wild shrugs it off. ‘Maybe,’ he agrees easily enough.

Time breaks in with a frown. “Vet, no need to take out frustration on Wild. Let’s take a break and head deeper in; find some water and a place to camp.”

Wild stares at Legend, who glares back. Brittle; the word a hollow ring in Wild’s mind.

Read the rest here!

[gerec]

I woke up with an idea that has utterly consumed my mind and I had to get some words out to see if it's going to go anywhere. Another alpha/omega historical au (I know I know) where Erik is the Crown Prince of Genosha and Charles his childhood playmate. What would happen if Erik's father the King decides to make Charles his new Consort???

-----

Azazel is waiting when he comes out from the wash tent, handing Erik his tunic and his scabbard with an easy smile. Nodding his thanks, he pulls the tunic over his head and scrubs his face and hair with the towel, relieved to get some of the dirt off his body after days of hard fighting. Their campaign in the west lands is coming to an end, at least according to General Frost, who has been leading the King’s Army against the rebels for the past six months. Erik had been dispatched by his father to join the fight, but strictly under the General’s command, and with instructions to learn the art of war from the respected and seasoned Genoshan leader.

It hasn’t been easy, as Frost treats him as she would any other soldier, and not as the Crown Prince who technically outranks her. But at eighteen, he’s barely been away from the castle and outside of Hammer Bay, with this deployment being the first real fighting he’s seen since he started training under Logan. He wishes his friend and mentor could see first-hand just how far he’s come, though of course the Captain of the King’s Guard must stay in the Capital to protect the King.

And if he’s being honest, what he really wants is to see Charles again and spend time with him, even if they can no longer run free all over the castle grounds. Though they’ve been close companions since they were young children, Charles’ freedom became severely curtailed when he turned fourteen, after his father’s death and his mother’s subsequent marriage to the traditional Earl Marko. In the two years since, their visits have been chaperoned at all times, as befitting their respective stations as alpha heir to Genosha’s throne and the omega scion of a noble house. And Erik’s complaints to his father largely fall on deaf ears, for by law Charles must obey his stepfather until he’s wed and bonded to his alpha mate.

He does not like how his warm and gregarious friend has become so reserved and distant of late, and vows to speak to his father again, for more time with Charles away from the eyes of Marko’s people. Erik is certain that Charles will confide in him given the chance again, and the close camaraderie they shared as boys will quickly return.

(And perhaps he’ll finally be brave enough to admit he’s in love with his best friend, and – assuming Charles feels the same way – will ask his father to arrange a formal betrothal.) 

“You’re smiling,” Azazel teases, as they make their way to Erik’s tent, where a hot meal served in relative privacy is the one luxury he’s permitted. His personal guard has likely already taken his meal, though Erik is more than happy to share his allotment of ale. “Did you get another letter?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Charles has written only once since his arrival at the camp, though Erik has never stopped hoping he would send more. “I was merely thinking I would get to see him soon, since the General seems confident of an imminent victory.”

“The General knows of what she speaks,” Azazel says, side-stepping a deep puddle, the ground still wet from the morning’s heavy rain. “Though it’s still best not to count the chicks before they hatch—”

“Your Royal Highness!”

Erik stops mid-stride, his way suddenly blocked by the incoming approach of a messenger dressed in the King’s livery. The boy is very young and looks utterly exhausted, as though he’d ridden the five-day journey non-stop from Hammer Bay. Falling before Erik on his knees, the boy proffers the letter clutched in his hand; a note from his father bearing the King’s Seal, though the lettering on the envelope is clearly written by another.

Frowning, Erik tears open the envelope and scans the message inside, curiosity morphing quickly to horror at its contents.

Azazel leans close and murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

Hands shaking, Erik can barely form the words to express his shock and utter dismay. 

“My father is planning a wedding,” he croaks. “He’s chosen Charles of House Xavier to be his new Royal Consort.” 

[thedogsled]

Hi friends! Welcome to my Stucky Bingo masterlist. I filled out the whole square, which is exciting for me because in two decades of fandom I've never so much as completed a single line of bingo before. It adds up to a total of 22, 817 new words and three (four) pieces of art, which is pretty darn cool. Hope you enjoy it!

Prompt: B1 AU: Concubine Rating & Warnings: G, None As the siege breaks and the battle wanes, Steve finds himself in Baron Zemo's quarters, where two people are hiding from the bloodlust beyond their curtains. Steve has a choice to make. Link: Looting the Baron's Treasures Prompt: I1 Red Skull Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Rape/Non-Con, Forced masturbation, Clinical voyeurism, Winter Soldier Bucky “So you see, Captain. Your friend is one of us, now. Zola has done an excellent job reprogramming him, don’t you agree?” Link: No Hero N1 "Your work has been a gift to mankind" Rating & Warnings: G, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Sleep Paralysis Bucky doesn't sleep well. Sometimes things from the past come back to haunt him. Link: Night Fury G1 Inside Jokes Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Naked butt in the art Tony's birthday presents are always inappropriate, and as usual he's completely outdone himself. Link: Butt Stuff O1 AU: Gang/Mobsters Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Anonymous sex, Internalized homophobia, glory hole When an anonymous voice makes him an offer, Bucky finds it hard to refuse. It's just a little stress relief. Nobody will ever know. Link: Friday Night B2 Enemies to Lovers Rating & Warnings: G, Implied homophobia/Misunderstandings Steve Rogers is a little punk and Bucky has had enough of it. Link: The Playbook I2 Holding Hands Rating & Warnings: G, None After all these years, Steve and Bucky get the life they deserve, and Bucky gets some birthday presents. He's happy to share one with the man he loves. Link: Stucky Bingo September Round Robin 2022 N2 AU: Sports Rating & Warnings: G, None When Russian figure skater Bucky Barnes defects, he can only skate for the Team USA if he skates with a partner. What he and Steve Rogers find together on the ice is golden. Link: Stucky Bingo February Round Robin 2023 G2 Kink: Hot Tub Sex Rating & Warnings: Explicit, PWP without Porn It takes a while to snag a little privacy after the party. Link: Water's Warm O2 Art Format: Explosion of Colors Rating & Warnings: G, None Art! Link B3 Major Injuries Rating & Warnings: G, Blood and injury It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed Bucky being struck. He’d thrown out his shield to block the worst of the damage from the exploding debris, but he’d noticed Bucky clutching his side throughout the fight. Steve knew. But in the middle of it there had been no opportunity for pause, no moment where he could check that Bucky was okay. He kept moving, and that was what mattered. Link: Stucky Bingo March Round Robin 2023 I3 Space Rating & Warnings: G, None MCU Bucky is the Man on the Wall, and he takes Steve on a little adventure in space. Sad vibes! Link: Picnic on the Moon N3 Free Space (also adopted prompt: Drunken Hookup) Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Semi-Public sex, drunken hookup Bucky is leaving in the morning, and Steve can't let him go without making one last desperate leap of faith. Link: Leap of Faith G3 Steve Coming out of the Ice Wrong Rating & Warnings: Explicit, PWP without porn, Rimming, Sexual dysfunction Steve has a terrible secret, and he's not sure how well Bucky's going to take it. (Please note: Brief HTP mentions but Steve is mistaken, mostly.) Link: Parsnips

O3 Secret Injury Rating & Warnings: G, Blood and Injury Bucky is shot during the prison escape (in The First Avenger). When he realizes on the march home, he has to decide whether or not to tell Steve. (Canon compliant! Not MCD!) Link: Carry Me Home B4 Kink: Tickling Rating & Warnings: Mature, Consensual kink, Breathplay Bucky teaches Steve about one of his kinks, and while at first Steve's not sure if he likes it... Link: Giggles I4 Pic: Shower curtain Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Mutual Masturbation, Shower Sex, NSFW art In which Bucky pulls a prank and then they have to make up. 1471 words + a little NSFW art for flavor Link: Bucky Barnes: Shower Menace N4 Predator/Prey Rating & Warnings: Explicit, None Maybe Steve Rogers needs to get better at stealth. Not that the consequences of losing are all that bad. Link: When the Lights Go Out G4 Avengers Compound Rating & Warnings: G, None Bucky comes home, and Steve can't keep the smile off his face. Link: New Old O4 "Before we get started does anyone want to get out?" Rating & Warnings: Teen, Ableist language “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Avenge Your Love, the newest and biggest show on the Marvel Network, designed to match a man of honor and bravery with the love of his life. I’m Nick Fury, your host for this adventure, and I’m here with Captain Steve Rogers of the U.S. Army. Captain, tell us a little bit about yourself.” Link: Stucky Bingo Round Robin October 2023 B5 Clint Barton/Hawkeye Rating & Warnings: Teen, None Bucky loved his friends, and he didn’t really blame them for interfering. How could he? Clint was right; in the two years since they’d come here together for uni, Bucky’s ladykiller days had spontaneously ended. It was always about Steve, now. Steve this, Steve that. Nevermind that in all that time Bucky had probably said maybe 20 words to the man. Link: Stucky Bingo Round Robin April 2023 I5 AU: Pen Pals Ratings & Warnings: G, None Steve illustrates Captain America A fan writes to him Flirting ensues Link: The Man With the Umbrella N5 Writing format: Stream of consciousness Rating & Warnings: G, Night Terrors, Sleep paralysis, Hurt No Comfort, PTSD Bucky isn't sleeping so well. Link: Locomotive Breath G5 New York Rating & Warnings: G, None Did Bucky go back to HYDRA? Did they recapture him, torture him? Why has he disappeared again? And what can Steve possibly do about it while he's 'resting up OR ELSE' as Sam so sweetly puts it? Link: Broken Hearts (In a Drawer) O5 Kink: Clothed Sex Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Clothed sex, Sex toys under clothing, In public Steve really can't keep his mind on mission planning...not when he knows something the other Avengers don't. Link: Modern Conveniences

Adopted prompt: Sokovia Rating & Warnings: G, None Zemo was right about visiting Sokovia. He needed to come here, needed to see the things that Zemo has lost. Beyond that, it's a good place for some introspection on the things that Bucky himself has lost along the way. It's Steve. He's thinking about Steve. Link: Scars That Never Heal Adopted prompt: Art style: Charcoal Rating & Warnings: G, None “There…might’ve been a bit of a hiccup on the mission.” “A hiccup.” “Just a tiny one.” “Well, I would certainly say that’s tiny alright,” Bucky drawled, moving in closer. “Do I even want to know what sort of tiny hiccup landed you with a baby?” “Would you believe me if I told you that this is actually-ah-Natasha?” Steve grimaced with a shrug. “I think ‘magic’ about sums up the hiccup.” Link: Stucky Bingo Round Robin November 2023 Adopted prompt: Double Agent Rating & Warnings: G, HYDRA Steve Rogers (Steve Rogers is not HYDRA) Steve returns the Infinity stones. Some are far easier than others. Avengers: Endgame Canon Divergence. Link: I Knew Him

[pathfinderunlocked]

Sheoldred, The Whispering One - CR20 Aberration

A Praetor of Phyrexia from Magic: The Gathering.

Artwork is official art from Magic: The Gathering, by Jana Schirmer & Johannes Voss, copyright Wizards of the Coast.

This creature was a commission.  Sheoldred is one of the five leaders of Phyrexia.  Like I said when I posted the stat block for Vorinclex earlier this week, I’m no expert in Magic: The Gathering lore, but if your idea of a cool enemy faction is if the Borg invaded Planescape and assimilated an entire dimension, check out the MTG wiki.

3.5e stats for some other Phyrexian creatures, items, effects, and so forth can be found here.

This boss creature is essentially something adjacent to a necromancer, using her artificial power to repair her allies' broken bodies and refuse to let them die, so she should typically fight alongside several minions (probably at least 4).  The combination of Sheoldred’s Touch and Transfer Life gives her an unusual way to revive her allies over and over, although it also requires that she stay in the thick of battle, so players do actually have a chance to focus-fire her down.  She can use her touch attack on herself if she’s feeling cocky, counting on her fast healing to recover afterwards, or use it as an attack of opportunity if someone is dumb enough to move adjacent to her and provoke.  She should probably be using Lunge almost every turn, even if she doesn’t attack, just for the sake of attacks of opportunity.

Swarm Shape is a good defensive ability, especially if the targets are mostly using physical attacks.  Note that a swarm uses its swarm attack as a free action, so she can do that and also cast a spell on the same turn.  Your players will not appreciate this, especially since she can usually auto-pass the checks to cast defensively.  She can’t use Sheoldred’s Touch in this form, though, and thus also can’t use Transfer Life; as a result, Swarm Shape is mostly a thing to do once she runs out of useful minions.

Separate is an emergency escape maneuver for when things go horribly wrong.  Live to fight another day.  Fighting to the death is for her underlings.

Sheoldred, The Whispering One - CR 20

This massive being takes the form of a feminine humanoid torso emerging from a huge-mouthed, many-jointed fiend.  Her movements are spiderlike in their grace, and her body is covered with plates of oily, corroded metal.

XP 307,200 NE Huge aberration Init +7 Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +26 Aura fast healing aura (60 ft.), selective greater death knell aura (20 ft., DC 24)

DEFENSE

AC 38, touch 16, flat-footed 30 (+8 Dex, +22 natural, –2 size) hp 262 (21d8+168) plus 31 temp hp; fast healing 20 Fort +21, Ref +15, Will +18; +5 vs. exhaustion, fatigue, fear, paralysis, +9 vs. mind-affecting Defensive Abilities fortification (50%) DR 10/epic and good Immune death, disease, fear, paralysis, poison, sleep, stun Resist acid 20 SR 31

OFFENSE

Speed 50 ft., climb 25 ft. Melee bite +22 (4d8+12 plus poison) or bite +17 (4d8+8 plus poison) and sheoldred’s touch +21 (14d8 negative energy, see text) Space 15 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with bite) Special Attacks separate, sheoldred’s touch, swarm shape, transfer life

Spell-like Abilities (CL 20th; concentration +29)     1/day—death clutch (DC 27)     3/day—finger of death (DC 26), greater false life (already cast x1), quickened enervation (ranged touch +20), quickened hold monster (DC 23)     At will—sow thought (DC 19), enervation (ranged touch +20), final sacrifice (DC 20), mindlink

STATISTICS

Str 26, Dex 27, Con 25, Int 25, Wis 23, Cha 24 Base Atk +15; CMB +25; CMD 43 Feats Combat Casting, Great Fortitude, Greater Spell Focus (necromancy), Lunge, Quicken Spell-like Ability (enervation), Quicken Spell-like Ability (hold monster), Spell Focus (enchantment), Spell Focus (necromancy), Toughness, Uncanny Concentration, Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Acrobatics +18, Climb +22, Craft (alchemy) +29, Diplomacy +3, Escape Artist +31, Heal +27, Intimidate +35, Knowledge (engineering) +31, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, planes) +28, Perception +26, Use Magic Device +22 Languages Common, Phyrexian; telepathy 100 ft. SQ phyrexian traits, praetor’s traits, swamp strider

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Fast Healing Aura (Su) All allies within 60 ft. of Sheoldred gain fast healing 20.  (Multiple sources of fast healing do not stack - only the highest applies.)

Phyrexian Traits (Ex) Phyrexians have a +5 bonus on Fortitude saves, and a +5 bonus on saving throws versus fear, sleep, stunning, paralysis, fatigue, exhaustion, and mind-affecting spells.  They have a +4 racial bonus on Intimidate and a -4 racial penalty on Diplomacy.  These abilities are already included in Sheoldred’s statistics.

Phyrexians also have 50% fortification against critical hits and sneak attacks, and are immune to the effects of the Glistening Oil.

Praetor's Traits (Ex) Like all members of the New Phyrexia hierarchy, Sheoldred is immune to paralysis, sleep, stunning, and death effects, has resistance 20 to Acid damage, has DR 10/epic and good, and receives a +4 bonus on saves versus mind-affecting spells and abilities.  These abilities are already included in her statistics.

Poison (Ex) Bite—injury; save Fort DC 27; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d6 Str and 1d6 Dex; cure 2 consecutive saves.

Selective Greater Death Knell Aura (Sp) Sheoldred is constantly affected by a greater death knell aura spell (DC 24), except that she can choose to exclude creatures from its effect.

Separate (Ex) As a move action, Sheoldred can separate her humanoid upper body from her insectoid lower thorax and move her upper body up to 15 feet, leaving her lower thorax behind.  Her lower thorax is treated as a separate creature, but can take no actions and is considered helpless while Sheoldred is separated.  Her upper body and lower thorax each have half as many maximum hit points as her original form, and she can choose how to distribute her current and temporary hit points when she separates (including choosing to leave her lower thorax at any number of negative hit points, up to the amount needed to kill it, usually -25).  If her lower thorax is killed while she is separated, it can only be restored with a spell or effect such as regenerate.

When Sheoldred separates, any physical conditions and physical ability damage or drain affecting her are transferred to her lower thorax, while any mental conditions and mental ability damage or drain affecting her remain in her upper body.  If she is affected by any effects that are not clearly physical or mental (such as the bonuses from death knell, and many other magic effects), she can choose whether they remain in her upper body or are transferred to her lower thorax.

Sheoldred can separate even when helpless or unable to take actions, as long as the effect causing her to be helpless or unable to take actions is not mental in nature.

She can climb back into her lower thorax as a move action when adjacent to it, ending the effects of Separate.

Sheoldred’s upper body and lower thorax retains her original statistics when separated, except for the changes described above, plus the following changes:

Sheoldred’s upper body is medium-sized.  It loses its bite attack, and its natural armor is 8 points lower.  Its land speed is reduced to 30 ft., and it loses its climb speed.  Its fast healing and fast healing aura both lower to 10.

Sheoldred’s lower thorax loses its auras.  Its fast healing lowers to 10.  It cannot benefit from Sheoldred’s fast healing aura.

Sheoldred’s Touch (Su) By making a touch attack, Sheoldred can draw the life out of a living target, dealing 14d8 negative energy damage and granting herself temporary hit points equal to half that amount.  A successful Fortitude save (DC 26) halves the damage.  This attack has no effect on undead creatures or constructs.  This touch attack must be made with her humanoid limbs, which have a reach of 5 ft.; she cannot deliver it through a bite.  The save DC is Charisma-based.

Sheoldred can use this touch attack on herself, either normally as part of a full attack action, or as a swift action, and automatically succeeds on the Fortitude save to halve the damage if she does so.

Swamp Strider (Ex) Sheoldred suffers no penalty to speed or on Acrobatics or Stealth checks in bogs and undergrowth.

Swarm Shape (Su) As a standard action, Sheoldred can convert her body into a swarm of Tiny spider-like vermin.  While in this form, she gains a +12 size bonus to Dexterity, takes a -12 penalty to Strength, gains swarm traits and the swarm subtype, and gains the distraction universal monster ability (DC 27).  She loses all of her attacks but gains a swarm attack which deals 8d6 damage.  Her movement speed changes to 30 ft., with a 30 ft. climb speed.  This is a polymorph effect.  Sheoldred retains all of her extraordinary and supernatural abilities in this form, except for Sheoldred’s Touch and Separate (although she can use Separate first and then use Swarm Shape while under its effects).  She can dismiss this effect as a standard action.

Unlike a typical swarm, she is considered to be Huge in her swarm form and takes up a 15-foot space, unless she uses Swarm Shape while under the effects of Separate, in which case she becomes a typical-sized Large swarm.  Either way, she can still reshape her space like a typical swarm.

The bonuses and penalties for polymorphing a creature that is larger than medium are already included in the above effects, and do not need to be added separately (regardless of whether Sheoldred is under the effects of Separate).

Transfer Life (Su) As a move action, if Sheoldred has temporary hit points that were gained from Sheoldred’s Touch, she can sacrifice them to heal any creature except herself within 30 ft. for twice that amount, or to resurrect a dead creature within 30 ft.  A creature resurrected in this way has 1 hit point, gains 2 negative levels, and can stand up as an immediate action.  If this would cause the target’s negative levels to meet or exceed its hit dice, it cannot be resurrected in this way.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Before Mack's Barbie Party PARTIES: @escudofracturado & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Alex goes to the art store to grab a sketch book and doesn't fully realize that the cashier is Milo until after she has a menty b and gets attacked by birds. CONTENT: Domestic abuse

If one could ignore the unnerving new painting on display and the bloodthirsty pencils that never knew when to stop, Periwinkle Paints was a pretty chill place to work. Now that the school year was finished, the store was a bit less hectic since many of the art students had gone elsewhere for the summer. There had been a few on the staff, too, so some of the familiar faces around the store had disappeared, including, to Milo’s disappointment, his fellow cashier Sita, who he had befriended over the past several weeks. At least he always had his discount.

It was a pretty slow day, and he was spending his free time working on his current knitting project– a color block cardigan that he wasn’t very far into. There was a group of noisy teens somewhere further into the store that his manager had gone to keep an eye on, leaving just him up front. He looked up as the bell on the door jingled, movements pausing for a moment as he greeted the newcomer with a smile. …Wait, he knew her, she had been at the party. Alex, the wolf girl. “Oh, hey, welcome! Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

—

It had been a while since she had sketched or drawn much of anything. Alex had always enjoyed it. When it came to sketching the many supernatural creatures she’d studied and showing her parents she knew what they were, their weaknesses, their strengths— it was the one damn part of her training she was actually good at. At least the practiced skill had stuck with her enough for her to enjoy it as a casual hobby. Not that it felt casual today. Her hands itched to etch every detail into memory, one pencil stroke at a time. 

The cashier who seemed to be about her age, greeted Alex as she entered the art supplies shop. She gave him a friendly smile and waved, “Appreciate it, just looking to pick up a sketchbook and maybe some colored pencils, pretty sure I can find them..” Not that any color or pencil stroke could fully capture the magic she felt down in that pit cave, but damn did she want to try. Maybe even give one of the better sketches to Cass as a gift before the logical part of her brain could think better of it. 

Alex realized a lot of people must have taken advantage of the sale this past weekend, because the aisle was fairly cleaned out. Surely, there’d still be at least a couple of sketchbooks left for her to choose from. Which was the case as she scanned the aisle, but they were all the same color– a grayish yellow that transported her back to another life. Lève-toi, petit. Her father’s voice rang in her head all too clearly and she could practically feel herself being thrusted back into another round of sparring where she got knocked to the ground over and over until the tears threatened to spill over her eyes. Ne pleure pas, bats-toi.

Somewhere in the unwelcome stroll down memory lane, the air in her lungs had seemingly turned to rock, anchoring Alex to the spot she stood in for longer than was seemingly normal for anyone to be looking at sketchbooks. The harsh fluorescent lights only made her feel more exposed and she rushed out the front door only to have something swooping down on her. “What the–,” she swatted at the bird, backing back into the store clutching the cut on her arm from the talon. 

—

“I’ll be here if you need any help,” Milo nodded at the redhead as she went off to find her sketching materials. Picking his needles back up, he knit and purled along, his ball of yarn situated underneath the register. He wished he were any good at sketching, but drawing both of the cartoon and realistic variety had never been his forte. Painting was much more enjoyable for him. The coloring and shading aspects had always been his favorite part of art classes anyway. 

He had finished up a row of stitches and was starting another when Alex came running out of the aisles, looking panicked. Shit, he probably should’ve warned her about the pencils. They had calmed down for a few days, but you never knew when they would start misbehaving again. Standing, Milo was going over to check on her when she pushed through the door, though she had just stepped outside when he heard the familiar sound of bird calls. Oh no. She backed into the store once again, now holding her arm. 

“Shit, are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice as he caught sight of the cut on her arm. 

—

Some combination of the blood flowing from her arm and the memory of the faded yellow door made the air in her lungs feel like lead. Alex found it difficult to gasp in another breath as she remembered her blood dripping on the concrete floor. She could practically feel tically hear her younger self pleading to be let out, for her father to look at her to no avail unless she made the targets. She felt like she was back in the room, begging to be let out and the voice coming from behind her took a moment to register. 

It made the breath seem to anchor in her throat as she tried to call out an answer. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her in this panicked state and Alex had half a mind to run right back out the door if the same birds hadn’t seemed to be staring right at her through the window. Connards. She held her arm close to her and forced herself to breathe more slowly. “Uh, yeah,” she answered, still not fully present. She blinked a few times to shake away images of a room she never had to enter again. 

Alex made a conscious effort to not look at her own bleeding arm. Despite being trained on basic first aid and waking up covered in it three mornings a month, blood still made her queasy. Almost lightheaded, though she would never admit that much. She turned to face the cashier and realized she knew the cashier. Fuck. Putain. Merde. Of course the poor guy she dared to eat soap was the one to see her having a meltdown in the middle of a fucking art store. “Shit, sorry,” she shook her head, “Milo, right?” 

Alex gestured with her non-injured arm toward the door. “Uh, birds outside just don’t seem too happy with me is all.” 

—

As had been made apparent in his adventures in the caves of Wicked’s Rest, Milo wasn’t good with blood. It hadn’t bothered him much before, but now… He froze, his throat closing up for a moment. No, no, no. Come on! 

He had been having some bad days recently, and had just wanted a calm one today. Forcing his eyes shut, he took a few deep breaths. You’re okay. You’re in the store. You’re at work. You’re with Alex. Alex is bleeding, but she’s okay. Everything was okay. He opened his eyes, noticing that the aforementioned Alex did not look okay. She was speaking, though. 

“Yeah, Milo.” He sounded distant, preoccupied. It felt like he had been underwater, was struggling to pull his head up entirely, but he forced himself to focus on her. “You’re Alex.” It helped to say it aloud. You’re at work. You’re okay. You’re with Alex. Alex is a customer.  

He looked to where she was pointing; a bird was sitting calmly on the sidewalk. Right, the birds had attacked her.  “Yeah, um– I don’t– They hang around the store for whatever reason, and attack people sometimes. I don’t know what the deal is there, but they always come back.” Since the first incident he had witnessed with the birds, he had wondered if they were a sort of familiar or if there was conjuring involved. That was more– He took another breath.

“Also,” glancing over his shoulder, Milo checked to make sure his manager wasn’t around, but It seemed he hadn’t heard the commotion, wherever he was with the other customers. “I have noticed they will go for shoplifters.” He shook his head. “Narcs.” It was directed at the door with a wrinkle of his nose and the hint of a smile. 

“Sorry, I was a little weird for a second,” he said, figuring it best to just put it out there. “I’m not the best with blood.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, Milo glanced in the general direction of her arm. “We have a first aid kit in the break room,” he offered. 

—

Apparently they had both gotten a little lost for a moment. Between the blood and the flashback, Alex was still in somewhat of a haze as she stood still just past the entryway of the shop. So much, she wanted to be stronger than she felt in that moment and wear a face of composure. This was one of Cass’s friends and she desperately wanted to make a good impression. Something about shoplifters had vaguely stuck out amongst the rest of Milo’s words. Had she even shoplifted? If it weren’t for being shaken up, she’d find it almost humorous getting busted for shoplifting when she hadn’t even— then she felt the charcoal pencil in her pocket. Damn, had it really become that habitual? 

“Ha,” Alex retorted with an uneasy laugh, “I knew birds were just government spies.” At least it was a good joke to fall back on, even if it rang flat and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her arm still remained uncomfortably tucked into her side as she avoided looking at it. As it turned out, neither of them were great with blood. All was well and good for Milo, there was no reason for him to be. But she was supposed to be a ranger and now she was a monster? What kind of monster who woke up covered in the stuff three mornings a month still felt faint at the sight of it? 

“No worries,” she responded, as if she hadn’t spent the entirety of her life worrying, “It’s not exactly the most fun thing to look at— so you’re so good.” First aid kit was probably for the best. She’d slap a bandage on it for now and have Andy clean it properly when she got home. “Would appreciate that first aid kit though,” she smiled, a little easier this time as she settled into the interaction and realized she wasn’t the only one who had been battling some form of nerves. 

“Lead the way,” she said as she followed along. Follow Milo, slap on a band-aid, stop acting like a scared kid. Really, a short check-list. Alex could do this. She released some of the tension and asked, “So what have you been up to since the party? Hopefully not pissing off the birds?” 

—

He laughed, the joke helping to pull him out of his head a bit more. Still, Alex looked dazed and upset, which was valid for someone who had just gotten attacked by a bird and had maybe been attacked by the pencils before that, too. She had tried to run out very quickly, so either something had happened or she was a very unsubtle shoplifter. Milo just hoped she was okay. He couldn’t give less of a shit if the girl was stealing, and it was ridiculous that the manager or owner or whoever the fuck was controlling the birds thought it was okay to actually attack someone over a few fucking art supplies. Maybe it was the work of whoever kept cursing those damn pencils. 

The whole blood issue would be less of a worry if it weren’t such a recent development. While seeing his own blood wasn’t anything to panic over, others’ was a problem now, it seemed. But, whatever. First aid kit. 

“Right, it’s just over here,” he said, leading the way to the break room. Perking up at her questions, Milo laughed. “Thankfully not. Mostly just been working and trying to find a more permanent place to stay,” he shrugged. “Helping out at the bookstore, too, since I’ve been staying with the owner. What about you, though? Manage to get anyone else to eat soap recently?” He asked with a grin. 

Stepping into the small room that functioned as both the locker room and kitchen, he held the door open for the girl. “Might wanna wash it first,” he said, nodding toward the sink before grabbing the bright red box out of the corner and setting it down on a nearby table. 

—

“Well, I hope you find a good place soon,” Alex smiled, “If you need help, I know a guy.” She wasn’t sure Alan really did rentals like that, but hey, he had a lot of people who worked for him. He could probably at least point her friend in the right direction. She did her best to focus on Milo’s words as she made quick work of at least cleaning the scratches and slapping a band aid on them. It was hardly true first aid and she wasn’t sure how deep the cuts actually went, but if she kept looking down at the blood, she was fairly certain she was going to pass out in the employee room of the art store which was not the vibe. 

“Book store,” Alex perked up, “I love a good book store… almost as much as I love a good book. Looks like I may have to visit you at work… again. Maybe skip the getting attacked by birds next time though.” She laughed lightly which was a lot easier now that the wound itself was out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind was her specialty after all. “And no, haven’t gotten anyone else to eat soap,” she gave Milo a playful nudge, “That’s our thing, bestie.” 

It was kind of nice, to think that they had a thing— an inside joke of sorts. Alex found herself hoping that they could make more of those, even if she had made a little bit of an ass of herself during this visit to the art supplies store, but with another party at Mack’s around the corner, the werewolf knew they’d have plenty of time for bonding. 

[resident-cake-anon]

im rotting away art block pls free me from your clutches

[azzurra-astra]

Have you seen the bitching about the latest episode or seen these people whine about how they hate the show but draw the characters anyway?? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT?????

Media illiteracy, psychological and emotional immaturity, envy and pride, it’s beyond fucking disgusting. They’re exhausting, and all I can advise if anybody wants to avoid them, do not engage and outright block them. They’re unimportant, let them remain that way and howl into the dark until they’re dust at the back of your mind. It’s healthier for you emotionally and mentally not to engage. Follow an example from BlueSky, just block and boot em. No series is above criticism, there’s moments in Helluva/Hazbin that’s even given me pause and I’m a massive fan. I’m a huge Supernatural fan and even I’ve been like “holy fuck what” at certain moments. Never blindly praise something, but these people latch onto anything negative to support their god-awful despicable behavior and cynical outlook in order to justify their acting like a shitty 12 year old. They seek drama for a number of reasons, despite a majority of them being adults in their 20s. They get their rocks off on annoying fans of the show, bad-mouthing the creator, insulting the art, etc. I’ve noticed it makes them feel valid for whatever fuckall reason. When said behavior receives push back they clutch their pearls and gaslight, I don’t engage shit from them but I’ve read some incredibly disturbed takes and it immediately loses it’s footing because it’s coming from a sorry prick.

Notorious band-wagon aggression towards a series and even fashioning falsehoods that can compromise someone’s safety— or blindly believing what they see to further demonize the creator because it gives ammo to an already deep-seated hate for that person is one of the most fascinating things to observe. They’re not mentally healthy, that I can confidently acknowledge, not with that level of negative fixation. I can only promote seeking a therapist or at least putting the same amount of effort into bettering their own skills and furthermore themselves.

There’s having a moderate conversation where someone can propose a different outcome for a scenario and how much smoother it could’ve gone, then there’s arrogantly assuming they can produce better media, or story, or construct a better character design (while simultaneously insulting Vivs work). If that’s the case then why wasn’t it put up first? Lack of funding isn’t a valid excuse either, ideas are free. Her style is more marketable, whimsical, recognizable, colorful and wild. I’ve seen a lot of the redesigns with the attempt at “upgrading” something that already stood out are unrecognizable, generic, and forgettable. I’m sorry your shit flew under the radar, and she made it big while you didn’t.

My own work is meh, forgettable and doesn’t draw attention to that degree. That’s not a shameless plug, it’s a fact. Won’t stop me from drawing— and it never should discourage someone, also it’s a terrible mindset to compare your work to someone with more skill —but I won’t go out of my way thinking I can produce something more cohesive or BETTER. One artist I absolutely adored the art style of wound up being a vile hater of the series, like there’s not being into it but she takes it to astronomically unhealthy levels, even now. Even dictating that Viv didn’t know how to write LGBT relationships (even tho Viv is part of the community herself) and seemed to promote this idea that unhealthy or abusive relationships don’t exist within the community. Your sexuality does not apply a guideline to how shitty you can be as a human being. Relationships are not a fantasy land of rainbows and unicorns, I’ve had to watch family members going through it, I myself almost fell into a toxic cycle twice. Reality is ugly as fuck. Sorry.

Earlier on though, I was willing to look past her more concerning takes because she had some great stuff (not to mention they weren’t that bad at first from what I saw), but the moment she saw I was an HB/HH fan she forced me to unfollow (it was Twit), no matter, I just moved on. She is also well known, and sought to use her popularity to stir drama. It warranted a block from me when she decided stir shit simply for the sake of it (because how dare the attention not be on her) and redesigned Bee. Then she had the nerve to whine that the fans were mean and she only was getting hate just because. No, you knew exactly what would happen and therefore fully chose to do so. You’re an adult, take responsibility for your own actions. You knew that fans would give inflamed responses and call you out on your shit, because you did nothing but broadcast your despise for the series prior to fucking redesigning a character from a series you hate for no other reason than to draw flames. You also demonized the fanbase as well when they had a right to be angry at your actions. You threw a rock at a hornets nest then screeched “See???? See?! They’re DANGEROUS AND BAD.”

No attention is worse than bad attention in the minds of people like that. Grow the fuck up and move on in life, there’s more pressing matters in reality. I’ll say again, not being into something is totally fine, I work with coworkers who don’t care for it and it’s not the end of my world. If they pipe up about it unprompted while I’m discussing a scenario with a fellow watcher, I won’t hesitate to tell them to go find something important to do because their input wasn’t asked for, and idc if it offends them. If their 2cents were wanted then I’d invite them to add. I don’t discuss the topic with them because I know they’re not big on it because they’re uncomfortable by it and such. It’s called how to function as an adult, and it’s scary for these people.

But truly, block those fucking nimps. You can acknowledge how absolutely disgusting these people are, but do not interact. Things will be better for it. I block two types of people, underaged fans and (clearly) mentally-underaged adults.

[dresshunters]

How to Style Statement Dresses for Every Occasion

Statement dresses are those standout pieces that make an impression with bold colors, unique patterns, or interesting silhouettes. But styling these attention-grabbing dresses can be tricky. Here’s a guide to styling your statement dresses for various occasions, so you can step out feeling confident and chic, no matter the event.

1. Brunch with Friends: The Bold Floral Dress

A vibrant floral dress is perfect for brunch with friends. It’s playful, eye-catching, and ideal for daytime outings. Look for a dress with fun prints like large flowers or abstract shapes.

Styling Tip: Pair with ankle boots or strappy sandals, and add a denim jacket for a relaxed vibe. A crossbody bag and simple jewelry complete the look.

2. Office Chic: The Structured Statement Dress

For a work-appropriate statement dress, choose something with structure and bold colors but keep it modest. A color-blocked sheath dress or a dress with subtle patterns can look both professional and stylish.

How to Wear: Pair with neutral pumps and minimal accessories. Add a blazer if you need extra coverage, and go for understated jewelry to keep the look polished.

3. Date Night: The Little Red Dress

A red dress is a classic choice for date night, bringing a pop of color and confidence to your outfit. Look for details like a fitted silhouette or subtle lace to add a romantic touch.

Pro Tip: Pair with black or metallic heels, and add a clutch. Opt for a bold lip color to match the dress and a pair of statement earrings for an extra touch of glam.

4. Casual Day Out: The Patterned Midi Dress

Patterned midi dresses are ideal for casual outings, like shopping trips or a day at the park. Look for dresses with stripes, polka dots, or playful patterns for a fun, relaxed vibe.

Styling Advice: Wear with sneakers or flat sandals, and add a wide-brimmed hat or sunglasses. A belt bag can add a trendy twist and keep your essentials within reach.

5. Wedding Guest: The Lace or Metallic Dress

For weddings, opt for a statement dress in lace, metallics, or jewel tones to create a stunning look that’s festive yet respectful. Choose a dress with elegant details like a sweetheart neckline or flowing sleeves.

How to Style: Pair with nude or metallic heels, and add delicate jewelry to keep the look elegant. A clutch bag and soft curls or an updo add to the wedding-ready vibe.

6. Evening Event: The Sequin or Velvet Dress

Evening events call for a bit of glamour, and a sequin or velvet dress will do the trick. Go for darker colors or jewel tones to keep the look sophisticated, perfect for galas or cocktail parties.

How to Wear: Pair with strappy heels and a small metallic clutch. Keep jewelry minimal to let the dress be the star, and consider a bold red lip or smoky eye to complete the look.

7. Weekend Getaway: The Boho Maxi Dress

For a relaxed weekend getaway, a bohemian-style maxi dress is ideal. Look for dresses with earthy tones, floral prints, or flowing silhouettes to embody a laid-back, free-spirited vibe.

Styling Tip: Pair with flat sandals or espadrilles, and add a floppy hat and layered necklaces. A fringed bag or crossbody completes the boho look.

Master the Art of Statement Dressing

With these styling tips, you can confidently wear statement dresses for any occasion. From brunches to evening events, the right accessories and shoes can take your dress from one setting to another with ease. Embrace your bold style and make a lasting impression wherever you go!

Which statement dress is your favorite? Show us your look with #StatementDressStyle!