#Goosebumps: Monsters at Midnight

[rainrot4me]

Whispers In The Trees

Summary: Prepped your whole life to complete a ritual to hand yourself over to a monster, you demand the reason why. When he gives you the answers, he demands your body.

Characters: Slenderman x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Big size difference, rituals, tentacles, gagging, choking, suffocation, eating out, Slender has a big tongue, vaginal, tip fucking, forcing, blood, clawing

Words: 5.2k

The curse of Slenderman had been in your family for generations.

Since you were little, this curse-like entity crept on your kin and ruled their lives. Demanding sacrifices and obedience every decade; deeming itself a God over you. 

So as you trekked through the dense moonlit woods, you clutched the wicker basket so hard in your hands that it nearly cracked. You tried to think of your mother and her sisters, and her mother and her sisters, who have gone through this same ritual like generations before. The fog was dense all around you, the small flashlight in your hand doing little to breach the thick blanket. 

The nature around you was quiet, a dull whisper of insects and animals as you trudged through the underbrush and thick roots. You knew this path, having walked it often when you were little to help your mother and sisters prepare for their turns, their time to appease the creature. You didn’t understand then, but now that you were dressed in thin white robes and bare feet, reality quickly faced you. In other circumstances, the outfit wouldn’t be bad, a nice Halloween costume of some cute cult girl from Midsommar maybe. But as you neared the familiar clearing past the trees, you didn’t find the idea of being a sacrifice funny anymore. 

Standing just at the edge of the treeline, you took a deep breath, limbs shaking against the cold and fear that ran through you. It was late summer, well past midnight, and the night air brushed against your flushed cheeks leaving goosebumps. Closing your eyes, you stepped forward, leaving the dense forest behind you. 

A sense of dread immediately engulfed you. The fog suddenly fizzled out on the ground like it wasn’t just blinding you. The air was silent, not a bug or animal to be heard no matter how hard you listened. And the breeze just stopped. It was like the whole forest was afraid to move into this clearing, hugging close to the treeline curiously but daring no further. But you had to, no matter how badly you wanted to turn and run back home to the safe arms of your family. To keep the vengeful creature at bay, this was the price that must be met. Every ten years, you watched as another woman from your family disappeared for a night late in the summer, silently praying that she would make it home in the morning. They always did, but the haunting look that followed them shook you to your core. 

Reaching the center of the clearing, a dead spot in the grass was etched in a circular shape, the familiar pattern laid before you. Lying down your basket, you flicked off your flashlight, the moon illuminating a milky blue hue into the clearing bright enough for you to see. You shuddered, the silence creeping into your mind and making you look around quickly, paranoia gripping you. You huffed, rummaging through the items in the large basket and laying the contents out, preparing for the exhausting ritual. Your mother had taught you, every step perfect as she walked you through the routine. The symbol, the candles, even the perfect way to position yourself. It was like an art form for her as she taught you and your sisters.

Unwrapping the large bag of salt you packed, you began to follow the outline in the grass, pouring as you walked slowly. The symbol was forming nicely, a large circle with an x etched through it, the symbol of Slenderman, bore by anything he owned. As you closed the symbol, your heart pounded, the next steps coming quickly as you could feel the forest beyond the treeline begin to stir, its curiosity pressing. Setting candles along the salt, you spaced them evenly, lighting them as you went. It wasn’t nearly as perfect as your mother would have done it, but your shaking hands restrained you slightly, giving you little reason to care.

The candles flickered against the night, the warm glow surrounding you as you studied your work, praying desperately that it was good enough. You felt an impatience in the air, quickly cleaning up the rest of your items into the basket before sighing, and closing your eyes tightly. This was the part you dreaded. The part your family was reluctant to tell you when your time eventually came around. You hooked your hands under the hem of your white robe, the thin fabric almost see-through as you tugged it over your head, your bare body flush against the cold air. Your nipples had already perked, your nervousness making you squirm into yourself as you folded your robe neatly and laid it in the basket, turning back to the salt symbol. Breathing deep, your hands shook, goosebumps running all over your body. You took a step in, careful not to disturb the salt as you kneeled in the middle of the x, tucking your feet under yourself and straightening your back, placing your palms flat against the top of your thighs.

The salt was meant to protect you, a barrier that Slenderman couldn’t break. You were supposed to come out willingly, offering yourself to him without force. Was it for trust or some sadistic attempt at manipulation, you didn’t know. But as you breathed deep, you stared into the dark corners of the forest, eyes flicking nervously and watching for any signs of movement that you knew would come. You had only heard of Slenderman’s appearance, never seeing it besides what your family could recount. Terrifying, was the word they all used. It didn’t help as your heart pounded, the thudding echoing in your ears as you prayed he would never come. But it gave you a good time to reflect.

The specific reason why your family was enslaved to this creature was unsure, tracing back generations and lost with time. But like any of Slenderman’s victims, who's to say exactly why he did anything except for his own gain? 

As you caught yourself zoned out in thought, you were quickly snapped back when you heard the rustling of leaves yards ahead of you. Your eyes snapped wide, back straightening quickly as your tits perked, your naked body on display amongst the candles and decor. You studied the shadows carefully, watching for any sudden movements, your pulse quick. But finally, slinking from the shadows, the lanky creature emerged. The sheer height of him made your heart sink, his bony limbs long and awkward. If it wasn’t for his movement, he could easily blend in with the tall trees surrounding him, making you suspicious of just how long he had been watching concealed by the dense forest. Your nails gripped into your thighs, teeth gritted as you tried to hold down your tears. His presence is overwhelming and otherworldly, defying the logic and rationality you’ve always relied on. The air around you seems to distort, amplifying the surreal nature of his presence until it feels like you can’t breathe. He was closer now, it barely even seemed like he had walked but more like appeared before you, only a few yards away from the circle protecting you. However, the worst part about the encounter was the lack of a face. It was like someone had pressed a sheet against his face, features protruding against the pale skin but offering no obvious facial structure. It was purely terrifying, this creature far beyond what you could’ve imagined.

His dark suit contrasted against his terrifying appearance, his buttoned coat and tie making you knit your brows, your unease only growing. Slenderman just stared, his vacant eyes absently staring down at you. His faceless visage and elongated limbs exuded an unsettling yet compelling magnetism that you found yourself drawn to, eyes refusing to look away as you studied him. Finally catching yourself, you looked down at your hands quickly, cursing yourself for being so disrespectful. “Slenderman, sir.” You mumbled respectfully, keeping your body at attention even though embarrassment wrecked you internally. “I come, as my kin does, to offer myself to you. To fulfill our obligations to you. And to-” 

The speech you had so delicately rehearsed was cut short by a low grumble, the echo of the tall figure’s voice cutting you short.

“I hate to interrupt,” His voice was smooth, every word laced with the undertone of a darker grumble, like two voices were speaking at once, overlapping each other. “But hearing this same dedication every time I meet with one of you becomes rather tiring.” You sat shocked, unsure of what to do next as your careful instructions were quickly skewed. You kept your head down, eyes flicking against the grass as you carefully waited, shaky breaths the only noise between you. You felt so helpless against him, like if you made one wrong move that would be it. The only reason you weren’t screaming and running was the salt circle and the looming fact that if you did run your family would be massacred in minutes. 

“Forgive my rudeness.” He coaxed, pressing closer against the circle until you could see his black dress shoes come into the edge of your vision. You dared to look up, your eyes slightly edging up until you were staring at his face again, that odd sense of being drawn in coming over you again. Slenderman tilted his head, vacant expression examining you. “But, you and I both know what we’re here for. There is no need for formalities anymore.” You knitted your brows, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as you remembered just how bare you were. You gripped your thighs, nervousness running through your every word. “But I thought there was a need for formalities. This being a ritual and all.” You mumbled, eyes roaming the tall figure, his long limbs clamped respectfully behind his back as he chuckled darkly. “All of this,” He motioned towards the salt circle beneath you. “This is only for aesthetics. You understand, to make the scene more appealing for us. Humans have such an odd fascination with beings like me, so to combat your fickle bravery: you created a routine. Something to take your mind off of just how terrifying encountering me may seem.” He explained calmly, his body hauntingly still as he talked, but there was barely a motion of his jaw, like the voice was coming from somewhere inside. 

You glanced at the salt circle, your efforts to make it look so nice thrown to the wayside. “So, the salt…” You glanced up, Slender nodding reassuringly. “I cannot penetrate it. Your protection is still guaranteed. However, I quite like it when you silly women step outside your protective ring and offer yourselves so willingly.” He was teasing now, his thin hands reaching around to adjust his suit before kneeling in front of you, his limbs awkwardly contorting to allow him in front of you. “But you are not like the others. I feel a very reluctant air from you. The others were a lot more… eager.” He cocked his head to the side. At this angle, you could clearly see the massive bulge beneath his dress slacks, the sheer size of the thing making your stomach twist. “I don’t find giving myself over to a cryptid demon so… appealing.” You huffed back, trying your best to conceal the dark tint against your cheeks. Slender only chuckled, the dark echo of his voice making your skin crawl. “But oh how fun it would be to show you otherwise.” He purred, tracing his pale claw against the edge of the salt, his actions impatient. You squirmed, nails digging into your thighs. 

You straightened up, your bravery low but overruled by your curiosity. “Tell me why. Why the decades of demanding our submission while we cower for the rest? Then, when I am satisfied, I will offer myself. No resistance.”  You demanded, eyes hooded as you tried to stifle your fear. Slender stood slowly, clasping his hands behind his back as he contemplated. Until he finally nodded, sighing. 

“Alright, little one, I’ll bite.” He cooed, that ominous voice seemingly coming from nowhere but everywhere simultaneously. You settled, brain running a mile a minute as your heart beat heavily in your chest. “When old cryptids and beasts still roamed rampant through the Earth, your family was desperate. It must have been more than eight generations ago now, but they sought me out, begging for my protection against the things that went bump in the night. I obliged, my only demand being an offering. I never specified, but you hormonal humans took it upon yourselves to offer your bodies. For all I cared you could have given me your leftovers, but I was more than satisfied with what I have been given.” His words were thick with this cryptic dialect, his accent unheard of. “No such creatures roam these lands, long hunted out or deceased. But your family continued to show up despite my resignation, paranoia convincing them if they didn’t I in turn would be the monster that preyed on you. But, I’m afraid I have more important things to deal with than any of you.” Finished, he leaned forward, his white face vacant, but you could tell what he wanted. 

“Then why do you still co-” 

“Ah, ah, ah. I was promised if questions were answered I would get what I came for.” He growled, the calm voice laced with a tone of demand as you scowled. He waited expectantly, his hands tapping quietly behind his back as you stood, the salt on your knees falling as you shook them off. When you looked up, you realized really just how tall he was. You stopped at his waist, your face eye level with the terrifyingly large bulge nudging against the slacks in front of you. He was tall, towering and matching the height of the trees around you. He stepped back, standing straight as he waited for you.

Breathing deep, you took a step, your foot halfway out of the circle as your heart began to race. You could just wait him out, lay here until morning. But you feared his peacefulness would turn to wrath under desperation. Clenching your fists, you stepped completely out, straining your neck to look him in the face. Slender chuckled, his demeanour instantly switching as you felt the air stir, the forest pressing in on you with such an intensity you thought you were hallucinating. It was like he was controlling the trees themselves, making their branches press in and suffocate you. With a hissing, you finally saw the reason for the sudden intensity. Several black groping tentacles shot from his back, their form close to tree branches with their edges and curvature. He seemed to control them as well, the long limbs reaching around his body and whipping at the air, stretches and tears of the odd black liquid molding into new shapes instantaneously. 

They encompassed your vision, the tentacles casting shadows across your face as they streaked across the moonlight. They slithered forward, sliding across the grass and in the air to grip onto your body. The tentacles were cool, like slimy tree branches that defied all laws of permeation. They slid around your ankles and up your calves, gripping tightly against your thighs before hooking onto your waist. They gripped your wrists, up your forearms and around your neck, tugging as they wrapped around your tits and waist. Soon you were completely secured, the tentacles curiously studying every inch of your bare skin, goosebumps rising everywhere they touched. It was electrifying, your body stiff under the chilled slime. Slender was quiet, his body just as curious as his tentacles as he relished in the way you squirmed under his touch. “So warm.” He mewled, his hands gripped tightly behind him. You shivered as the tentacles breached past your thighs, the slimy tips sliding against your folds, curiously spreading them open while you flinched. They slid further, pressing between your ass cheeks and making you hiss, the coolness sharp against your asshole. 

“Wait-” You whined, your hands straining to push the tentacles off your body but they held your wrists still. They engulfed your tits, the tips wrapping around your nipples and tugging lightly, making you whimper. Slender watched carefully, his face never letting any emotion reveal itself. “Relax, little one. You made this decision. Now let me claim what has been so graciously offered.” He grinned. The tentacles slipped between your folds, your nervousness making you clench your knees together but they held them apart easily. Slipping against your clit, you groaned, your stomach tightening as you stood. Pressing further, they probed against your entrance, tiny little tips tangling with each other to slip inside of you, your warmth contrasting with their chill. You whined, eyes slipping shut as the tentacles pressed further in, stretching you as they squirmed and whipped. You felt incredibly full, your clit throbbing against the intrusion as a single tentacle flicked against the hardened nub. 

Slender grunted, his eyes darker as he relished in the way you squirmed, your tiny noises making him strain against his slacks. “Go on, no one can hear you. Be as loud as you please.” You gasped, the tentacles in your cunt tangling together and pressing deep, stretching you wide. They began to pump inside of you, pulling out before pressing in quickly, your mouth falling open. Every inch of your body was covered in the cool slick of the tentacles, every inch sensitive as they glided along you. You felt a tug along your waist, the tentacles securing around you as they began to pull up, lifting your feet off the ground. You panicked slightly, the loss of stability unnerving as you were lifted to meet Slender’s face, your body angled back so he got a clear view of your cunt full of him. You whined, your face flushed and breathy as they trusted quickly, your slick coating the dark limbs beautifully. You found it terrifying how no expression or signs of interest flashed on Slender’s face, only the heavy breathing in his chest telling you how excited he was. Curling, you moaned loudly, throat straining as the tentacles pressed against your warm walls, squelching loudly through the quiet woods. 

You couldn’t speak, the air in your lungs restrained as the tentacles gripped your throat, choking you. Some more moved up, pressing against your cheeks and against your lips, nudging their way inside. The tentacles tasted grimy, unlike anything as they slid around your tongue, filling your mouth full of him. You choked, the tips curiously pressing down your throat, quickly following the pace of the tentacles in your throat as they began to thrust down your mouth. It didn’t help when you felt a single tentacle slide across your asshole, forcing its way inside and stretching uncomfortably. You were gasping and gagging, every inch of you overtaken by these slimy things as they pressed against every inch and the entrance of your skin. That’s when you began to hear Slender’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving against his suit as he watched closely, entranced by the whole scene. He felt every slide and movement of the tentacles, relished in every vibration and constriction that your body gave him. He pushed you, seeing what made that beautiful voice stir or what made you flinch. He loved every answer he got. 

Your senses were skewed. You forgot what direction you were facing or how high you were off the ground, everything becoming a blur as your body dissolved under his touch. Pleasure was racking your body, your resolve leaving you as Slender’s tentacles broke and pulled at every restraint you tried to use. No matter how hard you wanted to resist, these tentacles were quick to force embarrassing noises from your lips, pressing on all the right places. Squirming, the tentacles slicked against your cunt, pounding up into you at an inhumane pace. You couldn’t concentrate, every inch of your body was violated at his will. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your cunt throbbing against the thick tentacles inside of you as you felt your orgasm crash down. You gasped loudly, mouth full of slimy limbs as you came roughly, walls constricting around him. Your body thrashed, fighting against the restraint as you rode out your high, chest heaving. Your head was light when the tentacles slipped from your sensitive cunt, replacing themselves around your thighs as you were hoisted up higher, your brain too hazy to care. 

Your body was angled upright, legs spread wide apart as your clit throbbed, aching from the intensity. Your heavy eyes watched as you were lifted to Slender’s face, your cunt open and raw inches from him. You whined, squirming as the tentacles slipped from your mouth, gasping. The tentacles retreated to your limbs, holding you firmly as Slender’s claws left behind him and reached up, wrapping firmly around your hips, pinching the plush skin. “You have such a pretty face when you cum. I would love to see it again.” He growled, pulling you close to his face. You were confused, wondering what he meant until you heard this sharp tearing sound loud enough to echo through the trees. You tensed, watching fearfully as Slender’s face split where his mouth should have been. It was terrifying. His mock mouth split wide, jagged pieces of skin splitting to reveal a dark interior, his mouth pitch black. Emerging from the dark, a tongue, similar to the shape of one of the tentacles, slipped through the jagged skin, pressing close to your cunt. You squirmed instantly, unsure if you wanted this to happen.

You didn’t have much of a choice as he ran his large, thick tongue through your folds, a groan echoing through him. His tongue was long, black, and inhumane. It pressed through your entrance, the warmth a nice contrast to the coolness of his tentacles that still slid against your skin. His claws gripped tight, holding your cunt flush against his mouth as he slowly lapped you up. He moaned at the taste, pressing against your velvety walls until he heard those wonderful gasps again. “Delicious.” He grumbled against your cunt, tongue curling and filling you as he relished the sweet taste of your orgasm. It was all too much, your body squirming against the sensitivity until you were gasping for air. He was so skilful with his tongue, lapping at every inch of your inside until you felt your orgasm rocking you again, your eyes rolling as you cried your pleasure. It was all too fast, his touch too addicting as you stared at his blank face, pleasure struck across his knitted brows. 

“God… Fucking human.” The words sounded so vulgar following how polite he’s been. It caught you off guard. But you had little time to think as his tentacles were tugging you down quickly, laying you flat as they positioned your legs to spread around his hips, hips straining as the tentacles pulled. You whined, watching carefully as Slender unzipped his slacks and freed the bulge that had been haunting you from the moment you saw it. To say it was huge was probably an understatement. The thick length was easily larger than your forearm, not even two hands would be enough to hold the thing. You began to struggle against the tentacles, panic overtaking you as his cock twitched with excitement. “There's no way in hell that thing’s fitting inside of me! It’ll rip me in half!” You squealed, feet planted against his legs to hold yourself away from him.

Slender’s claws wrapped around your thighs, scraping the skin lightly as he tugged you towards him, his cockhead laying against your cunt. You cringed, fear riding up your spine. “I’ve never gotten this far with the others. Their voices and bodies were too annoying. But you intrigue me, little one. I’ll make it fit.” 

You tried to close your legs, but Slender was already wrapping his claws around your hips, his claws easily overlapping as he nudged his hips between your legs and held you open for him. You were breathing fast, heart pounding as you watched the head of his cock line up with your entrance, the head alone the size of your entrance. He dug his claws in, pinching your skin as he began to press against you, nudging his cock into you. The stretch was rattling, the sharp sting making you cry out as the head of his cock barely pressed inside, your entrance begging for relief. Your hands reached down, gripping his claws tightly as tears spilt down your cheeks, your babbles echoing loudly. The tentacles slid across your skin soothingly, pinching at your nipples and rubbing at your cheeks the further he tried to press. “Ple- Please- Oh, God, please-” You cried, your stomach tightening as his head popped past your tight entrance, your walls constricting against the intrusion, “Breathe, little one. You’re doing wonderfully.” He groaned, hips stuttering lightly as he nudged his head in and out of you. You were whining, breath catching every time he pushed back into you.

He couldn’t go further than the tip, but Slender didn’t seem to mind as he shallowly fucked you onto his cockhead. You were whining, back arched and hips grinding as the sting and stretch of his head slowly turned to painful pleasure. The nudge of his cockhead against your walls made you moan loudly, tentacles sliding down to tug at your clit as he fucked you onto him. You could tell he wanted more, his slimy tongue hanging from his mock mouth and lolling with every thrust. His desperation showed as he breathed heavily, gasps ragged as he held himself back. Even though your mind screamed that you couldn’t handle any more, you gasped, gripping your hands against his thin forearms. “Deeper…” You whined, staring up at him through heavy eyes and flushed cheeks, jaw slack. 

Slender’s body lit up, his claws gripping tighter as he groaned, brows knitting. He was reluctant, his movements nervous until his desperation overtook him, his shoulders crouching low to press his face close to yours. “Hold on tight, little one.” He hissed, your hands slinking around the back of his pale head as you gripped the collar of his suit. He breathed your scent in deep, tongue pressing from his mouth to slink against your neck, relishing in the taste of your sweat. You groaned as the tongue pressed against your cheeks, sliding across your lips before pressing inside. You sucked on his tongue, the long warmth pressing against your throat as Slender began to press your hips down further. It felt like you were tearing, the incredible sting making your eyes clamp shut, Slender’s tongue quick to distract you. His tentacles moved rapidly across your skin, pinching and pulling against every available sensitive service to help relax you. Slender’s cock pressed barely deeper, not even halfway inside of you, but it was all you could take.

You clawed at his shoulders as tears spilt to your cheeks, the fullness obstructing your breathing. Slender was moaning deeply, his ominous voice ringing across the trees as he began to thrust your body down onto his cock. You were both sporadic, hands and tentacles gripping onto every available surface as you stretched impossibly wide. You couldn’t believe the feeling, both painful, but so wonderfully pleasurable. You were so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but oh so full. It was nothing like you had ever experienced.

Slender was holding you tight, pressing your hips down roughly and pulling up quickly, just to nudge you down again. He was careful to read every signal your body gave. Every hiss of pain or sigh of pleasure, he was sure to adjust for you. “Sir- So full-” You groaned against his mouth, tongue slipping to glide against your neck. He groaned deeply, teeth gritted and brows knitted. “So good, little one. So good.” His tentacles flicked against your clit, tugging until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You couldn’t breathe as you felt your orgasm rush over you, hips jerking down against his cock until you were too tight to move. Slender still tried to thrust you down, but your walls constricted and kept him in place. You cried out, clawing against the back of his neck as he slammed his mouth back against yours, tongue invading your throat before you could catch your breath. Slender was quick to follow, warm seed shooting up inside of you in thick stripes as he groaned. His claws dug in deep, blood pooling around his pale skin until it was dripping down your legs. His tentacles lapped it up, pressing the thick liquid across your skin. 

When Slender’s heaving chest finally settled, he took a deep breath, slipping his claws under your arms. “Hold still, little one.” He hissed, pulling you off his cock slowly as you whined, the sharp sting stretching your sensitive cunt. You couldn’t focus when he finally popped out of you, thick black liquid leaking from your ruined hole. His cum was hot, a thick black liquid that bubbled and gooped against your folds. You whined, emptiness making your cunt throb as your head pounded. Slender sat on the forest floor, laying down on his back as he pulled you with him, laying you down on his chest as you both settled. Your limbs were weak, eyes heavy with exhaustion as Slender’s tentacles ran soothingly across your back. 

When you finally caught your breath, you braced your hands on his chest, leaning up to stare him in the face. His pale skin had fixed itself, with no sign of the mock mouth that tore across his flesh. The blank slate was all that was left. “I release you… Of your duties. There’s no need for you to come here anymore.” You sighed, resting your head against your hands. Slender reached forward, tangling his claws with your matted hair, sliding his fingers through the long strands. “But what if I want to come here? More often than just once a decade, that is.” He huffed, sliding his claws against your cheek. You sat stunned, glancing at his expression and searching for any tricks. “But why..?” 

“I guess now I’ve found a more enticing reason.” He grinned, pinching your cheek. He blushed, turning away. You traced along his chest, the fabric of his suit soft under your touch. “You’re still released from protecting us. No need to give you more work than necessary. I suppose you won’t be requiring the ritual anymore?” You smiled, resting your chin against your hand. Slender chuckled, rubbing up your sides. “Only if you would like to reminisce, little one…” He growled, holding you tight.

In reality, you never imagined the monster that haunted your family to become humane to you. You also never expected to meet with him weekly, in the same clearing, exploring each other and relieving the urges only the two of you could satisfy. 

Maybe it was a slap in the face to your kin, but as Slender held you close for another week, all you could think of was him. 

He may have been a curse, but he was yours to bear.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[inkedtae]

elixir of the damned ⇾ bgc. [M]

⎡sun bright, sun light burns the flesh of those that bite. moon’s gleam, night’s scream as shadows linger in lonely blight. but in the dark where spirits wail, a witch will rise— her power prevails⎦

⌁ pairing; vampire!chan x witch!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; vampire au, s2l, some angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 19.5k

⌁ summary; leech, nightcrawler, monster— chris is a vampire aching for sunlight. when he swims to a witch’s hidden island, badly burned, she offers him a secret remedy to survive daylight; he must drink her blood during her cycle, unleashing her true power and binding them for life.

⌁ warnings; graphic depictions and consumption of blood, graphic depictions of severe wounds, dom!chan, sub!reader, masturbation (f.), voyeurism, degradation, slight humiliation, rough sex, period sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, rough oral (f. receiving), body worship, spanking, teasing, slight edging, cum eating, blood play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 prefer ao3? keep reading here

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a special thanks to dee ( @awrkives ) for making this sexy banner for me, and to my ride or die beta reader, jen ( @anobodyslove ) for consistently supporting me and reading over all the nonsense i write. i am nothing without you.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪  please enjoy this final Chantober fic!

On the brink of winter, Elderwood is a haze of greys. Roads are bleak black. Sidewalks are cracked and chipped. Streetlights illuminate no more than five inches in diameter, dim and distant. Seemingly void of life, the little town exhales a puff of condensation as it inches towards November. In a matter of days, the saturated warmth of autumn reds will wither, the cold air frosting  over every morning, until all pigment completely fades.

It’s depressing to watch the world around him drain of colour as he wanders the streets. Still, Chris is grateful for the consistency. One thing he can always count on is the changing seasons. He may not be getting older, but the world is.

The wind whips against his muscular frame. It should make him shiver, but he can barely feel the chill, only aware of the wind because of its force. The only time he ever felt the cold was midnight on a particularly wet February two years ago. It was pouring down on him as he walked back to Jisung’s house from the shore. The wind was knocking down street signs. The earth was drenched and cold. Chris felt the chills on his skin, the faint prickle of goosebumps. He inhaled and pretended his lungs worked, filling up with oxygen. Pulling his shirt off, he exhaled and pretended a cloud of air was breathed out. The chills running down his spine made it easy to pretend he was alive.

Now, Chris pretends he can feel the breeze blowing through his muscle tee, still exhilarated by the memory.

There are only two moments when he forgets he’s a vampire. One is when he can feel the cold, and the other is when he’s feeding. The taste of bitter iron and copper staining his tongue makes him feel real . With every gulp, Chris can feel the consumed blood run through his veins, drenching his heart and organs. There is the lightest hue of pink in his skin once he’s done. It lasts for a few hours before it fades and he grows hungry again. As much as it annoys him, Chris looks forward to every meal.

In a matter of days, he will be closing in on eight years as a vampire.

Leech, nightcrawler, monster— Chris cannot block out the voices that chime in every time he thinks about that word. They loop in slow circles around his mind on a daily basis and taunt him between his insecurities and mistakes.

He’s not sure how it happened. He stopped sleeping. It was hard to keep things down. He didn’t like to eat much before swim practise anyways. Even a bite of food would sit like a rock in his stomach. He’d have to excuse himself five minutes into his laps to empty his stomach in the nearest trash can.

“Knocked up?” one of his teammates teased from the pool.

Chris wiped his chin with the back of his wrist. He glared at the diver, eyes wet and red, before clearing his throat, swallowing thickly, and diving back in himself.

Hand on his stomach now, Chris yearns for that disgusting feeling that burned his chest and scratched at his throat. He hates throwing up, but it seems so humane now to get sick, to feel sick.

Once he attempted to starve himself in hopes of emulating something similar to an illness. All it did was make him irritable, almost rabid. He thought it would at least be similar to sleep deprivation but it instead sharpened his supernatural senses for blood.

More than anything though, Chris misses the sun. Every morning, he senses its warmth against the boarded windows of Jisung’s basement. For a handful of minutes, he can bypass his inherent fear of the sun to imagine beams of light cascading over him. He imagines the heat kissing his flesh, returning his admiration, and basks in the feign brightness.

Sand invades his shoes.

Chris opens his eyes to find the sea before him. The waves crash against the shore, inches away from his toes. He inhales sharply. Salt and seaweed plague his tongue. He swallows breathfuls of the scent anyway, chasing nostalgia.

He took his first steps here, had his first kiss by the rocks at thirteen, learned to swim, to build extravagant sandcastles and raced along the shoreline with Jisung and Changbin. How many summers had he guarded the lives of beachgoers? How many bonfire bashes had he patrolled?

Chris gazes out at the horizon. His enhanced vampiric senses have sharpened his sight, refining the mesmerising image of the serene scenery. Even the far island of Crow’s Nest looks clearer. It has been bogged down by heavy fog for as long as he can remember. Sometimes the island seems so hazy, Chris is only reminded of its presence by the crows circling around it. He smiles to himself as he recalls the countless times he, Changbin and Jisung dared each other to swim towards it, each one boasting about how they would be the one to swim the closest only to rush back to shore.

Fuck— it all feels like a life time ago.

The ocean laps closer to Chris’s feet. He surveys his surroundings. Fog settles over the quiet town. Silence replies to his inquisitive stare. He turns back to the sea and considers the horizon. It must be nearing four or five in the morning, dawn slowly approaching. The sky is mostly cloudy too.

He wonders if— No.

His vampiric instincts shudder at the thought. Chris fights through it, resisting the urge to turn around and hurry back to Jisung’s basement.

I have time , he mentally hisses.

The sun won’t be up for another hour or so, and given how considerably cloudy it is, he might have an extra fifteen minutes to collect his clothes and rush back into the safe darkness of the basement. His enhanced speed would get him there within ten minutes anyway.

Chris tugs at the hem of his shirt while kicking off his shoes. He feels the wind push around his muscular torso. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, swallowing the scent of the salty sea, and resists the urge to gag. Determined not to let the suppressed reaction discourage him, he unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his briefs. For a second, he braces himself, expecting a chill upon his full nudity.

Then the reality of his being sets in.

He huffs an annoyed groan and marches into the water. He’s so frustrated he doesn’t feel it at first. However, as he continues to wade further into the ocean, the water now lapping just above his waist, Chris shivers .

Cold— ice cold. The sea welcomes him home.

Chris chuckles, relief blossoming in his chest. He caresses the surface of the water as another chuckle tumbles out of his full lips. If he was still human, tears would prick his eyes from the sheer relief of finally feeling something. Embracing the biting chill, he dives in.

Under deep blue darkness, the world muffles around him. He points his hands in front of him, the same way he was training eight years ago, and propels further into the ocean. Seaweed dances beneath his feet, the current moves around him. Being undead gives him an advantage as he can remain submerged for longer now.

Twirling, swirling, he swims and swims— faster than he could before his shift. The rush of the waves propel him further into the water, caressing his toned body. Chris suppresses a smile as he watches fish dart and algae float around him.

When he finally surfaces, he lets out a heavy breath on instinct, but he doesn’t care. He pushes his hair back and wipes his nose, heaving anyway because in this still moment, Chris is teetering on the edge of humanity for the very first time in eight years.

Looking back to the shore, he finds that he may have gotten carried away. The mainland is almost a figment of his imagination with the amount of distance he has created.

And Crow’s Nest is completely visible.

Chris looks between the shore and the island, then lets out a full bellied laugh, one he hasn’t been able to muster in years. Changbin and Jisung are never going to believe him when he tells them he got this close to Crow’s Nest .

Not only is it far, but most believe the island is haunted. Townies for years have claimed to witness figures lurking between the trees and flickering lights throughout the night. Someone once swore they saw a figure flying over the island on a broomstick amongst the crows. Throughout the years, many sceptics have tried to travel to the island, only to be deterred by the current and pushed back to shore. Changbin once told him that one person did make it onto the island but was never heard from again.

Chris was not completely convinced by the tall-tales of Crow’s Nest, but he still constantly felt unsettled by its presence.

However, surveying the island now, he cannot remember why he was so scared. Sure, the myths were strange, but they were myths in the end.

Vampires were once a myth , a little voice murmurs.

Stifling the sinister voice, Chris looks to the sky and finds it’s still a swirl of charcoal grey and slated blue. His smile returns before another chuckle bubbles from his eased chest. Floating upon the surface, he lays back, allowing the current to guide him for a moment. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the fading sensation of the cold upon his pale skin.

While Chris knows he has more time to revel in this rare human moment, he cannot help the anxiety festering in the base of his stomach. What if he never feels this way again? What if he has to wait another eight years to feel something, anything again? And yes, this has been a cathartic experience by himself, but some of his favourite human memories are shared with his loud, chaotic friends. He can imagine Changbin complaining about how deep the water is and Jisung making jokily suggestive comments about how naked they all are. He would never be able to convince them to go skinny dipping in the middle of October at dawn. Changbin is too much of a whiny baby to handle the cold and Jisung sleeps as deep as the dead— Chris would know being undead himself.

So, while he may feel a fraction of his humanity again, he cannot forget that he is still alone.

A sense of deep danger surges through him, silver eyes snapping open. Amber light spills across the once frosty charcoal-blue sky.

The sun is rising.

His vampiric instincts rage in his chest, as if scolding him for being so reckless.

Chris internally curses at himself. He’s about to swim back to shore when he notices rays of light shining against the sand, inching towards his clothes.

Fuck .

How long had he been floating? When did time start to move this quickly? The last eight years have felt like eternity, but it’s as though the last two hours flew by within twenty minutes.

Chris lets out a shaky sigh and considers his options. He can try to make it back to shore and sprint home, grabbing his clothes later (if the current doesn’t swallow them). He can try to dive deep enough in the water to evade the sun, but risk drowning over and over for the next twelve hours. Or…

A murder of crows circle the island to his right.

Crow’s Nest.

“ Shit ,” he mutters under his breath.

Chris dives. He uses all his strength to fight against the current. The closer he’s gets to the island, the harsher the ocean becomes. The waves are not forceful, simply persistent with their suggestion to turn back. It’s as if the sea is warning him against reaching the island.

He fights through it still, pushing himself to swim faster.

Though he does not have a pulse, Chris is heaving by the time he can walk onto the shore. He runs a hand through his hair and spits the excess seawater out of his mouth. Leaning on his knees, he takes a moment, for the first time in eight years, to catch his breath.

Vision blurring, hands shaking, Chris mutters a string of vulgar curses. The swim has depleted his energy. Thirst— No, hunger gnaws at his chest, his gut, his very being, tearing through his innate instincts to find shade. His senses instead sharpen for a hunt. The scent of crow, frail and small, immediately overwhelms him. He can nearly taste the thick blood that pumps under their onyx feathers.

“ Ah!” Chris hisses, jolting forwards as the light nips at his ankles.

The sun .

Using the last bit of his strength, Chris dashes towards the trees. However, as he’s about to cross into the safety of the shade, the sun strikes, scorching his skin.

Chris screams, collapsing to his knees. His back stings with a relentless hiss. Scurrying forward, he manages to make it into the shade with only a few more minimal, yet painful welts on his thighs and calves. He chokes back more groans as his pale skin bubbles and burns from the intense heat.

He shifts further into what he thinks is the shade, trembling and whimpering, when the breeze kicks in and rattles the already loose leaves from the trees. Chris looks up, watching a gap form and give way for another attack from the sun.

Bright rays blaze his face. Another fraught scream tears through his throat and he tries to shield his eyes with his arm. Only one eye could be saved, the other feels as though it is melting into his skull.

Pain, pain— aching pain. Chris screams, his voice cracking as he channels that last of his strength and throws himself against the tree stump with unnatural speed.

Hiccuped moans tumble from his wounded, cracked lips. He heaves, voice nothing more than a wheezing shattered mess. His flesh deteriorates, once eternal body now crumbling under the bright light. The rotting smell of his dead body simmers around him, brewing nausea deep in his gut.The sand bites into his burnt skin, like salt on a fresh wound. Whimpering, he grits his teeth and attempts to bear the pain.

It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. It’s not tha—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, the pain overtaking his mind. He tries to repeat the phase again but can barely get past the first syllable.

Chris knows he can’t stay here. The sun will move, the light will shift, the fucking wind will betray him. He is not guaranteed safety if more leaves fall and the light seeps through again. Yet, he cannot move. Without blood to sustain his movements or renew his vampiric healing abilities, he might just die anyway.

So, Chris simply stares at the clutter of copper and gold leaves around him and suppresses whimpers. Is this the sickness he was previously craving to feel? Is this the humanistic pain he so badly yearned for? Chris cannot help but curse at himself over and over as his vision slowly blurs.

Is this really how it ends , he wonders. Wet from the sea, hot from the sun, eight years of demonic hell inch to this painful end.

Coughing up bile, he spits it over his shoulder and exhales deeply. Well, at least, he was able to experience a final moment of humanity, even if it was alone. And when he sees Changbin and Jisung again, he’ll tell them all about how he swam to Crow’s Nest and wasn’t immediately devoured by the monsters that they believe lurk within.

And if nothing else , he thinks as the darkness slowly closes in on him, I had one last moment in the sun.

“What have you done to yourself?”

A soft flowery voice caresses him. Chris mentally leans into the feminine allure of the voice, allowing himself to be wrapped in her gentle tone.

Then, the voice suddenly solidifies shattering the warm cocoon Chris found himself giving into, as she repeats, tone firmer now, “Are you insane?”

Chris tilts his head, choking on more bile as a surge of pain ripples through him. A curvy figure dressed in a thin, white sundress rushes towards him. He can barely make out her face, his sight almost completely gone, but her scent— fresh rain, lavender and sage— overwhelms him. For a second, he sees himself strolling through a field of wildflowers after a rainstorm, following the full figured beauty into the warmth of the light.

“Wow, you’re really naked,” she suddenly mumbles under her breath.

Voice raspy, Chris asks, “Are… you an angel?”

Soft hands cup his face; delicate, sweet, and gentle. Chris tries to regain some semblance of his sight, eager to take in her ethereal features but the pain hinders his focus.

And then, all at once, darkness claims him.

Dawn is still. While the sun peeks through clusters of clouds, the sky shifts from pale blue to rose-gold. The wind, once flowing through the small cottage through the open windows, disappears. Even the crows, who often guard your little hideaway, fall silent.

You freeze mid-chop and turn towards the backdoor. A murder of crows still lingers around your backyard, but they seem rigid, as if they are not sure how to react.

Furrowing your brows, you set down your knife and abandon your half-chopped eggplant. You wipe your hands on your apron, making your way to the door.

A loud buzzing rings through your ears, stopping you mid-stride. You furrow your brows, senses finally flaring.

Abandoning the back door, you move towards the front instead. The moment you pull it open, you feel it— the shift in the air, swirling with panic, fear and… pain ?

A loud scream suddenly echoes through the morning fog, taut and sharp.

Chills run down your spine.

You’ve found many injured animals while hiding in Crow’s Nest within the last decade. You’ve repaired broken bones, mended mangled wings and even helped beached sea creatures find their way back into the ocean. However, nothing you have encountered has ever sounded so huge.

Shaking off your nerves, you step out and shut the door behind you. The wind picks up, colder than before. It ruffles through your white sundress, forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself. Another frail scream echoes, this time starling the crows back into motion. Hawthorne, your clingiest crow, lands on your front porch with a concerned tilt of his head, as if coming to check on you. Your face deadpans as more crows settle on the rickety, oak wood and peer up at you.

“You literally saw me from the garden,” you sigh. Stepping around them, you ask, “Do you know where that sound came from?”

Poe squawks before fluttering into flight, and a few other crows follow after him as well. You trail behind them, pulling your wand out from between your breasts. You assume that whatever washed up on your island must be harmless enough for your wards not to alert you upon its arrival. Still, you keep your twelve-inch mahogany wand, the polished ebony wood twisted and glittering like silver stars, steady before you.

Rotten vanilla and burnt, parched oak intoxicate your next breath. The scent envelopes you in despair, as you draw closer to the source. Heaving, whimpering, coughing, the broken sounds of pain become clearer with every step.

And then you see him— extremely pale and teetering consciousness. His face, which might have once been a handsome blend of soft masculinity, is grey and blistering. Arm, shoulder, ribs; the left side of his body is peeling skin, almost as if dusting and rotting all at once. The edges of the wounds are lined with black. It’s as though he’d been charred under open flames.

“What have you done to yourself?” you whisper under your breath.

You draw nearer, trying to make sense of this… being? You’re not quite sure what he is. He most definitely cannot be a human. He should be bleeding and the welts would be blistering, eager to reverse the damage.

His eyes squint open and you almost miss it. The right one is a rich chocolate, purely humanistic and warming. The left, however, is a blinding silver. Swimming with thirst and desperation, even exhausted, that gleaming grey eye conveys more threats than promises.

Vampire .

Dawn, light, burns, it all starts to make sense.

“Are you insane?”

He chokes on bile, resting his head back against the tree trunk.

As he tries to find his voice, you take a moment to scan his frame, looking for more wounds. It’s then that you notice just how naked he is. Guilt and shame fester in your chest at the realisation that, despite the wounds, he does not look so bad, perhaps even… attractive.

Your attention lingers below his waist. The sight heats your face. “Wow, you’re really naked,” you whisper more to yourself than him.

“Are…” he starts, summoning your attention back to his mismatched eyes, “you an angel?”

The question startles you. After a few blinks, you swallow thickly and clear your throat.

Wraith, nightshader, monster— you’ve been called many names throughout your life as a blood-witch. Your previous coven conjured most of the insults, but the mundane town of Elderwood has never been a friend to the supernatural either, despite its mythical origins. Ridiculed for your magic, banished by family and supposed friends, you didn’t think you’d ever meet another paranormal being, let alone be confused for an angel.

Cupping his face, you decide that he’s delirious. Scorched by the sun, thirsty for blood (if his nearly translucent skin is any indication), he probably took one look at your white dress and assumed he was dying.

You gasp as he suddenly falls limp in your hands. You’re about to check his pulse when you remember he’s a vampire. Muttering curses, you stand up.

“Create some shade,” you order the crows. As they cluster overhead, you add, “We need it dark enough to move him.”

More crows fly in to help, clouding over the wounded vampire to shield him from the rising sun.

Deep breath in and out, you centre yourself. Your lungs carry his festering scent, the faint notes of sweet vanilla and sturdy, dry oak soothing your erratic heart.

You open your eyes with a heavy, steady exhale. Holding out your wand, you dig your heels into the ground. Magic flickers from your fingertips and warps into the wand, waiting for your direction. Only, you’re not sure if you’re making the right choice.

Healing animals, saving helpless lives is much of what you do on this little island, besides tending to your magical garden, brewing potions and crafting talismans. You’ve always felt grounded when you’re able to help someone, anyone . The only other time you feel as accomplished and useful is when you update your journal. Keeping a detailed grimoire of new spells, potions, thoughts, and observations has been your only other source of stabilising your sanity amidst such a solitary life.

But, a vampire is not some other helpless animal. You don’t know a lot about the blood-demons, only that they have been damned upon their own moment of desperation. He clearly made naive deals without much consideration of the consequences. And the fact that he wandered out in daylight does not help his case.

He could be recently turned or just simply stupid and desperate. Either way, you wonder if this is a good idea. Moving him would mean inviting him into your home. Is that really the wisest decision? It would mean that he would have access to the little cottage without your permission, even if you reinforce your wards. Your invitation would be enough to welcome him in every time.

Still, you know you cannot heal him out here. The sun will shift and only shine brighter throughout the day. The crows can only fly for so long as well. And while your magic is malleable, it is not infinite. It will not be able to sustain a shield weaved of your powers without an anchor like the hearth of your cottage to truly ground and replenish your strength. The only way to save him would be to bring him into your sanctuary.

Or, a little voice mutters, you can just let him die.

You recognise that internal voice as your mother’s. It carries the same sharpness and disdain for your intuitive decisions. You’re not surprised it has reared its ugly head in a moment of uncertainty and distress. It often has a habit of kicking you while you’re down, or coaxing the worst out of you.

Shoving the vile voice back to the farthest corner of your mind, you wave your wand. The handsome vampire levitates under the allure of your magic.

“We move as one,” you order. “And, be careful.”

The crows mutter amongst themselves, but follow your commands. Together, you slowly move further into the forest.

Once you step foot onto the porch, the cottage anticipates your needs. The windows and curtains shut and candles flicker to life along with the hearth. You push open both front doors to accommodate his broad frame. Guiding him into your living room, you wonder if he was an athlete or swimmer prior to turning. His lean yet muscular figure indicates one or both hobbies.

Shame rises in your chest again. You have no idea what has gotten into you. When did you become so perverted and disgusting? How could you check out a wounded man so casually like that, like he’s not unconscious and on the brink of death? 

Swallowing your shame away, you lay him down on your soft, velvet green sofa. He sinks into the comfortable cushions, still and frail. Draping a handknitted, midnight black blanket over him, you notice his skin becoming grey. And even the parts that have not been touched by the sun begin to peel. 

You mutter a curse and rush to the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets, you look between jars of carefully crafted salves and mud masks. Aloe, honey, shea butter, coconut– what the fuck would heal the undead flesh of a vampire? If he was conscious, you’d give him a jar of blood from your preserves and hope that with enough consumption, he’d eventually heal himself. 

The cottage attempts to help you. It pushes open drawers of loose ingredients. Even a few stray crows, who managed to sneak in before the house could shut the door behind you, fly from book to book, trying to inspire you to just look up the information you need. You wave off the house and ignore the crows. You need something quick and complete. You don’t have time to brew something or search through old pages. 

Shifting its approaches, the cottage offers salves you’ve already made and saved from different cabinets around the kitchen. It hovers the jars before you, continuously suggesting a variety of creams as you wave them off. 

You’re about to wave off the next suggestion when the name catches your eye: Sunveil Balm . Golden yarrow and rosemary oil, lunar lilac extract, white ash bark powder, dewdrop resin, the essence of morning fog and the rare but potent dust of golden pearls, you remember crafting the balm for a bat with scorched wings. It stayed out in the sun for much too long one blistering summer and received several burns. A few generous swipes of the salve repaired the damage within ten minutes.

You snatch the gold-shimmering cream, darting back to the living room. With a wave of your hand, the jar twists open. You dip into the pot and scoop out a good amount before gently tilting his face and slathering the soft, creamy balm over his left cheekbone and temple. 

Mismatched eyes of brown and grey snap open. A loud scream tears through his throat as the wound hisses under the golden salve. He instinctively brings a hand up to his face to wipe it off, only for the salve to burn his fingers. 

“Shit,” you murmur before shouting, “Get me blood, now!”

The cottage complies, hovering various jars of animal blood in front of you. It’s the human blood that catches your eye, though. You know that if you want him to recover quickly, you have to supply him with your best stocks. Human blood, however, is rare for you. Without a coven of well-connected witches, harvesting human blood from your remote little island has proved to be a difficult and daunting task. You only have about five large jars left. 

He trembles into the sofa, choking on his own bile. 

You sigh, realising you’ve made it this far. You have already invited him into your home and made the decision to save him. If that weren’t enough, you’ve just deepened his pain with fresh burns.

With another wave of your hand, you twist the jar of human blood open, then snatch it from the air. “Shh, shh,” you calmly whisper, snaking your arm under his head to support the lift of his neck. He tries to swallow thickly, but chokes on the smell of fresh, cold blood. You bring the lip of the jar closer to his mouth and administer small, careful sips.

You watch as his eyes roll back from the taste. Arousal pools between your thighs. You curse yourself three times over for the way your body reacts. It’s been ten years of using your wand as a vibrator or making do with your fingers. You tell yourself that it’s simply pathetic desperation, a chronic need for human interaction that triggers this sort of reaction to him. Shame and regret still tighten in your chest, encouraging the continuation of your internal insults and curses.

A croaky groan echoes within the jar, pulling you out of your thoughts. The vampire sits himself up and takes the jar from you. He starts to down the blood in large gulps. His chest heaves, throat bobs and rogue trails of blood leak from the corner of his lips. 

You stand and turn away from him, much too aroused by the animalistic sight. Trying to ground yourself, you take shaky breaths in and out, and focus on the length of your breaths, the sound of the exhale. You don’t realise he’s done until you hear him clear his throat. 

Turning back to face him, you find his skin has solidified back to its normal pale, white colour. The black soot around his wounds remains along with a few remaining welts, however life (or lack thereof) has returned to his undead body. 

“More?” He quietly asks, voice deep and husky. 

You nod and hold a hand towards the kitchen. Another large jar of human blood shoots into your grasp. The vampire blinks as you wave the lid open, and lower the glass down to him. He trades you the empty one, letting his attention drift up and down your frame. 

Your shoulders roll back, chest puffing forward under his curious gaze. 

You are pathetic , you think to yourself.

Embarrassed by your actions, you leave him in the living room with his meal and return to the kitchen. Hawthorne and Poe perch on the counter by your recipe books. They cast disapproving stares in the dim candlelight as you enter.

You roll your eyes and whisper, “He was dying.” When they continue to silently judge, you add, “I happen to recall a time when two little birdies got into a fight for the fourth time and begged me to help them even when they promised not to let it happen again. So, maybe we shouldn’t be so judgemental.”

Both crows tilt their heads downwards in shame. 

“Who are you talking to?”

You squeal, jolting as you turn to face the vampire. He stands in the archway of your kitchen, blanket wrapped around his waist. He clutches the soft fabric with one hand by his hip and the empty jar with the other. You resist the urge to look at his fully healed chest, knowing it will only further arouse you, and fixate your attention on his face. 

While the blood has completely reversed the damage of the sun on his skin, his eyes still remain discoloured. You draw closer to examine it, getting within a hand’s reach before remembering that you two are still strangers, he’s still naked and there’s still steaks of blood staining his chin. 

He raises a brow at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

Does he think I’m into him , you wonder as panic fills your chest. You clear your throat and take a step back. 

“Your eye,” you start, pointing to your left one, “It’s still silver.”

He reaches up to touch it. Understanding shifts his features from arrogance to self-caution. 

“Do you need more blood?” you ask, wondering if perhaps more consumption would help.

He shakes his head. “I’m full,” he replies. Stepping into the kitchen, he holds the empty jar out for you. 

You take it and place it on the counter by the other one he finished. You turn back to face him, regrettably letting your gaze flicker down his defined chest again. It’s buff and broad, the perfect addition to his strong shoulders. His waist is slim, toned and narrows down to delicate hips that you are sure have some unforgiving moments. Internally cursing yourself for your lack of self-control, you note that, at least this time, you’re lusting after him while he’s conscious and not in active pain. 

He suddenly clears his throat, beckoning your attention back to his face. A shy smile settles on his lip and he raises a brow. 

Great , you sarcastically think, now he’s going to think I only helped him because I think he’s hot . 

“I’m Chris,” he introduces, holding out his hand. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.”

You bite your lip. Maybe he was tired before or you were just too preoccupied by the gravity of the situation to catch it the first few times he spoke, but he has a thick, lazy accent that comforts your reclusive soul in ways it probably shouldn’t.

You offer your name, accepting his hand. The chill from his skin is all encompassing and it takes everything in you not to shiver. After a couple of good shakes, you release his hand to reach back and grab a clean tea towel. You hand it to him and gesture to your chin. “You’ve got a bit of blood,” you carefully inform. 

Chris scrubs his face harshly. You thought the knotting brows and darkening eyes were an indication  of embarrassment upon the mention of the little mess he made of himself. However, from the way he drags the tea towel over his newly healed skin, you wonder if he is upset, perhaps hateful. 

“Thanks,” he mutters again, catching your lingering gaze. 

You take the tea towel back when he’s done and toss it to Poe. The little crow catches the stained cloth and flies it over to the dirty pile. A little amused smile plays on your lips as you watch Chris look between you and the crow. He parts his lips to ask something, but he cannot find his words.

“Let’s have a seat,” you softly suggest, nodding towards the archway. “You must be exhausted.”

Chris nods, letting out a heavy breath. He steps to the side to let you weave around him and lead the way back to the living room. His steps are so light and gentle as he follows. You probably wouldn’t have heard them if you weren’t paying such close attention, sneaking a look behind you. 

His gaze focuses around your hips, or rather the sway of them. You catch him biting his lip before turning to face the front again. Letting out a shaky sigh, you try not to let the little gesture go straight to your head. You’ve received quite a few stares when you lived with your coven once upon a time ago. Most would either linger around your breasts or rear. Sometimes it was due to the sheer size of your voluptuous body and very rarely was it done in admiration when it came to staring at your arms or stomach or thighs. Your backside, however, always received that same carefully longing attention. 

So, he doesn’t like you , you tell yourself. He just likes what he sees .

You take a seat on the black leather armchair by the fireplace, sinking into the comfortable cushions, and nod to the emerald couch he previously laid on. 

Chris sits across from you. Shifting in his seat, he adjusts the blanket to properly cover his hips and crotch. Your eyes meet and, for a brief second, you swear you catch the lightest, faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks. 

Shifting uncomfortably in your own seat, you offer an apologetic smile and say, “I don’t think I have any clothes for you.”

He returns the gentle gesture with a small grin of his own and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can try to get the ones I left on the beach later tonight.”

You raise your brows at the new information. Leaning over one of the arms on your chair, you attempt to peek into the kitchen. “Hawthorne?” You shout. 

Chris looks back at the archway only for Hawthrone to dart out. He flies over head, startling Chirs as he ducks his head to avoid the fast bird. 

“Go to the mainland and see if you can find some clothes on the shore for me,” you order once he lands on the arm of your chair. “And take Tenny and Poe with you.” 

Hawthorne squawks. He takes flight again, heading to the front door when you tsk at him. He returns to your side, waiting for instructions. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask then nod to the back of the cottage, “We have a sun sensitive visitor. Take the back door.”

He caws again and zooms right over Chris’s head. There is a ruffle of feathers, followed by more cawing before the slam of an open and shut window sounds. 

Chris swallows thickly, sitting back into the couch. “So you talk to birds,” he says as a way to break the silence. 

“Yup,” you nod. 

He nods along with you, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Your attention falls on his cleanly shaved armpits, the flex of his bicep. You cross your legs and press your thighs tightly together at the thought of being caught in a headlock, or cuddling under his arm and inhaling his thick, sickly sweet scent.

“Um,” he starts, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blink at him upon meeting his gaze. There is a knowing look in his mismatched eyes, and the faintest flicker between your own and your tense thighs. But he does not comment on your suddenly rigid posture. Gesturing to his face instead, he asks, “What was the–”

“Sunburn cream,” you answer, cutting him off. “It’s called Sunveil Balm. I guess it doesn’t work on vampires.”

He tentatively nods. “And what are you?” He registers the bluntness of his question the moment it leaves his full lips, and panic floods his eyes. Quickly, he adds, “No offence. It’s just– the magic–” he cuts himself off, pointing to your hands. 

A little smile plays on your lips with a slip of a chuckle. “I’m not offended,” you reassure, shaking your head. “I’m a witch. A blood-witch.”

“What makes a blood-witch different from a witch?”

“What makes a vampire different from a demon?”

Your voice is light and teasing but your playfulness falters at the sight of his concerned features.

“I-I’m a demon?” he asks, confusion creasing between his brows. He looks so lost, you’d think he’d never seen one before. It’s as if he didn’t conjure darkness to trade his soul away. 

Perplexed yourself, you nod. “Well, yes. How did you not– No,” you shake your head with a few blinks, then look back at him, starting again, “How long have you been a vampire?”

“About eight years.”

“Eight?”

He confirms with a nod. 

What the fuck?

Now, demons are tricky and conniving. They always make a deal that falls more in their favour than their summoner’s, but they have some decorum, especially towards each other. Upon their summoner’s shift into a vampire, the demon must have visited and informed him of his new, undead state. You recall reading about countless accounts of demons shadowing their newest additions and teaching them how to hunt, run and hide in the shadows. It’s common practice.

But more than that, you wonder how a vampire of eight years would miscalculate the rise of the sun and self-inflict such terrible wounds. Given the fact that he used his last bits of strength to find shade, you have to assume it wasn’t done on purpose. But, you also have a hard time believing that he’s naive enough to not know when the sun will rise during this time of year, especially after eight years of being undead. From the few books you’ve read on vampires during your studies as an apprentice, you know that they have a biological clock, an inherent instinct to not only avoid the sun, but fear it. 

Chris, pretty eyes round and youthful face uncertain, looks like he woke up one day, never went to sleep again, and was never told why.

“Am I missing something?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” you reply. “This doesn’t make sense. How did you turn? And why were you out this late, anyway?”

He bites on the inside of his cheeks and averts his gaze. “It’s complicated.”

Furrowing your brows, you’re not sure which question that was supposed to answer. You decide to take it one step at a time, asking, “Did you want to get burned?”

“No,” he immediately replies, meeting your gaze. 

Had it not been for the firm eye contact, you might have doubted him. 

“So, what is it then?”

“It���s just…” he trails off, running a hand through his damp hair. “Complicated.”

You raise a brow, lingering your attention on his head. Recalling your thoughts about his physic earlier, you wonder if he really is a swimmer. If he perhaps ventured too far out into the sea and exhausted himself in the process. However, noting the way he nervously averts his gaze, you decide to redirect the conversation to something that’s hopefully less complicated.

“You don’t need to tell me why you summoned the demon,” you start, knowing the reason must have been dire for him to turn to the darkness for help. “I just don’t understand how you didn’t know that you, technically, are one.”

His face scrunches in concentrated confusion. He thumbs his nose and tilts his head at your words, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s been cursed or simply a pretty face. 

“I didn’t summon a demon. I just…” he trails off, averting his gaze as he searches for the best way to word his transition, “ became a vampire.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s what happened.”

“Explain the process,” you order, sitting back in your seat. “How did you know you were a vampire if no one told you?”

There is a twinge of challenge in his narrowing eyes. He flits his gaze up and down your relaxed frame and tongues his cheek. He then leans his elbows on his knees, broad shoulders now on full, flexed display under the warm glow of flickering candle lights. 

You swallow thickly and force yourself to maintain eye contact. 

“Do you always use that tone?” He suddenly asks, voice low and deep.

Barely above a whisper, you reply, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He smirks as newfound understanding glimmers in his silver eye. “That’s better,” he says before sitting back into his seat. 

You’re not sure what’s more lethal, the way he leans forward, every curve of his muscles contrasted perfectly in the shadows of the dim lights, or the way he leans back, legs spread and chest open. Both are equally as inviting, enticing you to shed your inhibitions and completely lose yourself against him. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he starts, shattering your focus on his sprawl body. “I was feeling sick for weeks. I could barely keep up with my training, and–”

“Training?”

“I was a swimmer.”

Knew it – Your eyes flicker to his shoulders for a split second.

“I was the fastest on the team. I even had a scholarship,” he says. A faint smile hovers over his plush lips at the memory. “I stopped drinking. I stopped eating. And on the day of the championship, I was terrified to leave my dorm. I nailed wood and bedsheets over my window and hid under the bed. My friends found me at one point, much later in the night, and I…” he pauses, swallowing thickly, “I attacked them.”

You remain still, expression neutral. He watches you closely, as if waiting for a gasp or blink of acknowledgement. 

“I just remember being really, really thirsty. I chased them through the courtyard until they talked me out of ripping them apart. And–” he cuts himself off with a little laugh. 

You raise your brown trying to fight off your own smile at the sweet, deep rumble emitting from his buff chest.

“Sorry, I just remembered one of my friends’ screams– Changbin. He’s a complete wimp and was squealing the whole time. You’d like him. Everyone likes him,” he explains. When you return his sweet smile, he continues, “Anyway, they talked me out of killing them, helped me hunt a rabbit, which took too fucking long for three grown men, and then made fun of me while I drank it’s blood.”

“They sound like idiots,” you joke, fighting your own laughter at the image he crafted for you. 

“They are,” he nods, voice thick with nostalgia. Then, he clears his throat and adds, “Anyway, there weren’t any demons or witches or anyone else. Just us and the internet.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “While that sounds like a terrible disaster,” you tease, much to his amusement, “that’s not really how vampires are made.”

“I wasn’t bitten either.”

“That’s misinformation,” you dismiss. “No one gets bitten to turn. Anyone who has been bitten by a vampire and survived merely experiences more drastic symptoms of rabies then dies. They are bats after all.”

Judging by the constantly confused expression on his face, you deduce he has not discovered he can turn into a bat yet. You hold off on that nugget of information for now, returning to your explanation, “Vampires are the result of humans making deals with some sort of demon. While possessions are common, demons do not want your body. They are always after your soul. Whatever remains is the demonic shift from humanity to deviance. You may still have your body, but your connection to the supernatural is your only thread to the living.”

Chris nods, sitting up in his seat. You regret to find that it doesn’t make you want to straddle him any less than before. 

 “I can understand that, I just don’t know what that has to do with me. I swear I had no reason to summon anyone from any realm or world or wherever the fuck these things come from.” His voice wavers with sincerity, eyes distressed with confusion. He takes a second to breathe in deeply, trying to ground himself, only to clench his jaw, never exhaling. “I just want my life back,” he mutters. 

Me too , you think as you gnaw on your bottom lip.

While your mother discouraged you from being yourself, and so-called friends betrayed you, there was a life back between the Mountains of Cleo that was waiting for you to reach your full potential. Working alongside the greatest witches of the century, charting stars and researching the full scope of potential power within the moon, you were on track to finally securing a position within the Arcane Court , and earning the respect of your family for once. 

You wish to return to that moment before everything had shattered around you. Work was stolen, lies were told and reputations were ruined. You never thought you'd be forced to defend yourself against people you loved, people you considered your found family. However, you did expect your biological family to believe the worst about you. 

Looking back at Chris, you notice he seems lost in his own thoughts too, gazing at the polished hardwood floors aimlessly. His explanation seems genuine and you really do believe him. He seemed to have the world at his fingertips, on the cusp of achieving all his dreams, before his life ended. 

He suddenly meets your gaze. The angle of his head blends his brown eye into the darkness, the silver one gleaming brightly in contrast. You know you should be scared, and you try to find a reason to feel that way, looking for even the faintest hint of danger. Instead, honesty greets you. If you hadn’t known he was a vampire, you would have assumed he was human from that look alone. 

“I want to help you figure out what happened,” you announce. 

Chris blinks at you. “What?”

“Vampires are made by demons,” you repeat. “If you are a vampire, then you were made. And if you didn’t bind yourself into a contract, someone else must have done so on your behalf. You could be in danger, could even be hexed. I want to help you find out what’s going on.”

His throat bobs, brows knit and he licks his lips before asking, “Why would you help me again?”

“I’m curious,” you shrug. And when his stare does not waver, you add, “And this is the longest I have spoken to someone other than a bird in the last ten years, so I might as well make the most of it before sundown.”

At that, Chris smiles. You notice he has a way of making it look so easy, that gentle, boyish smile. It’s full of intrigue and amusement and even admiration as his mismatched eyes twinkle with delicate notions of mischief. 

“I’m going to look into making another salve for some of your scars,”you say, standing from your seat. “The crows will be back with your clothes soon. You can go up to the bathroom and shower in the meantime, if you’d like I mean.”

Chris stands with you, glancing at the stairs. “Thanks,” he murmurs as if he doesn’t trust his voice. 

You ignore the heavy emotion laced in his tone, to save him the embarrassment, and continue, “It’s the third door on the right. The house will lead you.” 

As if on cue, you hear the soft echo of shutting doors and the whispering squeak of a single door opening. 

Chris’s ears twitch at the sound. He swallows thickly and gives you another nod of gratitude before heading up the stairs. You watch his back flex as he rolls his shoulders back. Now that you are going to help him, you really need to stop practically panting after him. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable in a tiny house he can’t leave for the next twelve hours. 

Letting out a heavy breath, you make your way to the kitchen and wave all your relevant books on burns, salves and blood-beings towards you. But the distant spray of the shower rattles your focus, plaguing you with images of his naked body caught between water and steam. Shaking your head, you force him out of your thoughts.

You have work to do– a purpose to finally follow.  And you won’t be deterred.

Despite the brightness of your flowy white dress, which cinches at your waist and beautifully accentuates your curves, your little cottage is a sanctuary of moody shades and warm textures. Chris surveys the polished dark wood floors, adorned with a large, red rug that captivates his attention, on his way towards the stairs. A piece of onyx fur casually drapes over the exotic rug, adding an extra layer of softness beneath his cold feet. Leafy green plants cascade from the ceiling and trail their long vines over the edges of the shelves. They bring a subtle sense of  life to the space, even in such dim lighting. The deep violet walls bring out the vivid colours of the flowers—magenta, indigo, and plum. He assumes, based on your determined personality, that each bundle of petals serves some sort of purpose. Between flickering candles, well-worn books, and vials of mysterious substances, you've crafted a harmonious blend of oak table sets and plush, comfortable seating, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels entirely your own– warm and beautiful.

As Chris enters your bathroom, he finds that it is no different. Only, instead of a cosy ambiance of lived-in comfort, you’ve created a refreshing forest oasis. Dark green tiles line the walls, casting the room in deep, earthy hues. The floor is a mosaic of midnight green and jade patterns that seem to shift with the light, an intricate dance of natural tones underfoot. From above, more plants with long, draping vines hang over the obsidian sink, suspended in delicate macrame nets that sway gently with each movement in the room. Chris’s throat dries at the swan faucet poised elegantly above the sink, its neck curved in a graceful arc. In the corner, the shower nestles like a hidden grotto, glossy tiles and rainfall shower head turning it into a misty forest retreat, with aged brass fixtures catching the light. And finally, his gaze drifts to the grand, black bear claw tub—a magnificent centrepiece that seems plucked from a woodland dream.

He swallows thickly, inhaling the subtle scents of eucalyptus and lavender. Upon his exhale, the shower head turns on. He peers around the bathroom again, wondering if the house is watching him. When only the steady spray of the shower echoes against the dimly candlelit walls, Chris rolls his shoulders back and takes a step further into the room. 

The door clicks shut on its own.

Chris shakes off his uneasiness and drops the blanket from his waist. He’s not sure why, but his hands shake as he steps under the shower. A part of him hopes to feel stark cold, just as the ocean was a couple of hours ago. But the water is…water– Chris cannot feel much of a temperature, even with litres of human blood spreading through his body. Still, the strong pressure beating down his head, shoulders and back ease the tension in his once wounded muscles. 

Suddenly, the water stings with the faintest hint of coolness. It gets colder and colder, nearly replicating the frostiness of the morning sea, before Chris realises that the house is adjusting the temperature for him.

“This is good,” he mutters, tipping his head back. 

The house slightly warms the water, silently asking if he’s sure. 

“I like it cold,” Chris reassures. A ghost of a smile hovers over his full lips. He wonders if you put the house up to this or if it is simply trying to make him feel welcome. Either way, he’s grateful for the consideration. 

Consideration . Chris ponders over the word, mulling over every syllable, every decision you’ve made while he was unconscious. You’re a witch with angelic intentions, that much seems to be clear.  But he still cannot help wondering what it was that made you consider saving him? He’s just a stranger, afterall. No, he’s a demon . And yet, you brought him into your home, created salves and offered him jars of blood. 

Why do you have stores of human blood, anyway? Is it part of your practice as a blood-witch? Do you conjure spells that include elements of blood? Or do you merely harvest litres of it like a collector of sorts?

Questions lap round and round his mind as he reaches for your honey-infused shampoo. It smells faintly of your wild, flowery scent. Chris cannot help his smirk at subtle notions of rainfall and sage amidst that lavender. With a playful smile and inquisitive, bold eyes, you are the epitome of life and purity– and you smell like it too. 

He leans into the faint scent as he lathers his seasalt drenched hair with the silky, sweet soap. After rinsing the suds out, he grabs the matching conditioner and finds it is heavily imprinted with your scent. Perhaps you use it more often, or in larger quantities than the shampoo, but Chris is not all that curious why. He continues to lean into it, moaning softly as he combs it through his slightly curled strands. 

You’re incredibly enchanting, and Chris wonders if you’re aware of that. From the sway of your hips to the glint of intrigue in your alluring gaze, you are a vision of beauty. You radiate confidence, even when you’re perplexed and unsure. You stand in your own light, take control of a room and demand answers. Had Chris met you in college, between frat parties or music classes, he is certain he would have pursued you. Bossy, bratty, brazen, you command attention within a few words and a firm tone. And when he tested your limits, correcting your ordering tone with him in the living room, and you yielded to his tug of power, he swears his cock twitched. 

Maybe eight years of solitude has made him desperate, or the near-death experience has renewed his connection to the living, but Chris cannot deny that he wants you. He scrubs his body now and imagines your hands over his chest, along the width of his shoulders and trailing down his arms. He imagines your face inches from his and your warm breath fanning over his lips. He imagines your naked body, smirking when he recalls the way your gaze lingered over his in the kitchen. 

Do you like him too? Is that the real reason why you’re helping him?

A series of gentle taps rap at the door. 

Chris snaps his attention to the black wood. He focuses his enhanced hearing, hoping to pick up your heartbeat in the hall. Instead, a pair of rapid pumps and fluttering wings greet him. He assumes it’s the crows with his clothes and quickly rinses away the soap. 

The water shuts off as he steps back out into the bathroom. A soft, grey towel hovers in front of him. 

Chris smiles at the ceiling. “Thanks,” he says, accepting the towel and wrapping it around his waist. As he makes his way to the door, another smaller towel gently lands on his head. Chris chuckles and ruffles the soft cotton through his clean hair. 

The door opens for him as he approaches it. 

I can get used to this . 

His clothes lay in a pile on the floor, wet and littered with sand. Looking up at the house, Chris asks, “Um, can you do me a quick favour?” 

The candles momentarily shine brighter in reply. 

Chris bites his lip. He glances back at the shower, realising that the house has already done so much for him. He might be pushing his luck with another request. But then the lights shine again, as if reassuring him that it’s okay to ask for more. 

Throat bobbing, Chris asks, “Could you help me clean my clothes?” 

A wicker basket emerges from a door down the hall. It hops over to Chris from side to side, in a manner he can only describe as gleeful. Once in front of him, it shakes as though it is asking him to drop his clothes into the hamper. Chris tentatively bends down and tosses the sandy clothes in. The basket returns to its spot, disappearing behind its door, cheerful and almost giddy. 

Chris smiles to himself. The house must have your personality, or perhaps just aspects of it– playful, helpful, thoughtful. You bleed into every crevice of the warm cottage and Chris, for the first time since turning, is delighted. 

A quiet chirp from the crows pulls his attention back to them. They caw a couple more times before flying over to the edge of the stairs. 

Chris wonders if they are asking him to follow them, looking between them and the cold bathroom behind him. 

They caw again, hopping in place. 

He glances down at his towel and raises a brow. “I’m not really–” he starts, only for the crows to cut him off. 

One of them, Poe perhaps, lets out a long, almost exasperated squawk that leaves no room for refusal.

With a roll of his eyes, Chris follows after the birds. “Alright, alright,” he sighs. “Stop nagging me.”

The crows fly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Chris takes his time, following the scent of wild lavender and sage. He barely makes it to the archway when he sees your dress flowing around you with every step around the kitchen.

You’ve pulled your hair up, neck on full display. Moving around the dark kitchen, you trade your attention between a hovering book and your breakfast on the stove, all while sneaking sips from your steaming cup of tea. Chris detects notes of chai, cinnamon and anise stars amongst hearty eggs, and fresh tomatoes and chives. 

It takes you a minute, but you soon notice his tall figure entering the small space. Your eyes don’t remain on his for too long before trailing down his chest and lingering around his waist. He’s starting to realise that you seem to have a habit of that and it doesn’t bother him at all. If anything, he finds himself puffing out his chest and tightening the tension around his stomach under your watchful gaze. 

“They haven’t returned with your clothes?” 

Fuck, that voice– light, airy and sweet. Chris averts his gaze and bites on the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan. 

Clearing his throat, he replies,“No, they did. They’re just dirty. The house is cleaning them for me.”

You flash him a knowing smile and Chris swears his breath would hitch if he would breathe. “Yeah, it likes feeling useful,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your tea. You then nod at one of the indigo stools before your gleaming marble-topped island in the centre of the kitchen. 

Chris takes a seat, ensuring his towel stays put as he adjusts it around his spreading legs. As you turn back to your black iron stove, Chris takes a moment to really take in the kitchen. 

With deep crimson walls that cradle the space in a comforting embrace, the space excludes warmth. The soft candlelights that hover above cast playful shadows on the deep charcoal countertops, almost mirroring the crackle and pop of the hearth in the living room. Hanging between the candles are clusters of copper pots and pans, adding notions of rustic charm. Chris then realises that this might be the first room in the cottage without plants dangling from the ceiling or over surfaces. Instead, the shelves are lined with jars of spices and herbs and… body parts. He catches pickled eyeballs, dusty toes, fingers–some with matted fur–, and about three cases of teeth. 

“They were donated,” you clarify. 

Chris blinks his attention back to you, finding a guilty smile playing on your lips. 

“Well,” you start again, “ Most of it was donated.”

He teasingly raises his brows at you, suppressing his own smile. “I suppose that makes it okay then,” he jokes, subtly testing your boundaries again. 

There is a flicker of surprised intrigue in your gaze. “It seemed okay when it was saving your life,” you shoot back with the same level of teasing wit. 

Chris cannot help the excitement in his chest. Do you know how exhilarating you are? Is that why you keep staring at him with those enchantingly mischievous eyes?

He bites his lip, conceding to your wit. “Learn anything new,” he asks, nodding to the levitating book.  

You plate your breakfast with a sigh. The stove shuts off on its own as you round the island and take a seat next to him. Chris stiffen, adjusting his towel around his crotch. The once floating book rests on the countertop between the both of you. 

“See for yourself,” you reply before eating.

Chris notes the title: Origins of Vampires, Bloodsuckers, and Incubi , then scans the first few paragraphs. Besides accounts for the first sighting of vampires and the fact that they are apparently extremely lustful beings, it does not inform Chris of anything he does not already know from you. A deal needs to be made with the devil, his soul must have had to be traded as payment, and his body begins to reject all things human.

Furrowing his brows and sucking in his cheeks with a little hiss, Chris shifts forward in his seat to get a better look at the book. There is an extremely long passage about consistent erections, and the next page is filled with a list of the best hideouts to escape the sun during the day.  Chris is more concerned with the inconsistency of the author than the fact that he has yet to get an erection since he turned years ago.

“Nothing new,” you finally reply after a few bites of your food. “Nothing useful either.”

“May I?” Chris asks, reaching for the edge of the page. 

He flips the page when you nod. The list of hideouts takes up the next three pages and Chris resists the urge to roll his eyes. Information about vampiric cycles, peak slumber and feasting times, and tips on how to hunt fill the remaining pages on vampires before moving onto bloodsuckers and incubi. Again, the information is not anything Chris is not already aware of from the sheer experience of being undead for nearly a decade. He knows that around noon, his body tends to shut down and he seeks the darkest, coldest part of the basement to lay still and close his eyes. He’s not exactly asleep but he’s also not exactly awake either. The stuff about peak feasting times does not really apply to him. Just like when he was human, Chris is always hungry and ready to consume something. 

With a heavy sigh, he shuts the book. “That was a waste of time,” he mumbles as you finish your breakfast. 

You wave your empty plate and cup off to the sink, then shrug at him. “Well, we now know this book is useless,” you say, voice light with hope. “We can cross it off our list.” 

Chris raises a brow. “How many more books are on this list of yours?”

Your gaze is shifty and Chris starts to get nervous. He murmurs your name carefully, merely trying to get you to be honest, but then he notices the way you tremble at the sound of his low, deep voice. He can’t help the smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Cold?” he teases before he can stop himself.

Your eyes meet his with careful conviction. You lick your lips, as if debating how sharp your response should be. Attention flitting down to his chest momentarily, you finally reply, “Not at all.” 

With that, you wave off the useless book and summon two more. One is for salves and creams, the other is an encyclopaedia of vampiric traits and rituals. It sounds just as useless as the last one but if it’s on your list, Chris is willing to indulge. 

“You can get started on this,” you push the encyclopaedia towards him, “while I look into treating those scars.” 

“I don’t mind the scars,” he shrugs. “They kinda make me feel human.”

When you meet his eyes this time, your gaze is not filled with caution or calculated intrigue, instead they round with empathy. The sincere reaction triggers another pressing question Chris cannot seem to shake.

 “Why are you here?” 

Your face folds in confusion. “What?”

“You’re here on this haunted island all alone. Why? Don’t you have a coven or something?”

You pause for longer than usual and Chris worries if he used the wrong term, or perhaps merely asked a more personal question than you’re willing to answer. 

But then you clear your throat and adjust your posture in your seat. Staring down at the counter, you let out a heavy sigh and say, “I did and now I don’t.” Again, you take a beat lick your lips. “I wasn’t wanted there, so I needed to go.”

Chris scoffs. He doesn’t register the bluntness of his gestures until you glare at him.

“Have something to add?” you question, that usually sweet voice of yours now sharpened. 

It really shouldn’t but the sharpness makes his body buzz with excitement. Chris is fascinated by your darker edges. They contrast so beautifully against your usual lightness, enchanting him with supple seduction. 

“I think that’s bullshit,” he replies. 

“I think the fact that you just so happened to lose track of time is bullshit,” you remark. “But I have the common courtesy to keep my rude opinions to myself.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” Chris can’t help but tease. “But I was referring to the fact that you would ever be unwanted. If you weren’t such a little…” Chris trails off just to watch your nostrils flare and smirks, “ witch , you would have known that.”

A flicker of regret flashes in your gaze, but it doesn’t take long to harden again with a clench of your jaw.

“Maybe you should’ve added that sooner.”

“Maybe you should’ve given me the chance to.”

“How is any of this my fault?” you ask, voice still irritated but a chuckle manages to slip past your sweet lips. 

Chris smiles at the girly sound, suddenly feeling… warm?  

“I never said it was,” he answers. He keeps his voice tempered and gentle, watching as you bite your lip again. 

There is a shift in the air. Chris catches the sudden thickness of your scent, the newfound depth it carries and you shift in your seat again. Furrowing his brows, he leans forward to hold your gaze and asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, yet shoot up from your seat. You push that book towards him again and point to the living room. “The house made you a little nook by the fire. Try reading as much as you can. The sooner we find out about you, the sooner you can return home.” Your voice sounds as sweet as it normally does, but carries a certain weight to it. Chris has trouble placing it as you continue, “If you get thirsty or need anything else, just ask the house. It’s happiest when it can provide.”

Inhaling sharply, Chris collects the book and stands. He holds his towel in place with his other hand, the same way he did with the blanket not too long ago, and starts to make his way to the living room. When he gets to the archway, he pauses to glance over his shoulder.

You’re still watching him, captivated by the broadness of his back. 

“I think the house takes after you,” he says, turning to face you. “You seem content providing as well. So, I really can’t imagine anyone not wanting you around.”

You shift your weight and clench your jaw. With a thick swallow, you shake your head. “You don’t know me,” you mutter, face contorting with shame.

“And you don’t know me,” he shrugs. “But here we are, a vampire and a blood-witch. Is that a common pair amongst the supernatural?”

You shake your head. 

Chris smiles. “And yet you saved me. And you continue to help me. And I might not know you the way the house or crows do,” he chuckles, watching a smile play on your lips, “but I know that I can comfortably go into the next room and not have to worry about you suddenly opening the window and burning me alive. And I think that’s a good sign when you’re getting to know someone, yeah?”

With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. Chris does his best to ignore the way they press together and jut out. “Your bar is way too low for strangers, Christopher.”

He tongues his cheek. “ Chris ,” he corrects. 

A mischievous smile spreads across your soft features and Chris wonders if he may have given you some ammunition to tease him later.

“Happy reading, Chris ,” you say. 

The way you emphasise his name almost makes him shiver. 

“Happy conjuring, little witch.”

A renewed sense of pride blooms in his still chest at the way you shyly avert your gaze upon hearing your new nickname. Chris thinks it has a nice ring to it, and you look absolutely adorable when you’re flustered. He allows himself one last once over of your curves, then pulls himself towards the living room.

True to your words, the house has provided a long, wide chaise of midnight blue velvet. It sits before the fireplace with a soft amber blanket draped over the back. Chris settles into the plush cushions, sinking into comfort and props his feet up. He throws the blanket over his waist to replace his towel and asks the house to dim the fire. 

Flipping open the book, Chris starts to learn more about himself, pushing every tempting thought of you out of his mind.

Two weeks go by in a blur and you find that you are no less infatuated by Chris than when you first met him.

 He has such an easy way about him, smiling effortlessly. His eyes are still mismatched as if the sun had burned the vampiric silver of his left iris into his retina. No amount of blood has reversed the damage. However, you don’t mind. In fact, you find yourself feeling relieved when his eyes remain the same pair of brown and grey every time he takes a sip of animal blood. You like the twinkle of mischief that seems to glow so brightly amongst the two colours. Its allure is deliciously dangerous with promises of subtle destruction. You especially enjoy how they squint when he laughs or smiles with his white teeth, still gleaming with joy and lightness. 

You’ve gotten used to his presence, and you think that maybe he has gotten used to yours too. Just two nights ago, he finally told you why he was out so late the night you met. You instantly empathised with him, knowing all too well how powerful the yearning for connection can be. It’s the reason you promised to help again, desperate for a semblance of real, tangible interactions too. 

“And your parents?” you asked, after he told you all about how he hides out in his friends’ basements. “Do they know?”

His jaw set. “They think I died,” he sighs. “Well, they think I’m missing, but it’s been eight years and they bought a headstone so…”

Regret tightened in your chest. “I’m so–”

“My little brother took my old room,” he continued, cutting you off . “I snuck in one night, just to… see, I guess? He still has some of my stuff there, all dusty and untouched. He’s so big now, almost as tall as me,” he chuckled, a small smile settling on his lips. “He plays baseball though. I don’t think I’ve seen any of them go near a swimming pool in years. ”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You wanted to just swallow your previous words, the regret of mentioning his parents wrapping tighter around your heart. 

“My mum saw me once,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. A muted sadness greets you, but his little smile remains on those pink-stained lips. “She was bringing groceries in one night and caught me staring behind some tree. She dropped the bag and called out to my dad. I ran before either of them could see me again,” he paused to swallow.“ I still can’t get the sound of her sobs out of my head.”

You blink the memory away, pulling your dusky plum coloured comforter up to your chin. A part of you wishes you had asked him why he never went back to his parents or let them believe he’d gone missing. Clearly, the thought of them moving on without him still weighs heavy on his heart. But you couldn’t find your word at the time, blinking back tears as he hung his head and spoke so quietly. Besides, you are sure, based on his caring, selfless personality, he likely thought he was doing them a favour by shielding them from his new reality. He was practically brimming with self hatred when you met. 

And you realised, in that vulnerable moment, it was never about feeling the sun or the cold or even the sensation of swimming again. It has always been about being human . Chris craves his humanity more than he values his life. You both know that he was well aware of when the sun would rise, that he fought through his inherent fear of it for the chance to feel near-human again. He even keeps his remaining sun-scars and winks his mismatched eyes because they are consequences of feeling that pain. And as you read more and more about vampires together, the hindrance of potentially accessing his full abilities does not surprise you. To his core, Chris is human, so he is constantly rejecting his vampiric turn. 

That realisation shifted your focus last night. You moved from books about vampires to those about demons. Flipping through pages and pages of information, you found multiple passages about soul-trading. You discovered that some demons demand pure souls in addition to the ones they have already swindled from their summors. This detail, likely lost in the fine-print of most deals, implements a vampiric gene into the summors’ genetics. The variant remains dormant, passing through the bloodline until it finally finds a pure soul to claim.

Chris still can’t believe that one of his ancestors would stoop so low, but you find that reaction in itself is just another testament of his purity.

Smiling to yourself at the thought of him, you stare at your star-speckled ceiling. You enchanted it to reflect the night sky on your first night at Crow’s Nest . Actually, you had enchanted the ceiling of the living room, having slept down there until you were able to slowly build your little cottage and refine your new sanctuary. You were terrified of being found and snatched back for sentencing by the Arcane Court. You’re well aware that blood-witches don’t simply break blood bonds and live to tell the tale. You remember using whatever magic you had at the time to unshackle yourself from the bounds of your coven, hop on your broom with your life magically crammed into a knapsack, and escape into the same dark night.

And as you lie here now, sinking into your silky sheets, you find that staring at a shimmering night sky can still ease your nerves all the same. You try to identify constellations and search for the moon between the clouds. You curse under your breath when you finally catch a glimpse of its glow– waxing gibbous . 

Tomorrow is the full moon. 

You let out a shaky breath, attempting to get lost in the stars again, but it’s no use. All you can think about is that damned elixir. 

“I found something,” you muttered to Chris.

He laid in his little nook by the dimmed fire, one hand clutching a book and the other folded behind his head. Peering over at you, a little smirk tugs on his lips. “A new blood recipe?” he asked, knowing you have been testing out some new blends of spices in his blood. 

You shake your head and reply, “A solution . ”

You feel your skin grow hot from the memory of having to explain to him what this solution entails.

At its core, it is simply a recipe for vampiric vitality. And after hearing about his parents and how they have tried to move on from losing him, how he had tried to move on, you remember feeling hopeful. Maybe this could be the key to reclaim his life, to possibly see them again without shame.

However, the summary still gives you pause. It reads:

“The Elixir of the Damned is a rare, potent potion crafted to primarily shield vampires, and other sun-sensitive creatures, from the deadly effects of daylight. By harnessing the mystical properties of a blood-witch's full-moon blood, the elixir enables these creatures to walk under the sun without harm, preserving their strength and powers. Beyond sunlight protection, the elixir grants a surge of energy, reduces the need for frequent feeding, shortens sleep cycles, and reverses their natural nocturnal schedule.

The thick, midnight violet elixir is a luminescent liquid concoction of moonlight essence, ground sage, sunroot and the dust of two diamonds: obsidian and sunstone. The mixture must be thoroughly stirred and refrigerated for a minimum of twelve hours before use. Upon a full-moon, the elixir must be mixed with the menstrual blood of a blood-witch and consumed immediately. For best results, pour and harvest the menstrual blood directly from the source.���

You have the stupid thing memorised, having read it countless times, before finally telling Chris. Though he can’t breathe, you’re certain his breath hitched at the explanation. You remember parting your lips to further explain when he suddenly agreed. 

“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” he argued. “I’m willing to keep it strictly professional if you are.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you found yourself replying. “I can do the same.”

And yet you lay here, naked and squirming at the thought of his mouth between your legs because he insisted, and you quote, “If we’re gonna do it, we might as well do it right.”

Do me right , you wanted to reply. Just bend me over the couch and do me right now . 

Instead, you continuously agree and nod and pretend that your arousal isn’t sticking between your thighs as your clit throbs for attention. 

You cup your crotch now, unable to take it anymore. He’s fucking hot– so fucking hot . You have been trying not to stare but he wears these tight tank tops that showcase his muscular arms all the fucking time. You mentally curse his stupid friends for sending such revealing clothes through the crows. He sent them a letter with Poe a day after you agreed to help them and you wonder if he specifically requested these pieces or if this is his usual style. 

Either way, you cannot stop staring. Every ridge and crevices of his buff chest and toned stomach is outlined, completely captivating your attention. You are constantly trying to maintain eye contact, but even that feels too much sometimes. He is always teasing and joking with you, gazing at you with such consuming warmth, you cannot help but feel hot . 

A little gasp escapes you as you spread your legs and drench your fingers with your arousal. Sticky, wet, you need him. Maybe it’s been too long without a good fuck, or you are simply obsessed, but it really doesn’t matter. You need a release right now or you might not make it through the night. 

You start slow, rubbing circles over your needy clit. It doesn’t take long for you to overheat, however. So you pause your movements to shove your blanket off.  Now fully naked and exposed to your cold room, you return your hand between your legs. 

A wet squelching sounds as you rub and rub your fingers round and round. You test out rhythms, squirming under your desperate touch–slow–fast–slow–fast, and bite back a whimper. 

What would Chris do, you cannot help wondering. 

Administering featherlight touches, you know he’d play with you to start. He’d keep his pressure light and quick, wanting to watch you chase after his hand after every fleeting touch. Then, you push down harshly on your clit and bite into your lip harder to hold back a moan. You just know he’d be rough too, forcefully pressing down until he hears you whine his name. 

“Chris,” you let yourself whisper. “Right there, baby.”

A quiet moan slips out with your words and you’re not completely mad about it. It was silent enough and you’re certain he’s too busy sipping on the warmed seven herb spiced blood you left out for him to pay much attention to you right now. 

As much as you enjoy imagining him playing with you, you cannot stand the anticipation anymore. Your needy hole clenches repeatedly, aching to be filled. You shakily gasp and decide to fully give into your desire. Grabbing your wand, you place the handle against your clit and will it to vibrate. You use your other hand to finger yourself, shoving three ambitious digits in. 

“ Oh!”  

You bite your lip, panic sprouting in your chest at the sudden spike in volume. Glancing at the door, you’re relieved to find it still shut. You lay back against your pillow and pick up your pace. He’d be unforgiving. He’d be rough and reckless.

Your body trembles at the thought. 

“Chris,” you whisper into the room. “Please don’t stop fucking me like that.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you imagine him leering over you, smirking and groaning. You imagine his strong frame ramming into you, his relentless grip keeping you in place. Would he want you to hold his gaze? Or would he bury his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and nibble on?

The pleasure only increases. You tense up. The vibrations rumbling from the hilt of your mahogany wand intensifies. Your fingers eagerly move in and out, tight walls closing in on them. 

“ You’re gonna make me cum,” you mutter, breathless and whiny. 

Cum for me , baby , a whisper of a voice orders. Be a good little witch and cum all over my fingers .

The sound is so deep and husky, but also murmurous and hazy. If you had time to focus on it, you wouldn’t have automatically assumed it was internal and perhaps investigated. But the constant pleasure is all too consuming. Working you closer and closer to your release, you cannot register the source of any sound besides that of your fast fingers and vibrating wand.

That pretty pussy looks so delicious . 

Your orgasm catches you off guard, suddenly rippling through you. You squeal lifting your head from your pillow to almost hunch inwards and cum. 

“Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris,” you whisper between whimpers and you rapidly draw every last surge of arousal out. “Oh my god ,” you heave, tossing your wand aside. The stimulation is nearly agonising when paired with your still moving fingers. 

After a few more thrusts, you lay back into your bed, heaving. Your hand slides out and up towards your clit. A single brush of contact makes your body tremble. You retract your hand all together, swallowing a moan. Your legs come together, eyes droop from exhaustion and fatigue. 

You have no idea how you’re going to remain “professional” tomorrow. The sheer thought of him down there coaxed one of your most powerful orgasms. How will you be able to keep your moans at bay, or your body from rolling into his mouth? 

Click.

You snap your attention to your door. It’s shut. Holding your breath, you try to listen for footsteps. When that proves useless, you squint at the gap between the door and floor for movements of shadow. Still, silent, the hallway is empty. 

With a shake of your head, you rest back into your pillow and wave yourself clean. You then tug your comforter back over your spent body and shut your eyes. You just need to get through tomorrow. Once the elixir and ritual is complete, he can return home and you won’t have to see him until your next cycle. 

Chris stands in your room, arms crossed over his chest. It looks warmer under candlelights than it did last night beneath glimmering stars. Unlike the darkness of the bathroom, or warmth of the living room and kitchen, your room is a collection of cool tones, invoking quiet serenity. The walls are a hazy blue, trimmed with crown moulding around the baseboards and ceiling. One wall of the room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books, plants and a plethora of magical objects, like stones, crystal balls, and the occasional skull. A chestnut vanity, large wardrobe and oval mirror sit on his left side by an open window. Sheer violet curtains dance with the gentle wind. 

Underfoot, a thick, handknitted rug of pewter, amethyst and onyx yarn stretches over polished, dark walnut floors. Chris curls his toes into it, attempting to ground himself, as his eyes follow you towards your four-poster bed. It must be a queen– rather fitting for you– since it takes up a substantial amount of space in the centre of the room. The gauzy mauve curtains surrounding your bed part as you approach it. Your matching greyish-plum comforter pulls back, as if welcoming you to silky starlight silver sheets. You wave it back into place then turn to him.  

“It’s almost time,” you say. 

The slight tremor in your voice draws Chris back to the events he witnessed last night. You keep talking now, gesturing to your bed with one hand, while clutching onto the small vial of a deep, inky violet elixir in the other. He sees your pretty mouth moving, but does not register your words. All he hears are your delicate, fragile moans. 

Chris didn’t mean to linger or leer last night. He doesn’t usually go to the second floor when you go to bed, not wanting to disturb you. But he had just come back from collecting some ingredients for the elixir around the island, heard you calling his name and got curious. Once he realised what you were doing, he just couldn’t tear himself away. He remembers the way you squirmed and begged. He remembers the way you worked your fingers in and out of your perfect, needy pussy. He remembers how you held your wand, the one laying on your nightstand right now, and wonders how often you use it for that purpose. How often do you use it thinking about him ?

“Did you hear me?” you ask.

Chris’s eyes widen. “What?”

You tilt your head and give him a serious look. “Chris, do you still want to do this?” 

“Of course.”

“Listen, if you’re having second thoug–”

Chris quickly cuts you off with an urgent shake of his head. “No, no, I want this,” he quickly reassures. The eagerness of his statement dawns on him the moment the words leave his lips. Chris immediately tries to save himself from further embarrassment, adding,  “I want to feel normal again.”

You nod, inhaling deeply.

Chris’s attention flickers down to your full chest, watching it rise under your silky black robe then fall as you exhale. He meant to meet your gaze again, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking in your frame. From the curves of your waist to the roundness of your stomach and thickness of your thighs, you are a vision of temptation. 

Your fingers trace the ribbon of your robe, drawing his focus back to your face. You bite on your lips, nervous eyes peering at him cautiously. 

“Are you okay with this?” Chris asks. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”

You swallow thickly. “I want you to feel normal too,” you replied, lips slighting relaxing into a soft smile. “It’s not about changing my mind. I just…” you trail off with a sigh. 

Chris remains silent, giving you the space to collect your thoughts. 

Rolling your shoulders back, you hold his gaze and confess,“I just haven’t been naked in front of someone else in a really long time.”

One of the things Chris has come to find so admirable about you is how unapologetically honest you are about yourself. You do not mince words or circle difficult topics. You stand your ground and say what you mean, uttering every syllable like you are reciting a declaration of love, sincere and unwavering. He catches the way you fist your hands to keep them from trembling and he finds that defiance all the more endearing. 

He tries to bite back a smile at how strong and cute you’re being. Fuck, he’s wholeheartly ready to devour you and show you just how wonderful you are. 

Without another word, he tugs the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He can’t help smirking when you gasp at his bare chest. He’s caught you staring enough time to know you like what you see. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulls them down with his briefs and steps out of them, fully naked in front of you. 

“Now, you’re not alone,” he smiles. 

Eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, you slowly drag your gaze down his frame. You shift your weight and he catches the way your legs press tightly together. The image of them spread and glistening with your arousal flashes between blinks. 

You take another deep breath then untie the knot of your robe. The delicate silk slips off your shoulders, revealing the epitome of supple seduction and plump perfection. 

Chris, already salivating, swallows. Your gaze trails back down to his crotch and he’s certain you are seeing exactly how he truly feels. His cock hardened last night the moment he saw you all needy and whiny. He tried to jerk himself off, hoping to soften again but failed– even after cumming three times.

“Does it bother you?” He gently asks, not moving to hide his erection yet. 

You shake your head. 

“I can put something back on if it does,” he tries again, wanting to be sure you know he is not ashamed of his desire. You’re incredibly hot and you must know it too with the way you constantly tease him with low-cut, form-fitting dresses. It’s partially why he asked Jisung to send him tank-tops and sweatpants when crafting a letter for Poe to send. 

“It’s fine, Chris,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches at the memory of your whiny voice saying his name. 

A little smile plays on your lips as you toss him half a shrug and add, “It was bound to happen at some point tonight. Might as well get over the awkwardness now.”

Chris glares, but the smirk on his face does not hint towards conviction. “Oh, yeah? Get this kinda reaction often, little witch?” 

You bite your lip then teasingly quirk a brow. “Why,” you shoot back. “Jealous?”

He tongues his cheek. “I just wanna know how many members are part of your little fan club.”

You turn towards the bed, displaying your round rear, and reply, “There’s room for one more.”

Chirs suppresses a groan. He tightens his jaw and follows after you. As you lie back into your propped, plush pillows, Chris meets your eyes. All notions of uncertainty have been replaced by carefree mischief. He sits on his knees in front of your legs and offers a small smile. 

“I already recited the spell,” you say, holding out the vial. “All you have to do now is pour it over me and… harvest the blood.”

Chris takes the tiny glass bottle, nodding. “If you ever need me to stop–” he starts, only for you to cut him off with the spread of your legs. 

A richer, more musky aroma of your usual rainwater, sage and wild lavender scent instantly overwhelms his senses. Laced with your menstrual blood, it evokes the earthiness of damp soil and the sweetness of blooming flowers. 

His jaw goes slack, eyes darkening. He can feel his fangs poke out and involuntarily takes a long, slow breath. His lungs do not work, heart still and cold, but he swears he feels them filling from the sheer smell of you. 

Your soft voice cuts through his primal desires, as you whisper,“I trust you.”

With that, Chris uncorks the vial. His free hand settles on your thigh. He smiles to himself at the softness, having only imagined the feeling of it for the last two weeks. He knew you’d feel so delicate, rubbing his hand up and down your warm skin. 

He looks back at you and meets your confident gaze with a little nod, confirming that he’s ready too. Then, he brings the tiny glass bottle to your blood-glistening lips and pours the elixir. It looks a lot like violet-coloured lube and feels that way too as he uses his thumb to rub it around your pussy. 

Your hips stiffen, core clenches at the sudden sensation and Chris darts his attention up to your face again, concerned. However, tentative notions of pleasure greet him. Your brows furrows, and eyes flicker with shy delight. You bite your lip, and that’s when Chris catches the rapid pounding of your heart. 

As he continues to rub the elixir over your clit then drag it down to circle your needy hole, Chris wonders if this is what you imagined him doing to you last night. 

“I think it’s good now,” you say, voice wavering. “We don’t have all night, you know?”

Chris smirks at your little joke. You have a tendency to be rather bossy and he’s been trying to subtly reign in your sassiness with challenging looks and sharper words every now and again. But then you go and test his patience with shit like this– speaking to him like he works for you. It excites and enrages him all at once. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be taking that tone with me, little witch,” he warns, applying pressure with his thumb against your clit. 

Your breath hitches before you clamp a hand to your mouth. 

Chris stifles his laughter. You’re a good girl down to your core. You just need the right person to remind you of that sometimes. 

Now that you are behaving, Chris lowers himself towards your delicious pussy. You smell divine, leaking of blood and drenched in the glow of the elixir. He cannot hold back any longer upon another strong whiff. Tongue flat, he drags it between your lips with a deep, full-chested groan. He repeats the slow action again and again, lowering himself further against the bed until he’s lying down on his stomach. 

He pulls back to loop his arms under your thighs. Pulling the top part of your pussy up, he dives back in. You taste like the ocean breeze on a sweltering summer day, purely refreshing. His tongue circles around your lips and clit, gathering all the leaked blood, which adds a metalicy sweetness to your arousal. A part of him wishes he was able to taste you without the juicy influence of the elixir, wondering how the flavour of your blood would change. 

Chris tongues the entrance of your hole, hoping to ease you into the–what did you call it?– harvest?  

However, upon the first real sip of your menstrual blood, something profoundly primal snaps in the depths of his chest. Unbound by his inhibitions, he growls against your core and shoves his long, wet tongue deep into you. 

A tiny whimper cuts through the loud sound of his slurps, but Chris pays it no mind. He laps and laps tongue-fulls of your blood, swallowing with eager delight. His fingers press into your soft skin, still Chris does not worry about bruising you. Instead, he shakes his head and lets out a series of pleased groans. 

Your hips roll into his mouth and he welcomes the gesture with another slurp of your blood. He can feel the magical substance rush through his body, warming his once cold skin. Every swallow fills another organ and Chris is addicted to that rush of awakening nerves. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, shoving his face further into your sex. Legs wrapping around his head, Chris is only just realising that you’ve been whining and moaning this entire time. He focuses his enhanced hearing on your fragile voice, humming approving groans. 

“Give it to me just like that,” you whimper. “Please, please , Chris.”

Again with those little demands , Chris thinks. At least you remembered to say please this time. 

A mixture of your arousal and blood pools at your entrance, drawing Chris back to his task. His vampiric senses igniting all over again, he does not attempt to hold back. In and out, he shoves his tongue between your tightening walls, gathering as much blood as he can. 

But, it’s not enough. His tongue is only collecting sips. Chris needs gulps . 

He adjusts his grip on your hips, now pressing you firmly into the mattress and latches his lips over your entrance. With a deep breath, Chris begins to suck. He suctions his mouth and siphones your blood out. He swallows mouthfuls of elixir tainted blood and arousal, mismatched eyes rolling back at the satisfaction of such unholy hunger. 

The more he draws, the darker you taste. Chris cannot describe it well, but he thinks it’s the taste of magic, fizzing on his tongue like sparkling water.

“ Oh, fuck ,” you cry, voice breaking as you cum.

A hint of lightness settles on his tongue upon sucking out your orgasm as well. Chris moans in delight, gulping down two more mouthfuls before finally pulling away with a wet pop .

Your legs are hyper-extended, trembling over his shoulders.

Chris glances up at you, curious to see if you’ll own the fact that you just came on his face or if you’ll get all shy and bashful. Your pleased features are laced with exhaustion as you pant. Tired eyes meeting his lustful ones, you quirk a brow. Chris licks his lips, taking the gesture as a silent question of if he is satisfied. 

Physically, Chris is full. He is not sure he can down even the tiniest of sips. Sexually, however, he is just getting started.

“You alright?” he asks, sitting himself up on his knees again. 

You nod, but Chris shakes his head. You know better than to respond like that , he thinks. 

“Talk to me, baby.”

The term of endearment was not intentional, but Chris also does not hate the way it sounds. It slipped out last night too as he talked you through your orgasm. He can tell from the way your lips part and eyes slightly widen that you’re waiting for him to correct himself, but he refuses to. Instead, he holds your eyes without a notion of panic or regret. 

“I’m okay,” you finally mutter between heavy breaths. “I…” you hesitate, attention flickering down to his crotch momentarily. “I need more.”

Chris smirks. “What do you say?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Your lips quiver, desperation seeping into your gaze. “Please fuck me, Chris. No– don’t look at me like that. I know you want this too.”

Chris was trying to hide his smug smile, but upon your demand, he lets it take over his features. You’re a fucking brat, and he has extended the last of his generous patience. Before he can think twice, Chris smacks your sensitive pussy. 

“When,” he smacks it again, “are you,” smack , “going to fucking” smack , “learn?”

Your hips jolt up with every hit, moans trembling as they tumble from your beautiful lips. Your face is a crumpled mess of pleasure and pain, desperate eyes boring into his.

Cupping you with one hand and harshly rubbing, Chris places his other by your head and hovers over your shaking body. “Listen to me, little witch,” he whispers, nudging his bloody nose against yours. “If you talk to me like that again, like I’m your little pet , I will fuck you even after the sun comes up, do you understand?”

You nod eagerly. 

Chris tightens his grip on your crotch, baring his teeth with an annoyed growl. “Use your fucking words,” he orders. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, voice quiet and meek. 

The little whimpers you subsequently let out don’t do much to ease the throb of his cock. In fact, they only intensify it. You sound like wounded prey and he’s tired of fighting against his instincts. He’s been stifling the beast inside for the last eight years, filling himself with self-loathing instead. He’s done hating the power, fully embracing his new supernatural form. 

Releasing his hold on your crotch, Chris immediately aligns and shoves himself between your walls. A loud hiss escapes his blood-dripping lips, fangs on full display, at the tight pressure around him. Fuck, if he hadn’t seen you skillfully fingering yourself last night, he would have believed you were a virgin.

You moan with him, clutching on his shoulders. “Oh, god ,” you groan, enchanting eyes fluttering shut. “ Fuck, fuck– Chris, you’re h-huge. What the actual fuck?”

Chris’s previously irritated resolve wavers upon your squealing voice. He pauses his shallow thrusts to give you time to adjust. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat as your nails dig into his warming flesh. “I-I know you need this too.”

Shifting down to his forearms, Chris buries his face in the crook of your neck, and fondly inhales your scent. “Don’t be sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I waited two weeks for this. Another minute won’t make a difference.”

You let out a breathless giggle, wrapping your arms around his head. A delighted hum sounds from your lips and Chris feels the vibrations of it against his face. He smiles to himself before licking and kissing your delicate skin. 

Your heart is beating so fast. He can feel the thumping pounds against his tongue and can’t help but chuckle. Your skin suddenly grows hot and he realises he has embarrassed you. Yet, instead of pushing him off, you clench tighter around him. 

“Please don’t laugh at me,” you whine. 

Chris smirks at your tone and wording, glad to see you’re finally following his orders. Still, he decides to test it again, wondering if it’s just a fluke. 

“I’m not laughing at you, little witch,” he lies.

Instead of calling him out, you remain silent.

Chris pulls back to gauge your features. Though pouting, you refrain from glaring at him too hard. Filled with pride, Chris kisses your cheek, down to your jaw then up to your chin again. 

“Good girl,” he mutters once his lips are hovering over your mouth. 

Your gaze flits between his eyes and blood-stained lips. Chris makes the conscious choice not to kiss you, unsure if the taste of your menstrual blood will be as delicious to you as it is to him. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him anyway, panting beneath him even when he remains motionless inside you.

But then you simply arch your back, pushing your full breasts against him, and mutter, “I’m ready now.”

Chris dips his head back down to your neck. He kisses and sucks on your hot skin, gently thrusting into you. He takes his time, with his hips and lips, dragging the process out only to forcefully shove it back in. 

You’re already trembling, sweet voice hiccuping moans. Chris scratches his fangs over your collarbone just to hear you whimper his name. 

“Please, Chris,” you cry. 

He kisses the slightly wounded area and quietly chuckles to himself. “Do you need something, little witch?” he teasingly asks.

“F-faster, please?” you quickly ask. “I’m not telling. I’m asking– begging! Please, please , Chris!”

His cock twitches. He groans at the sound of your desperate, whiny voice, physically incapable of torturing you any longer. With supernatural speed, Chris’s hips snap into action. He thrusts harshly, fisting the sheets beneath you. The bed creaks and slams against the walls over and over again, overtaking the slapping sound of his hips meeting yours.

Your body shakes and jiggles under him, and he is obsessed with how amazing your skin feels rubbing against his. Your nails scratch at his back, before finally sinking into his shoulders. You brace yourself against him, the sounds of your broken, sobbing moans encouraging him to continue.

"You have no idea what your voice does to me,” Chris groans, lips smothered under your jaw. “I could listen to you all fucking night.”

Your legs wrap around his waist. Chris groans even louder, addicted to the way you’re clinging onto him. 

“Only you can make me sound like this,” you whimper then warn a thrust later, “I’m gonna cum!”

Chris lets out a low, satisfied growl, relentless with his speed and power. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers in a deep, breathless voice, “ Cum for me, sweet girl. ” 

He can feel the erratic beat of your heart against his chest. Your pussy tightly clenches around him, gripping harshly onto his cock. As you cum, squealing his name like a practised spell, he chokes on his own moans. His hips push deep inside you, tensing as he finally unloads himself. Ropes and ropes of his cum fill you up as he growls in response to your meek moans.

Chris thrusts a few more times, wanting to ensure you’ve exhausted your orgasm. Then, in two swift motions, he lifts, pulls himself out, and rolls off you. He lands on the bed with a little bounce and content sigh. He expects to see the night sky on the ceiling, like it was last night, but instead finds the sea. And there, between the lapping waves, Chris catches your reflection.

Raising a brow, he tongues his cheek and looks at you. “Enjoy the show,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes, heat crawling up your neck to spread across your cheeks. “I did, actually,” you definitely reply as a last ditch effort to save a semblance of your self-respect. “You have a great butt, by the way.”

Chris laughs. He throws his head back and lets out a full-chested roar of a laugh. He can’t remember that last time he did that without you around. The last two weeks have made him feel more human than he probably ever had in his life. You’re absolutely remarkable and he’s lucky to have met you, even if it means he had to lose his soul.

Lifting his arm, Chris nods at you, silently ordering you to lean into him. You shift closer and hug his waist without another word, much to his surprise.

“You’re so pretty when you're doing as you're told,” Chris praises.  

“I’m pretty always,” you retort. 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Just take the compliment,” he chuckles.

“You’re not fucking me,” you practically whine. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“You’re impossible,” Chris mutters under his breath. But he still holds you close, tracing soothing circles around your shoulder.

You both bask in the silence while he gives you a second to catch your breath. Once he hears your heart beat normally again, Chris asks, “Does it work right away?”

You hum with uncertainty, waving your hand to summon the book. It flies towards you then hovers over your faces. After flipping through the pages, it lands on the recipe for the elixir.

Chris tilts his eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is this the right book?” he asks, as he skims through the paragraphs. 

You flip the page, mumbling, “Yeah.” 

There are only a few books in your personal library that Chris cannot read, having been written in an ancient language he has tried and failed to understand. However, as he stares longer at the page, Chris finds that he can read every word. 

You gasp, sitting up. The book moves with you, hoving in front of you instead of on top of you now. Not that it even matters, since you grab the book from mid-air and pull it into your lap.

Chris sits up beside you. He brushes your hair off your shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong? Did we do it wrong?”

You bring a hand to your mouth as if you cannot believe what you’re reading. “We fucked up,” you whisper. 

A smirk plays on his lips. “Does that mean we get to do this again?” 

Setting the book down, you rub your face and choke back a chuckle. “No, I mean,” you start, turning to face him. “We really fucked up.”

Chris’s smile falters. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently running his hand up and down your bicep. “It’s alright, little witch. Take a breath,” he whispers, making sure to keep his voice light. “What happened?”

Your eyes shut, brows knotting, and lean into him. “There is a disclaimer at the end of every spell, recipe, ritual– Whatever it is, there is always a disclaimer that outlines the side effects or possible consequences to alterations.”

Chris nods, urging you to continue. 

“The magic we were using is called sex magic. It usually uses the sexual energy created between the participating parties to harness power. In our case, we were only meant to use it to make you sun-proof, for lack of a better word.”

“I can think of three better words,” Chris can’t help but tease. 

You fight off a smile, glaring at him. “Keep them to yourself,” you demand. 

Chris pauses, wanting to tell you to behave but he can’t move his lips. His voice has diminished too, like his body is physically incapable of ordering you around. 

Guilt flashes in your eyes. “When we had sex, with the elixir and spell tangled in the initial act of harvesting my blood, the purpose of the ritual shifted,” you continue, shoulders tensing. “It may have bound you to me.”

“What?” Chris asks, trying and failing not to sound annoyed. “What does that mean?”

“Witches often have familiars and demons are often serving creatures. They get summoned and must fulfil the summoner's request to be released. The spell has been documented to intertwine the two when more than the required act was performed,” you explain.

What about the crows , Chris wants to ask. He thought they held the role of a familiar. 

You shake your head. “They’re more like co-inhibitors. It is their island afterall.”

Chris retracts his arm from you, setting his jaw. He knows he did not say that out loud so how the–

Shit, did I just read his mind?  

Your voice is clear in his head. Blinking, Chris swallows thickly. “Is that normal?”

You hesitate. “I’ll look into it.”

“How could you have missed this?”

“I was a little busy trying to find all the ingredients,” you argue. 

Chris deadpans. “ I found the ingredients,” he corrects. 

You bite your lip, face crumbling with remorse. “I’m sorry, I–” you cut yourself off with a sigh then start again. “Honestly, I was too busy thinking about you eating me out. It’s why I made you go out and get those ingredients last night. I wanted the house to myself to just let out some of my–”

“Temptations?”

“ Frustrations ,” you correct with a playful glare. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

Chris sighs. He rubs his face and slumps back against your pillows. 

This may not have been what he wanted, however while he wants to be upset, he cannot find it in him to be disappointed. You’re a great friend, a better lover and he’d be insane to reject you. The only real downside about this newfound connection is his inability to put you in your place. You tend to get a bit too cocky and mouth off when he lets one too many sassy comments slide. 

“I don’t want this going to your head, little witch,” he warns, meeting your gaze again. 

You try to hide that mischievous smile and not being able to correct it is already driving him crazy.

“No promises,” you tease. Leaning over him, you stroke his chest and add, “But you have permission to keep me in check whenever you please.”

Chris tongues his cheek. “You had to have known that I would hate the way you said that.”

Your little smile is enough confirmation. 

Chris shoves you back into the bed with a gentle push of your shoulder. “You clearly haven’t had enough,” he murmurs, stationing himself between your legs again. 

“But the elix–”

“To hell with the fucking elixir,” he growls. “I’ll be damned if I don’t fuck your mouth clean.”

The way you shiver at the sound of his voice arouses him all over again. Shifting off the bed, Chris stands at the edge and gestures for you to adjust yourself so your head is hanging off the mattress. 

And with a simple tug of your chin, he’s determined to stay true to his words.

You eagerly oblige him. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[cherie-doll]

☽COD Characters + Mythical/Monster/Weirdos AU☾

𓆣 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

No one's ever dared to venture further past the crossroads. Anyone who goes beyond the rusted metal fence that marks the passage the lumberman takes never comes back. You don't got much of a choice but to take the hike when your car breaks down in the middle of the woods. Surely, the feeling of prying eyes watching as you tremble and make your way past the fence and through the lonely road is only your paranoia. Oh, what a convenience! The lumberman who introduced himself as John invited you into his cabin. You'll ignore the dark stains of old blood on his porch steps for the sake of your body in need of warmth.

He who remained silent and shrouded in the dark. Who only saw the dazzling lights dimming as the calling of the audience faded out into the background. And you, standing in the center of an empty stage, staring into the dark. A shudder overcoming you and you feeling as if someone was watching you. Glancing towards the highest box, you knew he had watched your performance. You knew him as Ghost, he never let on more than this cognomen. He was the shadow that was always looking over your shoulder. The faint silhouette in the background of harsh and vivid stage lights. Here was his hand, resting upon your skin. The hand that would not harm you. The graze of an igniting fire burned under his skin, here his suffering had originated; from attachment, from desire. This craving he dared not to fulfill. He vowed to himself to feel it as deeply and express it as he pleased. Unfortunately for you, this ravenous hunger was long out of hand.

Johnny was dared to venture out and explore his town at midnight to prove the existence of the local folklore shapeshifter; you. Being the daredevil he is, he couldn't pass up on this opportunity. You were said to take form in many different ways; sometimes an animal like a raven, some force of nature like wind or water, and on rare occasions in human form. Your presence was very evident by the change in the air, the piling tension that caused his camera to turn off, his flashlight flicker and goosebumps break out on his skin from the chilling wind. He has no evidence of that night, despite standing before you in your human form. He's now set on proving your existence which causes a cat and mouse dynamic to form between you.

You assumed the man, Kyle, that you saw once on the riverbed had been swimming. Clearly, he's handsome. Only, his appearance is... alluring, drawing you in, luring you right into his hands. You don't even feel the scales as he caresses you, his hands going over the map of your body. He's already memorizing where all your bones are, takes notice of where the most fat is on your body as his hands mold and play with it. He can already imagine how soft your skin is, how easy it would be for his teeth to sink into the flesh. His seductive voice and gaze only serve to invite you to wade in the water. Maybe he'll toy with you, you seem so sweet and willing.

Having a roommate is a hit or miss. But what are the chances that roommate is deceased? Rarely does one get along with a dead roommate, but that certainly is not your case. 'Roach', as you called him, "because what type of name was Gary?" dwelled- er, haunted the college dorm you shared. At first, communication was difficult and arguments broke out often, resulting in broken and damaged furniture. Guess that's what happens when your first time messing around with an ouija board goes wrong. It also gets awkward when you wanna try and bring your girl or boyfriend over and you can't make out without acknowledging the horrified ghost in the corner.

You were a forgotten deity; your followers gone. You thought the portal between your world and the mortals was forever sealed, the entrance never to be opened again. Until, one day you're able to pass through to catch a glimpse of an altar made and dedicated to you by Alejandro. He's the most loyal devotee you've had in a long time; every night and every day he lights a candle to you and kneels to pray. Even if he doesn't have access to the shrine he's made for you, he carries one around in his pocket; a stitched image of you along with a symbol. He swears he can feel as you embrace him in your saving veil of grace and grant him protection.

Rudy's crush has gotten so out of hand the poor, sweet man doesn't know what to do with himself. He blushes and freezes whenever he's blessed to be in your presence. Anticipation building within the walls of his chest, antsy to tell you, to confess. If only that doubt didn't plague his mind. Would you be spooked by his way of life? Certainly, modern witches weren't being put on trials and burned anymore, but the social repercussions could be considered equal. Guess he'll go back to perform another manifestation ritual. Don't be surprised at the sudden fluttery effect you start to magically develop one day when you see him.

Having a vampire boyfriend has its benefits. The cons are few; while you're getting your life sucked right out of you, Phillip only seems to revivify and grow younger. He also has little to no self-control and he always holds his age and 'wisdom' over your head, using his 'better sense' to get you to change your mind. On the bright side, thanks to him you've started to save on using tampons + pads while on your period. He also keeps you in check and healthy by not letting your blood levels imbalance, after all, he feeds off of you. Loves going down on you whilst biting your neck and drawing blood. Something about being so close to biting an artery or vein that could spill too much blood and leading you to death yet he chooses not to.

You moved out to the south seeking for a tranquil pace of life. This town had a strange feeling to it, an underlying horror and emptiness; the effects of a ghost town. Under the silver moon one night, you come upon a field, a stretch of land with pasture stretching for many miles. The cattle guarded under the watchful eye of Keegan. The wind rustled the trees as they made a haunting whistling sound. Shadows seemed to dance along the edges of forest as he motioned you over to his campfire, his horse tethered to the log he rested his head against. His eyes captivated the soft glow of the moon as you listened to him speak of guarding this piece of land for many years. He coaxed you to get comfortable, to not leave right away, in fact, you could stay for as long as you wanted. And unless your senses catch up to you, you'd stay caged in this corner of the world, roaming as a ghost.

König couldn't bear to see you whither away as life was slowly drained out of you. Night and day he listened to your sorrows as you spoke of your fear of dying. You couldn't bear to rest in the cold grave, alone for eternity. The townspeople swore he must've gone mad when you died, he obsessed over you dead more than when you lived. He had installed a burial bell, slipping the rope into your lifeless hands. He refused to pay anyone else to wait the long hours of the day and night. Red rimmed eyes from crying, black circles from the sleepless nights, didn't even register the throbbing headaches. And could it be his delirium or did he hear the bell ring? He was quick to grab a shovel and start digging.

Gumiho Horangi who got close to you only for the sake of stealing your soul. He had been digging through the soil, searching through the foul smell of decomposing corpses to find a human heart to devour. You had been on the graveyard shift when he spotted you and decided he'd much rather prey on a living human rather than be contented with decaying corpses. A method of absorbing your energy resembled the act of kissing as he would open your mouth to inhale your essence. You became to know the true meaning of intertwined love when he planned to embed a 'fox marble' in your abdomen and therefore take all your energy. He, however, fell in love with you over time and vowed to never eat another human so he could become human and live with you.

Nikto always talks to the patients on his table, he thinks it helps them loosen up. They're always so stiff and cold when he takes them out of the freezer. When he pulls back the cloth covering your face he can hardly greet you as he's taken by your beauty. His gloved hands run through your hair as he gazes into your lifeless eyes. You're too pretty by the time he's done dolling you up that he feels sorry you'll only be placed in a box and buried six feet deep underneath the soil. He reckons you'll be much happier in a comfortable home, with someone to care for you rather than the cold cemetery where you're sure to be forgotten about. He swore you told him yourself!

[lilacxquartz]

your body is my temple (and i will worship you);

incubus male oc x human fem!reader

w.c: 2.1k

summary: you and midnight take it to the next level and satisfy a mutual curiosity.

themes: smut, demon x human, porn with plot, size difference, one shot, reader insert, oc/ original character, biting, first person pov

~~~

Slowly but surely, it has been getting easier with having Midnight around. I became used to his presence over time, no matter how unsettling he seemed to be.

As it turned out, demons weren’t too different from humans after all.

At least not by that much.

For the most part, he tried to approach me in a way that he thought to be human in nature. That was my interpretation at least. He tried minimise my fear by getting to know me personally, taking interest in what I like as a means to find a common ground so that we could both get along.

This was going well. Or as well as it possibly could have been given the circumstances because who truly expects an incubus to show up in their life, just like that? Still, just for him alone, I fitted my apartment with blackout curtains so that he could move around comfortably as he pleased.

Slowly, I became used to his presence and before long, we were finally comfortable with one another.

Which led Midnight to want more than what we already had.

(Considering that he was an incubus, I was mostly just surprised that he didn’t bring it up sooner.)

Just as I finished up on my dinner, he followed me back to the bedroom with a certain sort of glint in his eye.

Personally, I wanted to get some more reading done but I could already tell that Midnight had more than just relaxation in mind.

“How interesting,” he observed as his pointed fingers trailed along my flesh, “I don’t have to kiss you for you to stop feeling afraid anymore.”

I nodded, thinking that he had a point. Usually, I would shudder at his touch because Midnight, regardless of how gentle he acted, was still a demon—a monster—there was nothing calming about him at all.

With a featherlight touch, he brushed his fingers down to my chin, pointing my jaw up at him, murmuring on and off in a slur, “You are so… intoxicating… when you’re not afraid.”

Midnight then leaned over me, making my back land flat against my mattress. His body hovered over mine as he dipped his face down with breath like ashen fire, smoking against my skin; daring me to reciprocate.

“I can’t resist, at least not forever,” he admitted, pressing his body right up against mine. The shadows that enveloped his body in void-like fire didn’t do much to his excitement as I could feel it, pushing up right against me with want and even need.

Sinking somehow even further into the mattress, I retracted myself with a cautious tone behind my words, “But, you’re not a forceful incubus …are you?”

Midnight froze in his pursuit, retracting ever so slightly as he lifted his lips off of mine. His blank eyes screwing shut as though he pushed any dark thought back into the murky depths of his mind.

(The part that he didn’t dare let surface, for your own sake.)

“I’m not,” he soothed.

I exhaled a deep breath and tried to get up from bed, but he still kept me locked in; caging my frame with his arms as his palms sank into the mattress.

“But it’s just… certain things,” he began, his voice almost growling as he spoke, “from the way that you breathe to the way your skin goosebumps when it brushes against mine, I’m starting to understand fate a little better, is all,” he paused before continuing, “don’t you feel at least… a little bit similar?”

Admittedly, I did feel something. I just wasn’t sure what. I harboured some sort of curiosity given that he was an incubus and at times, my mind explored such a possibility. To experience something more intense, perhaps even dangerous; the very thing that his kind was known for.

As my mind internally conflicted with itself, he tried to comfort me even if he didn’t let me go, “It’s not your fault, I know. It’s not even personal; humans were designed to fear the unknown.”

“It’s just…” I trailed off as I truly began to consider it. I wasn’t against it, that wasn’t the issue. It was the logistical side of things that threw me off; his height and therefore his potential size was an issue.

He tilted his head off to the side, giving me a moment to think.

“It’s just,” I continued from where I left off, “wouldn’t it hurt if we were to…?”

Midnight eased into a slowly relaxing smile, the glimpse of sharp teeth playing into his expression. Slowly, his body relaxed as he began to understand exactly why I felt so on the fence about things, “I’d work you into it, of course, but also, incubi and even succubi have evolved with human anatomy in mind. It can hurt, but it won’t kill you.”

My eyes flickered off to the ceiling, avoiding his gaze. Despite him lacking irises, I somehow always knew when he was making eye contact with me.

“Let me help you ease into it,” he offered, sweeping his hands around my body; his touch so rough yet so gentle at the same time as worshipping my very own skin.

His hands then moved down as he worked me into it, my eyes widening as his protruding claws grazed against my inner thigh. Black pointed nails spearing from his greyed fingertips.

Pausing, Midnight retracted his hand and balled it into a fist to reel in the claws and assume the length of normal fingernails.

“…My mistake,” he murmured, almost seeming embarrassed.

“W-weird…” I whispered in response, my voice dripping with fascination.

He didn’t reply however, choosing to push the with the task in mind instead. Peeling my sweat shorts down, he dipped his index finger into my sex before retracting it ever so slightly.

“I’ll work you into it,” he promised as he continued to stare at me, as though searching for a certain type of reaction, “I won’t hurt you… too much.”

My thighs squeezed involuntarily as he slid his digit back and forth while his thumb rubbed circles over my clit, lulling me into a gradually relaxed state. It took a couple of minutes at best, but soon enough I was flushed, my cheeks burning with anticipation as he leaned in over me.

Pulling his hand away from me, he moved ever so slightly back to rest both hands against my hips before brushing down to meet parallel with my knees. Curiously, he tented up my legs with a steady grip, hovering his body over mine, positioning the tip of his cock right against my entrance.

Noticing my unease, Midnight continued to take things slowly with as much reassurance as possible, “Relax with me.”

I tried to nod, feeling him ease slowly into my core, wincing as he gradually filled me out completely. I writhed just a little bit underneath his slowly flattening body, his length completely enveloped by my walls in all directions as he finally moved in as far deep as he could possibly go.

Midnight released a low guttural moan in a satisfied tone, seeming pleased as he took a hot minute to fully appreciate the sensation.

“Feeling okay?” he asked as he checked in.

“K-kinda,” I replied in a slightly strained tone.

With a tight nod, he pushed himself back ever so slightly to take the pressure off of you just a little bit, “We’ll go as slow as we need to, then.”

“O-okay,” I murmured in response, feeling him slowly retract his hips and then steadily push back inside.

His movements felt almost calculated as he rolled his hips against mine. With each thrust, no matter how gentle; my breath fluttered upon his impact, my eyes close to watering from the building intensity.

My whines turned into cries as I adjusted to his size, my legs widening as I struggled to take him in. My back arching as a means to accommodate him. As a means of seeking comfort, my fingers desperately clawed at the sheets, grabbing heaped bunches of linen as my toes curled on queue.

It was gradual, but he picked up the pace over time as it became easier for him to both move inside of me as well as my body finally starting to relax, somehow. In a way, I was actually extremely turned on and my heat, so slick and glistening wet, gave away just how I truly felt. My body softened at his touch, allowing him to adopt a quicker pace.

I gasped again as he positioned himself closer over me, continuing to keep me confined within his arms. His arms relaxed over the bed, keeping himself comfortably propped up against his elbows while his head dipped over mine, his lips so desperate to connect with my own.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer, seeking comfort within his touch which he then leaned into, taking up the pace a notch in response; so feverishly keen.

Midnight grunted as he now pounded into me, rutting his hips at an almost feral pace as I whined in slight protest. To counter my complaints, he finally kissed me to ease the discomfort, spilling whatever magic he held onto inside, slowly tranquilising—numbing the soreness, soothing the unrelenting pain inflicted by his touch.

“Still doing good?” he whispered into my lips, despite not slowing down at all.

“I-I’m good,” I confirmed, just barely hearing him over the heavy breathing and the sound of slapping skin, “I’m good, I’m good…”

Midnight smiled as he revealed his razor sharp teeth that reflected in the spilling moonlight, planting his lips right against my own as his tongue couldn’t help but invade and explore, taking the lead within my mouth as I just barely wrestled it back. Getting too ahead of himself, he couldn’t help but pluck a taste either, sinking his teeth into my lips.

However, upon feeling my body protest to such a sudden and sharp pain, he reeled himself back ever so slightly, offering only a half apologetic whisper, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

His breathing grew gradually heavier as he struggled to retain his composure; his body shaking as I struggled to maintain a secure hold around him. His hips almost trembled—quaked rather as his pace became rougher, his groans morphed into growls as he truly lost himself in my body. I could feel as he subtly accelerated and as his teeth grazed on occasion over my shoulder, grazing against such soft tissue in comparison to his hardened skin. He wasn’t truly apologetic, but he did mutter out hasty apologies whenever I squirmed in heated protest.

I held on either way, feeling as his claws spilled from his fingertips—piercing the bed in a lapse of dwindling control. His body almost vibrated as he purred in deep satisfaction, continuing to slam his monstrous length into my cunt.

“Almost,” he promised as he fucked himself into me, “almost, almost—!”

With a steady push that followed after his words, I could feel as his cock throbbed and twitched inside of me, releasing a surge of warmth within my walls in an almost demanding release. I gasped as he slammed himself inside a final time, painfully emptying himself into me with such pressure and overflowing passion that it couldn’t help but spill onto the bedding as he slowly pulled himself out of my spent body.

I shook ever so slightly as my legs quivered, feeling as Midnight soothed me with another kiss before completely rolling off of me, “To numb the pain.”

I nodded as I did my best to recover, panting as I did so, recollecting my breath while my body glistened with sweat. It took a while, but slowly my body relaxed a second time; my legs squeezing shut once more as my hips wound down.

“Don’t worry about the mess,” Midnight said, “I’ll be your bed for tonight.”

I didn’t protest too much, if at all as I felt him pull my body over his own. He was surprisingly comfortable and perfectly warm; the shadows that wisped from his body tickled against my skin in a gentle warmth, providing a soothing effect to lessen the remaining tension that I still held onto.

Feeling my eyelids droop shut, I couldn’t stay awake for a second longer anymore and drifted off to what seemed to be a much needed sleep.

All the while thinking that perhaps that giving into Midnight was the light I needed, because maybe, just maybe, fate wasn’t wrong in bonding me with him after all.

~~~

more original works • and if fanfics are your thing 🖤

[crowandmousewritingco]

Foretold in the Scales

Pairing: dragon!Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Words: 3.4 k

Rating: M (smut city. 18+ MDNI)

Summary: The dragon needs a new mate, and it's your turn.

Warnings: Fated mates, ceremonies, slight dub con (you didn't choose this, but later on you consent to it) breeding, ovipositing, mentions of pregnancy with an egg, dragon anatomy, oral (reader receiving)

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: This is my entry for the Monster (S)mash challenge hosted by the lovely @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes. I loved this challenge so much! It makes me wanna write more monsters smut hehe.

That goodman dragon scale. It of course landed on you cause that was the last thing you needed today. But as it spun around as if it seemed to be “pulled” towards you. At least that's what the priests said, but you didn’t buy it. Unfortunately though for you, once the scale decided there was no going back, because if He found out that the village was lying, then they could find someone else to protect them. 

The rest of the day was a blur. Oils and perfumes were sprayed on your body creating a cloud of scents that made your head spin. Your hair was decorated with different local flowers while someone painted the ceremonial glyphs on your pale skin. You remember being dressed in the ceremonial ashen gray linens that hardly hid what lay underneath. Soon you were the spitting image of the sacrifice you were meant to be. 

The precession was a blur as four of the strongest warriors carried you on the dias up the long mountain trail that led to your future. Hymns and songs were sung as you climbed higher and higher until the village where you had called home for most of your life was now just a dot in the valley.

Stones piled up beside the entrance of the caves were carved with reliefs but you knew what they depicted. When every king tried to take the city those long centuries ago, there was only one person…or rather one creature that saved them. The Pewter Protector they called him. A massive dragon with a mouth full of flesh tearing teeth flew down from the heavens and slayed the enemy. The village begged for the dragon’s protection, and the Protector obliged. 

But that protection came at a price. He came from a dying breed and so to continue his safeguard, he required a sacrifice. It wasn’t food or money. No it was human. He required a mate. A mate that would carry another one of his kind. Someone to keep him company through the long nights and keep him warm during the mating season. 

Which is why you were here now, as the priestess sang out the chants that praised the Protector and called him from his dark chambers. You knew the ceremonies. The men would set their dias down and the procession would quietly leave as the priestess would continue their songs until their voices were lost in the winds. 

The high mountain winds whipped around you as you stared at the dark expanse of the cave. The silence was unnerving. Goosebumps ran up your skin making you wrap your arms around your torso, hoping for an ounce of warmth. Not even a pebble dropped as you waited for your husband to present himself. Soft tears threatened to spill from your eyes as time passed. As much as you wanted to be strong you were terrified. You squeezed your eyes shut waiting for your fate. 

“I keep telling them that I don’t want all of this,” You heard a voice break your silence and you opened your eyes in confusion. A tall dragonborn stood in front of you. Dark gray scales covered most of his body and arched across his neck and cheek like a stroke of charcoal. His eyes were dark to match the midnight hair that sprouted across his head and jawline. 

“W-What?” You whispered as you took him in. 

He sighed and slowly approached you. “I’m really sorry for all of this trouble,” He apologized as he held out his clawed hand out to your body. 

You looked down to his hand and back up to his face, confusion etched deep into your expression. “You…what?” 

“I’m sorry again. I know this is strange and I’ve been trying to tell them forever that I really don’t need them to use the scale. I promise them that I can tell who my mate is for the season just by…” He pauses as the wind changes, drifting your scent into his sensitive nose. 

“By what?” You asked, rising to your bare feet. 

“You smell sweet,” The Protector complimented as he turned back to you. 

“Um, thank you?” You asked. 

“Oh goodness, where are my manners? Please follow me.” He gestured to his cave and you followed him down into his lair. 

Though as you walked you were surprised grew even more. “I-It’s warm in here.” You comment as the walls turn more and more decorated with reliefs and other such designs. 

“That would be the mountain’s core. I know most dragonkind need their heat and we aren’t any different.” The dragon answers as you enter the biggest area so far. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture except for a large fire pit and a giant collection of pelts and pillows in the surrounding area. 

“This is…actually quite cozy.” You look around the room and find yourself smiling at the surroundings. 

“Please make yourself at home,” The Protector getured to his area. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Yes I would like some um…I don’t think I got your name?” 

“Marcus,” He smiled with his gleaming white teeth. He took his tea kettle out and filled it with water from the barrel in the corner. Gently he took the full kettle and hung it above the fire. With a groan he sat himself next to the fire. Carefully you sat near him warming yourself on the flames. 

“So you aren’t as vicious as they say.” You said, turning to look at him. 

He looked back with almost a hurt expression. “I don’t like to hurt humans. I only do harm when there’s a threat to the village.” 

“Then why do they do this whole ceremony? Since apparently I’ve only known a lie.” You chuckled softly. 

Marcus sighed. “I think they think they owe my kind for something we did long ago. But we did it because they helped us first.” 

“What did they do?” You asked as the kettle began to whistle. 

The dragon turned his torso to grab the two cups and set them in front of him. Carefully he grabbed the kettle’s handle and poured the tea. The leaves swirled as the hot water saturated them, filling your nose with the herbal scents. 

“They saved my daughter from poachers,” He answered as he handed you the tea and you thanked him. The mug was warm against your hand and you shivered when you realized how cold you were. 

“Here,” He said quietly and stood up taking one of the pelts from the bed. With a gentleness you weren’t expecting from a dragon, he draped it over your shoulders. 

You gently caressed the fur smiling at how comforting it was. “What’s your daughter’s name?” 

“Missy. She was out training one day and they surrounded her. Luckily some soldiers saw the situation and saved her. The Steel Clan is forever indebted to them,” He smiled softly drifting to his mug. “She’s got her own mountain to defend. Hatchlings always grow up too fast.” 

“Seems to be a trait no matter the species,” You smiled before taking a sip of the tea. The herbal aroma hit your tongue and you sighed. The scent drew you back to winter nights in your house, and a sense of both nostalgia and homesickness knotted in your stomach.

Marcus sensed your subtle body language frowned.  “You know you can leave. I don’t want to keep you here.” Marcus told you, taking you in with his charcoal eyes. 

You chuckled. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked with concern in his voice. 

“No no just,” Your thumb traces the rim of your cup. “You’re a lot different than I thought. I don’t mind staying. And you’re unlike what they tell us in the village.” 

“What do they tell you?” He asked with concern in his voice. 

“It’s a lot more authoritative and demanding,” You sighed, staring at the dark liquid in your cup. 

“That’s really what they say about me?” Marcus frowned, hurt laced in his dark eyes. 

“Something must have gotten lost in translation…because you really are sweet.” 

You swear you could see a scales flush. “You are too kind.” Marcus replied, taking a sip to hid his face. 

“I should thank you for not eating me,” You chuckled, but your mirth was quickly replaced by a yawn. 

“Here you should rest. Take my nest for tonight, I’ll sleep by the fire.” Before you could protest, he held his palm out. “I insist.” 

And honestly you didn’t have the energy to resist. Wrapping the pelt around your shoulders, you gave him a quick “Thank you,” before rising to your feet. Marcus watched you as you stumbled to the nest of blankets and settled yourself amongst the pile. 

Marcus kept an eye out until he heard your breathing even out, but stayed for longer just to make sure. As quietly as he could with his bulky form, he wandered to the entrance. A low grumble flowed from his mouth, as he stretched his hidden wings. Large veiny membranes spread out taking up most of the space. The wind furled against them and Marcus sighed at the feeling. It was a moment before he spoke to himself. “I must provide for my mate.” With a swoosh of his wings, he soared into the dark sky looking for prey to feed his beloved. 

The days passed without much excitement. Marcus cared for you which was more than kind of him. He insisted that you didn’t lift a finger, but you would sneakily tidy the area when he was out. You had to admit you didn’t hate the routine of it. Past you would hate staying in one place for too long. But the more time you spent in Marcus’s company, the more you found yourself being drawn to him unexpectedly. 

Your body began to warm whenever you were in his presence even if it was outside in the cold winds. Maybe it was just that he was the best company in a long time, or maybe it was something else but you loved staying near him. Until one day where everything clicked into place. 

The smell of cooking meats woke you from your slumber. A deep inhale filled your lungs with the aromatic scent and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment. It smelt like the smoked meats from the village, earthly and savory all at the same time. Pushing yourself up from your cozy bed, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. 

Marcus stood with his back behind you, his wings now visible to you though constricted because of the small space. Rising to your feet, you slowly walked over to the fire. Curiously your fingers tough ridges. The skin was bumpy against your skin and you found the touch bringing you comfort. 

The dragon drew in a sharp inhale as you slowly caressed his wings. “Y-you shouldn’t do that.” 

You quickly retracted your hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean well I hadn’t seen your wings,” You rambled. “Just thought they were pretty is all.” 

Marcus turned around and you were taken aback by how much he was panting. “Marcus?” 

“The problem isn’t you. The problem is that if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to control myself,” He purred, stepping closer to your form. Until now you never realized just how much he towered over you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s a reason the ceremony happens when it does. Mating season came quicker for me, and that’s because you entered my life. You’re my mate.” He answered. Your scent permeated his nostrils making him crave you more. “But I can’t mate you without your full consent. If you want to walk away and live a normal life I will not blame you.” 

“Your mate, how do you know?” You asked confused yet curious at the same time. 

“How do humans say? It’s like butterflies in your stomach, but we feel a physical tugging at our souls,” He answered gently, caressing his stomach. 

Something pulled you to do the same and your fingers slid under your thin covering. A pulse of electricity sparked in your eyes and you gasped. “W-What was…?” You began, but as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, there was something different about Marcus. The light from the fire lit him up like you’ve never noticed before. It was as if a bolt of magic filled the room and focused itself on Marcus. 

“Mate?” You whispered and you slowly reached up to cup his cheek in your hand. The rough scales sending comfort throughout your body as you caressed them with your thumb.  Marcus’s chest rumbled as he purred against your palm, nuzzling like a cat. You couldn’t help but giggle at this tall creature acting just like a household pet. 

“Yes my mate,” He purred and he leaned his head down just close enough to brush his lips against yours a silent ask for your consent. 

You quickly filled the space and kissed him passionately. His lips were both soft and rough at the same time. The scales brushed against your chin, and you found yourself falling in love with the feeling. Some part of you wanted to know how those felt in between your legs. 

A soft moan escaped your lips and Marcus paused gently, setting his hands on your hips as if they were made of the finest porcelain. “Are you sure about this?” He asked as his fingers gingerly caressed your hips. Claws carefully poking at your skin and you bit your lip. Suddenly the heat inside you was so much. You wanted…no…you craved Marcus. 

“I’m sure,” You leaned up and whispered in his ear. “Put an egg in me Marcus.” 

Marcus groaned at the sight of you round with his egg. “Bed. Now.” He moaned as he backed you into the nest. You smirked as you kissed him slowly pulling him on top of you. Hungrily he kissed you with his hands up and down your sides. His claws delicately teasing your chest making you gasp. 

“M-Marcus,” You moaned, tilting your head back against the furs. 

He chuckled and nibbled at your neck. “Such a handsome sight.” He kept one of his clawed hands on your chest and with one of his claws ripped the material away as gently rubbed your slit. “Mmmm already achingly needy for me darling. Getting you all ready to take my cock.” He growled and kissed his way down your body. Each one sending tingles to your hands and feet. 

He only stopped right between your legs. “Now let's see how you taste. I bet it’ll tell me how fertile you are.” He licked a long lap from your hole to your most sensitive area. You moaned loudly grabbing on his dark locks as you tried to ride his face. 

With a strong hand he kept your hips in place and gazed up at you licking his lip. “Be good for me baby. If you are, I’ll put a baby in you, and by the looks of it it won’t be too hard.” 

You moaned at his words as his tongue dipped inside you once more lapping up your arousal soaking his face. The taste was like nothing he had ever experienced and he would be damned if he ever stopped. Eternity wouldn’t be enough time to memorize your taste. 

“Fuck just the most divine taste,” He purred and nibbled your sensitive thigh. “You’re a perfect mate.” 

“Marcus,” You whined but you loved every second. Every lick and touch sent your bond pulsing. 

“Shhh baby let me take care of you,” He kissed the bite mark before pushing his tongue inside your hole once again. His movements were precise making sure you were opened up for him. He loved being a dragon, but the claws were something he couldn’t control. That just meant he became so prolific with his tongue. 

And the practice was evident on the way you writhed under his touch. Every lick and suck sent so much pleasure your way. The pressure in your stomach grew and grew as your legs began to shake. 

“Marcus!” You screamed in ecstasy as you came hard from his tongue. Stars danced in your eyes as you curled your legs around your mates back, pulling him into you more. Toes curling and legs shaking left you feeling high from your orgasm.

The dragon purred in contentment as his tongue slowed as your high slowed to stop leaving you breathless. “Such a handsome mate I have,” He grinned and kissed up your body, taking his time to explore and memorize every dip and curve of your body. “I’m never gonna get use to this canvas.” 

You whimpered under the praise and you pulled him against your chest. His cool scales soothing your heated skin as you kissed him deeply. Gently you nuzzled your face into his shoulder taking him in with every sense. 

Marcus leaned his mouth nibbling your earlobe gently. “I’m gonna put a egg in you,” He moaned as his hips rocked against your thigh. His hardening cock rubbing against the soft skin. Curiously you peaked down and blushed at the size. It was big. Nothing compared to the size of the men in the village. 

“Fuck,” You cursed as you reached down to take it in your hand. It pulsed under your touch as you stroked it tentatively. The bumps and ridges felt foreign to you, but gods did your thoughts wonder at the idea of that deep inside of you as he pumped you full of his cum. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle,” Marcus whispered, nuzzling his nose into your neck. 

You were quiet for a moment, making Marcus lift his head in concern. You made eye contact with him. “I don’t think I want you to be,” You admitted. 

Marcus’s eyes darkened and he pressed his forehead into yours. You felt his cock bounce in your hand. “Are you sure? I won’t be able to hold back.” 

“Please mate,” You whispered. 

Marcus growled as he guided his cock away from your hand and pushed into you in one fluid motion. The penetration was sudden, but it sent such intense pleasure through you that you thought you could finish with just that. 

But the noises Marcus made were hymns to your ears. He panted and growled as he felt you around his cock. “I-I can’t wait any longer.” 

“Fuck me Marcus.” 

And that was all he needed. His hips pulled back and snapped forward back into your hole. Everything felt divine. The bumps, the length, everything made your head spin. “Fuck!” You moaned as Marcus set a fast pace. 

With every thrust, Marcus became more and more desperate. Desperate to fill you with his seed and desperate to plant an egg inside of you. The image of you round with his egg spurred him on. You squeezed around him like your soul depended on it. 

Whether it was your newly discovered bond, or the immaculate feeling of Marcus inside you, but you felt the heat rise in your stomach once again. The dragon thrusted faster as he felt you tighten around you. “Cum for your mate,” He moaned. 

Your pleasure snapped and you squeezed around him as you reached your high once again. This was enough for Marcus. 

“I’m gonna,” He grunted as his cock twitched, your tight hole making it hard to last. 

“Cum mate,” You moaned, and your words sent him over the edge. With a growl that filled the chamber, he came buried inside of you. You moaned with every quiver of his cock as his cum filled your hole. But it wasn’t quite normal. With each spurt, it felt bumpy, and it took you a moment to realize that it was eggs filling you up. And you moaned as each one filled you fuller and fuller. Marcus’s hand gently caressed the small bump in your stomach, please with the sight. 

Just as you thought Marcus would pull out, he gently lifted your hips, setting a pillow underneath your back. Confused, you looked back up at him. He smirked. “Not gonna let anything drip out of you. I want to make sure the eggs stay inside of you.” 

You moaned and bit your lips. Marcus smiled and carefully leaned over to kiss your forehead. “My sweet mate will be well taken care of. But for now rest. You need all the energy to incubate our eggs.” Sleepiness filled your head and your eyes slowly began to dip close. The hum of Marcus’s purring sending you into a very satisfied sleep.

```````

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

Thank you the lovely @saradika-graphics for the dividers

[brokehorrorfan]

Trick or Treat Studios will release Goosebumps action figures in December/January. The set of five is available to pre-order for $125 with free shipping.

The line includes the Mummy from The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb, Slappy from Night of the Living Dummy, Carly Beth from The Haunted Mask, Mud Monster from You Can't Scare Me, and Scarecrow from The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight.

Each 5" scale toy has five points of articulation and comes with a trading card featuring its respective book's original cover art by Tim Jacobus on a display stand. Collect all five to build a Curly the skeleton figure.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Rex and Cody

Chapter Summary: The bottle lands perfectly between Rex and Cody. You've never been one to back down from a challenge.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ content; angel!Rex x f!reader x devil!Cody; kinks: threesome + dirty talk; praise kink, degradation kink, spanking (one instance), oral (both m and f receiving), bratting and brat training, spitroast, poorly translated Mando'a, 'monster' interpreted rather loosely for this one, absolutely no cl0nc3st, if I missed any please let me know!

A/N: Not fully happy with the monster part of this, but in terms of smut, come get y'all juice! some inspo taken from the lovely @sev-on-kamino for the part where Cody asks a leading question. Mando'a roughly translates to "plaything" (geroya for 'play' and 'kebis' for 'thing')

Word Count: 4.0k (do not perceive me)

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Rex.

No, Cody. 

No. Hang on. You lean down and align your vision with the direct line of sight of the bottle’s mouth, and realize with a jolt that it’s perfectly between the two men. Blinking, you straighten up. The entire table gives you an expectant look, but none more so than the two men the bottle seems stuck between. Nerves and arousal pulse through you, drying your mouth. Kark, would they...?

Into the momentary silence, Cody speaks, one eyebrow raised. His wings, dominating the space with jet black feathers, rustle in impatience. “Clearly, it’s pointing at me.” 

Next to him, Rex’s face, bathed in the light of his halo, scrunches in a frown. “Are you sure about that, vod?” He gestures to the bottle. “Look, it’s pointing at my arm.” 

“Yeah, and mine is right next to yours, di’kut.” 

They devolve into petty bickering, jostling each other as they try to prove which one of them the bottle actually points to. Worrying your bottom lip, you spare a glance around the table. The others have moved on from the moment, having not been chosen, and have resumed their own conversations. 

With a sigh, you stand, chair screeching on the stone floor. Both Rex and Cody snap their attention to you, frozen in mid-wrestle, Rex’s head nearly pinned beneath Cody’s arm. 

Hands on your hips, you tilt your head. “Boys,” you tut. “There’s no need to fight. If you can’t decide, I will.” 

Cody reluctantly lets go of his brother, a scowl threatening to mar his features. 

“What’s your choice, mesh’la?” Rex asks. The look on his face is serene, angelic—there’s no other word for it. Whatever decision you make, he’ll be okay with.

“Yes,” you say. At their blank stares, you chuckle. “Both. And. What do you say?” 

Cody and Rex exchange a single glance before both men scramble out of their chairs. Well—Cody scrambles, knocking empty shot glasses askew and sending them hurtling off the table to shatter on the flagstones beneath. He ignores the grumbles of protest from the rest of the troopers, skidding to a halt in front of you with a smirk damn near as devilish as the ram’s horns curling out of his head. 

For his part, Rex stands, exuding calmness even from across the table, and spreads his wings. The white, pearlescent feathers seem to glow dully from within for a moment—and then he beats them once, gliding over the table in one smooth movement.

Your mouth falls agape as Rex settles onto his feet beside you. “Woah.” 

He gives you a small smile, one that steals your breath. The look he gives you makes you feel like there’s some long-standing inside joke that only you and he share; butterflies flutter in your veins.

“Are you gonna just stand there eye-fucking her, or are you gonna actually fuck her, vod?” Cody’s voice jolts you out of the golden depths of Rex’s gaze. 

Meeting Cody’s eyes, you shiver despite yourself. His eyes are dark, boring into your very soul. Goosebumps erupt over your skin at the sensation of your deepest desires being dredged up from the vaults of your mind. Core clenching with need, you whimper almost silently. 

“What was that about eye-fucking, Codes?” Rex teases. 

Cody rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon. Let’s get somewhere private before I change my mind and fuck you right here.” 

Chest tightening with blazing desire, you have no choice but to allow yourself to be ushered forward by them both. You can only imagine the sight you present to the rest of the partygoers, a literal angel and devil at your shoulders. Rex to your left, Cody on your right, your hands itch to reach out and grab theirs. You can feel their wings, feathers soft and warm, tickling at the backs of your legs as you walk; idly, you wonder what those feathers might feel like beneath your palms. 

It’s Rex who makes the first move. His fingers are strong and cool where he laces them through your own, and the reassuring smile he gives you makes you melt. 

Not one to be outdone, Cody grabs your other hand. His skin is so warm it’s nearly hot, like he’s burning from within with hellfire. Kriff, you’re not one who buys into some of the metaphysical beliefs you’ve heard from various folks on Coruscant, but if there is an afterlife where souls are either punished or blessed for eternity, you’re pretty sure which side this night is about to land you in.

You don’t really care. 

The two men escort you through a series of hallways to a random door, which opens onto a sparsely furnished bedroom. Seems your hosts know exactly what their guests would want from this night of revelry. Aside from the massive bed, hanging from the ceiling is a wrought iron chandelier with lit candles that cast flickering lights on the cobblestone walls, giving the space a rather fantasy-esque feel. Tucked in one corner stands a washbasin with a full water jug. Good. You’re going to need hydration after tonight.

Licking your lips, you glance between the other two out of the corners of your eyes, before dropping their hands. As you step deeper into the room, Rex shuts and bolts the door. The two men remain close by the entrance. They regard you with unabashed curiosity, though you pick up their wildly different intentions: one bright and willing to support, one dark and willing to break. 

You urge your racing heart to settle. “So. Ground rules. Someone says ‘red,’ and this all stops. That clear?” 

Cody gives a single, terse nod while Rex smiles encouragingly. 

“Great.” You shimmy out of your clothing, leaving you in nothing but your shoes in front of both men. Rex’s white toga, belted with gold trim, begins to tent as his cheeks flush, taking in the sight of your nude form. Cody’s hands twitch toward unbuttoning his black shirt, his own bulge growing noticeable. 

Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. In the chilled air of the chamber, your nipples stiffen, goosebumps arising once again all over your body. Their gazes are heavy on your skin, lingering in all your dips and curves. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Cody?” Rex murmurs. His wings shift against his back. “Bet she’s gonna be such a good girl for us.” 

Cody snorts. “Bet she’s gonna be a good slut for us. Isn’t that right, princess?” When your thighs press together without realizing, Cody smirks. “Yeah, she is. Filthy little plaything.” 

Body flushed with warmth, you can’t decide who to focus on as they begin to approach, one step at a time. Rex flanks to your right, while Cody moves to you directly. His hands roughly cup your face and drag you forward to close the distance. Lips crashing into yours, you can’t help the moan that escapes you as Cody grips the back of your neck with one hand. His other hand immediately finds a home at your breast, tweaking your already-sensitive nipple, squeezing the soft flesh. His kiss is dizzying in its demand: his mouth moves against yours with feverish intent, dead set on making your knees wobble. 

And when they do wobble, your legs threatening to buckle, Rex is right there. One of his arms snakes around your waist to hold you upright against his chest, now bare. The fingertips of his other hand trail lightly over your thigh, skating close to your heated core. When Cody plies your mouth open with his tongue—forked tongue, you realize, you groan, arching back into Rex. 

“Such a sweet thing,” Rex murmurs in your ear between soft kisses to your shoulder. “So soft for us. Gonna make you feel so good, mesh’la.” 

Cody lets you break the kiss, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. His eyes glint in the candlelight. Swollen lips pulling back in a roguish grin, his forked tongue flickers out to lick his teeth. 

“G’on, geroy’bis, give Rex some love,” Cody husks. 

Already dizzy and dazed with lust, you find you don’t have it in you to turn in Rex’s embrace. Rather, you simply lean your head back and tilt to find his mouth, already seeking your own. You sigh in contentment as his lips slot against yours. His kiss is soft, gentle, and yet no less debilitating for it. Your head swims with pleasure as Cody continues to tug on your nipples. When his mouth latches onto one of them, you keen into Rex’s mouth—he uses the opportunity to taste you, his tongue sliding against your own.

Your eyes flutter open in surprise when one of Cody’s thick, hot fingers trails over your slit. You whine as his finger traces the lightest circle around your aching clit, but he withdraws his touch before you can properly react. Rex pulls away from your lips to give you a smirk that, if he didn’t have a halo and angel’s wings, could be called sinful. 

“What d’you want, sweetheart, hm?” Rex asks. His grip shifts to tilt your head back toward Cody. “Tell him what you want. Use your words like a good girl.” 

Fidgeting under Cody’s heavy stare, you try to recall some of the confidence you’d had just a few minutes ago, back at the table. “W-Well, Commander? Aren’t you going to touch me like the slut you say I am?” 

The dark smirk that sprawls over his face makes you immediately regret your words. 

“Oh, no, geroy’bis,” he purrs, voice dangerously low as he crowds into your personal space. You try and fail to not cower back into Rex’s embrace. “No, no. Sluts take what they’re given and don’t talk back. Brats, on the other hand...” His eyes rake your trembling form. “Brats get their mouths stuffed until they learn their manners.” 

You stiffen in Rex’s arms, breath freezing halfway in your lungs as desire blazes through you. When you don’t move, gaze locked on Cody’s self-assured smirk, Rex shifts behind you.

“Cody,” Rex warns. “Cyare, color?” 

“Green,” you gasp out. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, as Cody chucks under your chin with a smug, “That’s what I thought.” 

“On your knees,” Cody commands, voice hard as the stone your knees crack against as your body betrays you. You’d intended to take your time, continue pushing the devil’s buttons, but the moment Rex released you, your legs collapsed. 

Body burning with embarrassment and lust alike, you peer up through your eyelashes as Cody makes quick work of the zipper of his pants to free his cock. Flushed and weeping, the head of his dick bobs in front of your face, making you go cross-eyed as you try to appraise its full size. Maker, he’s big, thick and long. Your mouth waters. Cody steps closer; his hard length taps against the side of your face, smearing precum along your cheek. 

Behind you, you’re aware of Rex watching with equal parts amusement and concern. And all around you, feathers, warm and insulating, envelope the three of you. Black over white, white over black, they both stretch their wings in a protective circle to embrace you. Stars, you want to reach out and touch, to feel the down beneath the flight primaries—but then Cody grips your jaw just hard enough to force your mouth open, and you accept his flushed tip in your mouth. 

Your lips stretch to accommodate him as best as you can. There’s just so much of him. Lapping at the vein on the underside, you hollow your cheeks as he slowly pushes further into your hot, wet mouth. His teeth grind as his eyes drill into yours, dark and slitted. His cock is heavy on your tongue. Whining around him, you shift on your knees to alleviate the growing discomfort there. 

“Rex,” Cody says, voice strained. “Play with her cunt. Wanna watch her eyes cross while I fuck her face.” 

A gush of slick drools from your folds, coating the insides of your thighs. Rex repositions himself, at first you think to reach around from behind you, but then one hand gently nudges your knees apart as his grip lifts your ass just enough for him to shimmy beneath. You inhale sharply through your nose at his hot breath on your folds. 

As Rex wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs you down, Cody thrusts into your mouth shallowly. You jerk and groan, mind and body short-circuiting between the two very different stimuli. Rex’s tongue is cool and languid where it swirls over your pussy; Cody’s length is hard and domineering as he ruts into your mouth. All you want to do is kneel there and take it; but you want more than that. Hollowing your cheeks, you suck with every pull back even as you grind your hips down against Rex’s mouth. Moans claw out of your chest and vibrate around Cody’s length, making him grit his teeth. 

“Kriff, geroy’bis,” he huffs out. “Got such a dirty fuckin’ mouth. Suckin’ my cock like a karkin’ pro.” 

You hum in satisfaction. Beneath you, Rex nudges your clit with his nose as he fucks your hole with his tongue. Pleasure ripples through you, centered at your heated core and pulsing outward. 

Out of curiosity, you reach down with one hand and tentatively wrap your fingers around Rex’s halo. All at once, your body jerks taut with a cry. Blinding radiance floods your body—and just for a moment, you can feel Rex as if he is you. You taste yourself on your tongue, feel the way your folds part under Rex’s ministrations, feel the aching length of arousal at the apex of his thighs. Rex groans; you feel it rumble in your chest like the sound comes from you.

Yanking your hand back, you peer with wide, teary eyes up at Cody, who clearly doesn’t understand what just happened. 

Rex lifts your hips. “K-Kriff. Are you okay?” 

You motion vaguely a thumbs-up so he can see. 

He hesitates, before delving back into your folds. Despite the sensation of being linked is gone, the knowledge of how much this is affecting Rex throws you right back into your pleasure, the cord in your belly winding tighter with every wag of his tongue. 

“If I pull out, you gonna be good and ask nicely for what you want?” Cody asks. He doesn’t relent in his pace. His cock drives incrementally deeper into your mouth with each thrust. Tears dew at the corners of your eyes as you try not to gag, squeezing your fists tight. You can’t answer, can’t even nod.

Cody hums. “That’s too bad.” He holds the back of your neck with a firm grasp. “Guess you still haven’t learned manners.” 

Eyes widening, you wail brokenly around Cody as he begins to fuck your face in earnest. His fat cock pushes to the back of your throat with every stutter of his hips forward. To match the intensity, Rex begins rocking your hips back and forth across his face. His lips latch around your clit and he sucks. Your toes curl. Vision going blurry, you squirm, trapped between them.

Cody releases you and takes a shaky step backward. You cough and sputter, tears leaking down your face, yet you can’t help the way your core lurches at the sight of Cody so affected. What little of his skin you can see beneath his clothes is shiny with a layer of sweat, his cheeks flushed, hair disheveled where his fingers ran through it. 

While you try to regain your breath, you can feel your orgasm approaching, a molten thread pulling taut in your belly. Dropping your gaze to Rex, you keen at the sight of his face slick with your juices, shining in the warm light of his halo. 

“Gonna- gonna—” You gasp. 

Rex digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs as you ride out your high, twitching against his mouth as he continues to lick and suck you through it. Once you begin to come down, panting harshly, Rex gently lifts you off his face. You become aware of a new sensation. Along your arms, something cool and ticklish brushes against your skin. 

Peeking your eyes open, you gasp in wonder at the long, luminescent feathers dragging slowly up your biceps. Rex flexes his wings to caress you. A shiver cascades down your spine.

“Did so good for us, mesh’la,” Rex croons. “So pretty when you cum like that. So pretty when your mouth is stuffed full of cock.” 

Without thinking, you reach out to touch one of Rex’s wings. The feathers are soft, and he holds still to let you stroke the long primary feathers, fondle the shorter coverts. He shudders beneath you. 

“Feel good?” you murmur. 

He hums in response, eyes sliding shut. When you burrow your fingers beneath the stiffer feathers, seeking the down beneath, Rex groans low in his throat. Your nails gently scrape over the warm, membranous skin of his wings, cushioned by downy under-feathers. Under your fingers, you can feel the blood pumping through his veins, fast and hard, just as affected as you are. You watch in fascination as Rex’s expression contorts into one of serene bliss as you stroke your thumb over his skin.

“Mesh’la,” he croons. 

You glance up at Cody shyly. “Can I- Can I touch yours, too?” 

“Greedy,” he accuses, but there’s no real heat behind his words. “Let’s move you to the bed, and then yes, you can touch.”

On unsteady legs, you hobble to the bed, Rex and Cody in tow just as soon as they strip completely. Cody positions you in the center of the bed and, one leg folded beneath him, slots himself at your side. Rex mirrors his pose on the other side, face still sticky with your slick. Once more, their wings spread with a gentle rustle to envelop you. At a nod from Rex, you reach with both hands and bury your fingers into white and black feathers. 

Cody’s forehead drops against your shoulder with a low moan. Rex captures your lips in a sweet kiss, setting your head spinning again. The taste of yourself makes you whimper. His lips curve against yours as you let your hands wander. Brushing over their wings, you smooth your palms over Rex’s and Cody’s thighs, feeling the powerful muscles there flex in response. Drawing farther up, you grope blindly for their lengths. 

All three of you sigh simultaneously as your fingers wrap around them. Rex is shorter than Cody, but thicker too. You moan in anticipation. 

“Filthy fuckin’ thing,” Cody mumbles against your shoulder. His heated body makes sweat begin to dew on your skin. “Couldn’t just pick one or the other, could you? Had to have two cocks. We’re gonna ruin you, princess. Split you open so good you’ll never want another dick.” 

Rex nudges you to turn and face Cody. As the devil’s lips smother yours, Rex trails a featherlight hand down your spine, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and neck. 

“You’re so good for us, mesh’la,” Rex praises quietly. “Made to take us.” 

You whine in agreement, nodding within Cody’s grip. 

“Gonna fuck you now, geroy’bis,” Cody says as he pulls away. His eyes never leave yours, hot and dark, as he continues, “You should feel her mouth, vod. Feel how sinful those lips are when they’re wrapped around you.” 

Whimpering, you flutter your eyelashes at the implication of Cody’s words. 

He grins at you, wolfish and lustful. “That’s right. Hands and knees, filthy girl.” 

Crouched on your elbows, your ass presented to Cody, you bite your lip as Rex’s cock fills your vision. Cody’s steadying grasp on your hip keeps you grounded. His fingers gather some of your slick to spread over his length, and then the blunt head of him presses into you. 

You flick your tongue against the underside of Rex’s tip, moaning at the way your cunt stretches to fit Cody. The deeper Cody pushes, the farther into your mouth you draw Rex, until finally, they’re both seated fully within your holes, one dripping slick and one drooling spit. Cody’s hands splay over your ass for a moment before—

Smack!

You jolt with a surprised, muffled yelp at the stinging ass smack. 

“Doing so good for us,” Rex coos. His breathing is strained, coming in harsh gasps, but he gives you a smile when you glance up to see his expression. “Cody, on three?” 

Cody grunts out an affirmative. “One, two—” 

“Three.” 

They set a devastating rhythm. As Cody withdraws from your tight heat, Rex pushes just a bit more down your throat—then drags your head back as Cody pushes his hips flush against your ass. You’re manhandled between the two of them; Rex’s hands on your head keep you stable while Cody pounds against the spot in your cunt that makes you see stars. Whining, drooling, you relax your throat to take Rex as deep as you can as Cody takes what he wants from you.

The air is full of the sounds of both of them fucking you. The wet squelch of your pussy echoes in direct counterpart to the way you gag on Rex’s length; and orchestrating it all are both men’s voices, muttering filth and praise and worship. At some point, you lose track of who says what, their voices blending into the buzzing in your ears as your orgasm begins to build again. 

“That’s it, little one, take those fuckin’ cocks.” 

“Such—a—good—whore—for—us—ngh!” 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart, letting us use you like this.” 

“Yeah, you gettin’ close? Feel that tight pussy chokin’ me. Cum for us. You can do it.” 

That last is in response to the way that you wail, the sound tearing from your chest as Cody reaches around and presses his fingers to your clit. Body locking up, you pull from Rex’s length with a messy pop as your orgasm crashes into you. Cody fucks you through it, hard and fast, unrelenting. Even when you begin to shake, overstimulated, he slides his cock into you until, with a growl, he buries himself to the hilt and moans. 

You nearly cum again at the feeling of his cock pulsing in you, spilling his hot seed into your sopping cunt. “C-Cody.” 

He slips his softening length from you, but then Rex is immediately there to fill the gap. Using both of your spends as extra lube, Rex’s length splits you apart at the seams. Dimly you’re aware of Cody collapsing on the bed next to you, his gaze warm and caring, horns retracting into his skull. But then Rex tilts your hips just a little, and you can’t even scream, the breath knocked from you as he grinds into you.

Where Cody was rough and insistent, Rex is gentle yet firm. Even as your body jolts in blinding pleasure, he holds you completely still so he can hit that devastating spot in you with deadly precision. You’re swept away by your third orgasm; it hits you so suddenly that you don’t have time to cry out, instead small squeaks falling from your lips. 

Like Cody, Rex stills deep in you and spurts his cum into your stretched, wrecked hole. He nearly collapses on top of you, barely catching himself on his hands. The three of you pant and lay there, trying to recover from the mind-melding experience you just shared. With trembling fingers you reach to trace the scar around Cody’s eye. He hums, leaning into your touch. 

A giggle escapes you, tired and fucked-out. “Holy shit.” 

“You can say that again,” Rex mutters, pulling out at last. 

You whimper at the loss and at the sensation of both of their spends welling out of your spent cunt. Rex pushes some of it back in with his thumb. Moaning, you plant your face in the cushioned bed. 

“Just relax, cyare,” Cody says with a contented sigh. “We’ll take care of you.” 

“You already did,” you mumble thickly, gesturing to your lower half. 

Two rumbling chuckles echo in the room. Rex says, “You know what he meant.” 

Turning your head to meet Cody’s eyes once again, you simply smile. “I know.”

Ye Olde Ragu Liste: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @imarvelatthestars @originalcollectionartistry @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

[sailoryooons]

The Underneath | pjm

☾ Pairing: Monster!Jimin x reader (gender neutral)

☾ Summary: “Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” – Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil OR there is a monster under your bed and you've looked back at it for too long

☾ Word Count: 1,777

☾ Genre: Thriller, Horror in theory

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings:  Just general creep vibes. A lot of this happens in the complete dark so if you don’t like descriptions of total darkness or inability to see, this one is not for you. Mentions of being alone, themes of sadness/depression (though not heavy). Jimin is pretty creepy in speaks in an eerie manner and calls reader ‘it’ a lot and refers to himself as ‘Jimin’ in the third person. Overall it’s just a weird one. 

☾ Published: February 10, 2024

☾ A/N: Random creepy monster under the bed Jimin for this lovely Saturday morning. I actually was working on this last week when it was storming, which is why it’s giving the cheesy ‘It was a dark and storm night’ vibes lmfaooo. This Jimin is lowkey a little cute in my head cause he’s just this creepy lil monster under the bed who is like :/ I’m tired of you crying mf. This is for my fifth drable of the 100 Drabble Challenge and today I rolled for monster AU. Enjoy! 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

“Holy diver, you’ve been down too long in the midnight sea,” you hum, tracing patterns in the condensation on the glass pane. It’s cool to the touch, sending goosebumps down your arm. Your forehead presses against the window, feeling the damp condensation clinging to it as rain beats on the other side. “Oh, what’s becoming of me?” 

The tip tap of the rain matches the dappled shadows dancing across the room. The streetlight shining through the window is a weak glow, broken up by the shadow of your hand and the swaying tree branches as they bow under the wind. 

Wind batters the house. The home creaks under the pressure of the wind. A crack of lightning dazes you and your eyes flutter, blinking away bursts of colors and stars as you try to adjust to the darkness of your room again. The electricity flickers, a deep-bellied groan of thunder chasing the lightning.

“Gotta get away, Holy Diver.” 

You don’t know why that song. It’s the only thing that comes to you in the emptiness that slinks in on the heels of your sadness, a tune fit for thinking of nothing. Feeling nothing. Being nothing. 

You don’t even remember the first time you learned the Dio tune. 

“Like the eyes of a cat in the black and blue,” you mumble, the words catching over themselves as you become unfocused, vision blurring. You’re not really thinking of the song, but your lips move. They sound the words. 

Lightning flickers again. This time the power fails, the salt lamp in the corner of your room blinks off and the fan in the corner goes dead. The quiet presses in like a physical thing, smothering you as you lean away from the window, spooked by the darkness that floods both inside and outside. 

Spinning away from the window in your computer chair, your eyes scan the darkness. The furniture in your room takes on new forms. The lamp looks like something tall and vicious. The lumps of blankets and pillows on the bed look like bodies. The blank space under your bed looks like… something.

A mouth. A void. A thing. 

Still, the song plays in your mind, an empty cycle of words and music that you can’t shut off. “Something is coming for you, look out!”

The back of your neck begins to tingle as your gaze settles on the blank darkness under your bed. Slowly, you claw your way from the depths of an empty mind to acute awareness, blinking away the daze and focusing only on the gap between the floor and the bed.

Like always, a razor-thin awareness carves its way through you, an instinct that something is there. Licking your lips, you squint as though it can help you see in the cloying darkness. Your eyes tell you that nothing is there, but the goosebumps and pins and needles sensation slithering down your spine tells you otherwise. 

You don’t remember the first time you had the feeling that there was something under your bed. You just know it’s always happened, a preternatural awareness slipping into your mind and telling you to look. 

As a child, you were always too afraid to look. As an adult, you cannot help but look, seeking out whatever lies in the dark, searching for whatever it is that wants to be seen. 

There’s a hiss of sound. You cock your head. It isn’t enough sound to hear, exactly, but more like it’s the idea of a sound. Both a noise and nothing at all. 

“You can hide in the sun 'til you see the light.” The words drip from your mouth unaccounted for. You don’t know what makes you mumble them still. “Oh, we will pray it's alright.”

There is something on your bed. You know it like you know there is a storm outside. You know it like you know to breathe air or like to blink. 

Outside, the rain grows louder. There is no lightning to reveal what sits on your bed, but you stare nonetheless, trying to work out where it begins and ends. You think there is a shadow darker than others, but it’s hard to tell. 

It doesn’t occur to you not to be afraid. There is a buzzing in your head making fear temporarily unavailable, like a cellphone too far to be in service. 

“Why did it stop singing?” You sit straight in your chair. The voice comes from the direction of your bed, velvet soft and barely there. You strain to hear it over the pounding of the rain. “It has a lovely voice.” 

“I… forgot I was singing.”

“It forgets that it is making sound?”

The voice is both one voice and a hundred. It feels as though it echoes in your mind, smoke slipping into your ears and filling your senses. Your daze grows stronger, making your lashes flutter as the whispers skim over your mind and skin like a tangible thing. 

It fades after a moment, the silence following the sensation. You blink, staring into the darkness. You’re sure you can see a shadow sitting on your bed now, and though you can’t see eyes, you know it is looking at you. 

“I was sad.”

“Was? Is?”

“Was.” You think about it and realize that you aren’t sad anymore. The void that you felt only moments earlier is gone. “Yeah, I was sad. Now I’m not.”

“How does it feel?”

“Better.” 

“Good. It should be happy. I want it to be happy.” 

“What are you?” 

“Does it want to see my face?”

You hesitate. It isn’t fear that makes you pause. No, this thing has been in your room for as long as you can remember, though it’s never spoken to you before. You hesitate because you think you should be afraid and yet…

“I would like to, yes.” 

Lightning lances and you flinch. You only see the thing - a person - on your bed for a split second, but it’s enough to memorize some of his features. Dark grey hair, an angular face with delicate cheekbones, an elegant nose that’s rounded at the tip, sensual lips that look pillow-soft and rosy, and siren eyes that could look into your very soul.

It’s the eyes you remember. Sleepy. Seductive. Piercing. Eyes like that are what great poets write about, what musicians make songs about. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you even in the dark, pinning you to your computer chair, your instincts buzzing. 

You stare into the dark. The dark stares back, perhaps even more severely than before. 

His presence is oppressive, you realize. It’s a physical thing, like a blanket of nettle pressing against you both mentally and physically, an itch you can’t scratch. 

“You’re pretty,” you breathe.

“It may call me Jimin.”

“You can call me by my name. I’m not an it.” 

Though you cannot see the creature - Jimin - you get the sense he’s smiling as he asks, “You will give me your name freely to use? Names are so powerful.”

“Yes, I’d prefer you to call me by my name.” 

Jimin repeats your name back and the way he says it makes you shiver, rich chocolate dripping off of his tongue. Still, despite sitting in the dark and speaking with him in that hissing, purring voice of his, you’re not afraid, though… it feels like you could be. Like the fear is somewhere locked deep inside a mine, unable to find the path out. 

“Why are you so sad? You’re always so sad.” The way Jimin asks the questions makes you lean forward. His voice is a soft call, the rise and fall of the tone and the softness of the whisper alluring. “Jimin doesn’t like it when you’re sad.”

“I… feel very alone. People always leave me.”

He hums. “You’re never alone. You know that though, don’t you?” You nod, unsure if Jimin can see you with those sharp, keen eyes. “Jimin has always been here.”

“I… felt you.”

“And you were not afraid?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I feel like I should be.” 

Jimin hums and you can hear him move. The bed creeks as he shifts, though you cannot tell what he’s doing. The pressure of the air around you tightens and you think he might be walking toward you. 

“You never have to be afraid of Jimin.” You can smell damp clove and petrichor as he approaches. Like darkness. Like rain. “What if Jimin told you there was a place for you where you would never be sad?”

You hesitate. Jimin is somewhere right in front of you. His body doesn’t radiate heat so much as it radiates energy, an otherness about him that is unfamiliar to you. Perhaps like the static that comes with lightning or the pounding of your heart that comes with adrenaline. 

“I think I would like that.”

Cold fingers brush your hand. Jimin chuckles when you flinch and gasp. “No need to be afraid of Jimin. Come.”

Jimin tugs you. It’s gentle at first, but when you don’t move, too slow to catch up, it’s urgent. Worried. Hungry. Demanding. Jimin pulls you out of the seat, his grip turning to iron as he drags you across the room. 

Though you’ve told him yes, your body reacts differently. You dig your heels in and lean back, tugging your arm. Your thoughts tangle, trying to get your body to follow him the way your mind wants, but it feels like you’re pressing up against bones and muscles that are unfamiliar, like you can’t get them to work. Like they aren’t yours. 

You feel confused. Thoughts thick like cotton, you stumble after Jimin, legs locking and unlocking as you fight for the control to follow him. Jimin hums delightfully and pulls you to your knees, his hands on your shoulders as he giggles. 

“Jimin will protect you,” he whispers, his breath fanning your face. It’s cloying sweet, freezing you to the spot as your syrupy thoughts turn solid and realize it’s your instincts making you stop. The fear is there at the last moment, shattering through the dizziness to claim you. “No more sad!”

“Wait-”

“To the Underneath we go. It will be with Jimin forever.”

Jimin gives a brutal pull. You feel your body slam to the ground, thoughts splintering as your head hits the wooden floor. The last thing you remember is the drag of your heavy against the floor, the heavy pressure of static on your skin, and Jimin’s haunting voice singing in the dark. 

Like the eyes of a cat in the black and blue, something is coming for you, look out!

[iamvercnika]

VERONIKA  (  베로니카  ),  a  fictional  female  soloist,  emerges from the shadows with  unique  haunting  music  style  and  witch-themed  visuals.  her  self-titled  debut  album,  released  alongside  an  intense  music  video,  created  a  buzz  in  the  industry  with  its  dark  and  mysterious  theme.  the  concept  resonated  strongly  with  audiences,  who  were  drawn  to  the  blend  of  mythology,  witchcraft,  and  music.

the  release  of  her  debut  album  was  accompanied  by  a  well-coordinated  promotional  campaign  that  generated  significant  hype  on  social  media  platforms.  VERONIKA's  striking  visuals  and  haunting  music  style  quickly  made  her  a  topic  of  conversation  among  music  enthusiasts.

VERONIKA  is  rumoured  to  be  heavily  involved  in  the  creative  direction  of  her  music  videos  and  concepts,  adding  a  personal  touch  to  her  artistry.  reports  suggest  that  VERONIKA  is  not  only  involved  in  the  selection  of  themes  and  visuals  but  also  contributes  to  the  storytelling  and  overall  vision  of  her  projects.  this  hands-on  approach  allows  her  to  maintain  artistic  integrity  and  ensure  that  her  music  aligns  with  her�� unique  concept.

moreover,  VERONIKA's  captivating  stage  presence  further  solidified  her  reputation  as  an  artist  to  watch.  her  live  performances,  often  featuring  theatrical  elements  and  intricate  choreography,  left  a  lasting  impression  on  audiences  and  helped  her  garner  a  dedicated  fanbase.

₊‧⁺˖ I AM NOT AFRAID OF THE DARK ! ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ BASIC INFO :

ARTIST NAME ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ veronika

COMPANY ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ glasshouse inc. ( 2020 — 2024 ), octavia music co. ( 2024 — present )

DEBUT DATE ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ october 17th, 2020

DEBUT ALBUM ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ veronika

GREETING ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ “ i am that thing in your nightmares! hello, this is VERONIKA! ”

FANDOM NAME ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ nightshades

FANDOM COLOURS ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ enigma ( #191970 ) + essence ( #b87333 )

₊‧⁺˖ IT IS WHERE MY POWER RESIDES ! ⸻ ⠀⠀⠀ DISCOGRAPHY :

VERONIKA : VERONIKA ⸺ debut mini ( 2020 )

MIDNIGHT DREARY : THE WITCH LIVES ⸺ mini album ( 2021 )

BUMP IN THE NIGHT : GOOSEBUMPS ⸺ mini mini ( 2021 )

AS ABOVE : SHE KNOWS THE TRUTH ⸺ mini album ( 2021 )

SO BELOW : I KNOW BETTER ⸺ repackaged mini ( 2022 )

KILLING MR. STRANGER : STRANGENESS IN US ⸺ ep album ( 2022 )

THE DEVIL WITHIN : LITTLE MONSTER ⸺ full album ( 2022 )

HEAVY IS THEE : CROWN OF THORNS ⸺ ep album ( 2023 )

TOUCH OF EVIL : SONG OF DEATH ⸺ mini album ( 2023 )

SPIDERWEB : SPIDERWEB ⸺ single album ( 2024 )

[softagenda]

close call (ais)

ais x reader(f)

close encounter

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

A Soulless ate a corpse around the corner.

You froze at the threshold of the alley, heart pounding in your ears. A drop of sweat slid down the valley of your spine. A song of horror drifted through the midnight street: the crunch of bone, wet snaps of muscle and sinew, squelching and dripping of organ and blood on the cobblestone. 

Stomach turning, you breathed slowly through your nose and leaned just enough to see around the wall.

The body splayed across the road, half here, half there. A toy with its stuffing ripped out. The Soulless nosed around the gaping cavern of the chest, teeth hooking on ribs and tossing, twisting as long trails of intestine spilled out on the street.

You withdrew, holding your breath until you were out of eyeshot. To wait or to attempt to escape. It could feast for another ten minutes, perhaps an hour. Unless other prey wandered into its path.

The crunching stopped.

The back of your neck went cold.

Fuck. 

Your grip tightened on the dagger, watching the opening of the alley out of the corner of your eye, holding as still as possible. Had it heard your heartbeat after all? Without thought, your free hand left the wall and hovered over your chest, just above where the signet ring hung from its chain. Leander had said to use it whenever needed, that it would summon the hounds to your location. 

Lot of good that would do you now. You’d be mince meat before they’d breached Amaryllis.

Something scratched the brick above.

You slowly craned your neck up.

A skeletal claw curled around the wall. One finger, then another, then three more. In the moonlight, latched onto the wall, the Soulless resembled a massive wolf spider, a nightmarish behemoth with glowing red eyes, its maw opening in a gash of needle sharp black teeth.

Will you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

A ringing filled in your ears. 

Triple fuck. 

A bark broke the silence. 

You flinched hard, dagger lifting on instinct.

A second Soulless sat in the middle of the alley in a pool of moonlight. On its haunches, with its three legs primly arranged in front, twenty-odd tails writhing at its back, a dozen yellow eyes stared at the scene. Princess.

To the right, an ember sputtered in the dark.

Ais lounged on a stack of crates, his elbows on his knees. Kimono draped loosely over his bare, tattooed chest, boots knocking softly against the wooden panel. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, drew deep as the butt embered and smoked, then released it in a heavy sigh. 

Your mouth opened - to scream, to laugh, to call for help, you weren’t sure - when a shadow leaned over you. A glob of something dripped onto your shoulder, stinking of metal.

A snarl ripped through the silence. Princess’s daisy yellow eyes had melted into a violent red. She prowled closer two steps, the spines on her back lifting into a jagged stripe. 

A breath of warm, putrid air billowed around your head, forcing a gag from your throat. The tip of a needle brushed your ear. 

His eyes opened. 

An instant later, the Soulless skittered back from the corner. Its claws scratching and teeth clicking as though enraged at being denied, the eldritch monster slithered back down the road, one of its arms snatching the broken corpse as it went.

Gasping, heart thudding away in your chest, you dropped to your knees and struggled to breathe. Every hair on your body stood on end, goosebumps rippling down your back and arms. You forced your grip to loosen on the dagger - you’d clutched so tightly the leather binding on the handle had dug into your palm.

“Don’t you just hate gettin’ hit on in a dark alley in the middle of the night?” drawled Ais, his chin propped on his palm. “Romance’s dead.”

Princess trotted up to you, her spikes relaxed once more, writhing tails swishing happily in greeting. Softening, the adrenaline settling in your blood, you greeted her.

“Hey, girl,” you murmured gratefully, still breathless. You extended a hand and managed a smile as she curled her leathery skin into your touch. “You thought about letting me get eaten.” 

Ais smirked. “Caught me. I wonder what you taste like.” His eyes flared red in the dark.

You turned back to Princess and scritched her chin. “You’re the only one I trust in this shit hole.”

She woofed, curling a tentacle around your wrist to keep the pets coming.

“Princess wonders too.”

Ignoring him, you gave her another few good pets before rising to your feet. “You owe me a shirt.”

“The fuck I do.”

You pointed to the glob smeared across the shoulder of your cloak, unwilling to look too close and potentially identify what it was made of - who it was made of. 

“Smells like a personal problem.” 

“Was that a pun? Because fuck you.” You strode closer until you could steal the cigarette from his loose fingers. You didn’t smoke, but this was a night for a little smoke and ash. “Fine, I’ll just steal one from Leander. You’re not the only big-tit asshole in this town.”

Red eyes smoldered above with laughter. “But I’m also big where it counts.”

A sharp laugh cracked through the lingering terror that stifled your chest and refused to exhume with the smoke. “Wish he was here for that, he’d probably cry.” 

“Night’s still young.” He held out his two fingers. You sighed but returned the cigarette. “How bout a drink instead?”

“Deal.

He took one last drag before dropping the stick into a puddle - you carefully did not think about how it hadn’t rained that day - before leaping off the crate and landing seamlessly on the stone, agile as a cat. 

“Vere might be there. Borrow some of that tissue he calls a shirt.” Ais glanced down your body, lingering around your hips and chest. 

“Pass. I’ve been drooled on enough for one day.” 

Princess trotted along at your heels until you reached the main street. Ais stroked a hand down her back before sending her on her way home, before leading the way across the street and into the Wet Wick, boisterous and full despite the hour. 

_______________________________________

a/n: thanks for reading! comments and likes are very much appreciated

[hazelroses1]

The Night You're Mine Again (Kacchako)

CW: Demon/Angel AU, mild angst, sexual language

Happy Halloween! 🎃

Ochako sat on the cliff, her bare feet swinging freely over it. The drop to the frigid river below would make most steer clear of the looming edge, but not Ochako. Calmness washed over her as the gentle autumn breeze tousled her hair off her shoulders, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Ochako inhaled deeply, her eyes closing, the crisp air intoxicating. It was late, almost midnight. Despite the late hour, Ochako’s body alighted with gentle energy only he could bring. One night a year, from midnight until the sun rose, he walked the Earth again. Only one every 365 days, as the curse dictated.

Their curse was a cruel one placed on them by the gods for daring to defy tradition and falling in love. A demon and an angel weren’t meant to be together, but they resisted the old laws and fought for change. They weren’t successful this time, but they’d figure out a way. Angels traveled between the god and human realms at will, but not Katsuki. His wings had been clipped, and he regained them only this night. Those beautiful ivory wings, two on each side, were what the painters of old visualized in their masterpieces.

They were silky, while her onyx ones favored crow feathers. Ochako had found them unappealing, as many angels did, but Katsuki called them gorgeous. She’d learned to love her wings because of him. Ochako would never forget the day he’d told her he found them beautiful because it was the first time her heart skipped a beat for him. Halloween, the only day of the year when the door between all realms cracked, allowed them to spend a few hours together. It hurt every time he faded away, returning to Nirvana while Ochako remained on Earth in her human form.

The gods were wise. They knew leaving her with her demon powers allowed her to visit Nirvana when invited by an Arch Angel. With Katsuki’s wings clipped, he wouldn’t hesitate, no matter the consequences. They did everything to stand in their way, but it only strengthened their bond. Ochako stood and stretched her arms over her head, the lavender long-sleeve dress she wore sliding off her right shoulder as she did so. She knew better than to wear restricting clothing when her heart’s desire made his appearance. Katsuki was a passionate being, raw and honest in everything he did, whether standing up for what he believed in, war, or lovemaking. She admired that about him.

The wind rustled behind her, and his presence washed over her. To a human, its heaviness would intimidate them, but Ochako only smiled and turned to face him. Katsuki didn’t give her a second to whisper hello before his arms wrapped around her, tendrils of his power billowing white smoke around their ankles. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. The warmth of his broad chest against her felt familiar. Any tension she might have had evaporated as Ochako reached up to drape her arms over his shoulders. 

“Ochako,” he murmured between kisses.

The tears she promised herself she wouldn’t shed this time trailed down her cheeks as they broke apart and pressed their foreheads together. 

"I've missed you, ra te ektun vi och seminkeh.”

“Ra te ektun vi och seminkeh,” Katsuki repeated in a language long forgotten.

My star amongst the clouds. Despite Ochako’s former standing as Purgatory’s lead General of Torture, Katsuki never saw her as the monster his kind did. He recognized, worshipped, and loved her for who she was, even if their first meetings hadn’t gone well. A sassy asshole angel had barged into her realm and had demanded she release someone who’d accidentally been sent to hell. It hadn’t been the first time someone ended up in Purgatory by mistake, but Ochako had declined to release her victim. Maybe the Grim Reaper hadn’t been paying attention when they’d gotten their assignment for that human, but they hadn’t been wrong to bring her to hell.

She’d been a cruel human who’d purposely brought sick infants to the brink of death in hopes of saving them and looking like a hero. Her success rate had left much to be desired and many parents mourning the loss of their little one. Scathing words were shared, ones Katsuki had disagreed with, and they’d fought, a flurry of talons, teeth, and wings until Nirvana’s god had called him off.

Katsuki had promised he’d return, and Ochako had vowed to crush him under the heel of her boot. He had returned, but Ochako had shown him what that human had done to deserve eternal punishment. Once Katsuki had understood Ochako’s victim’s crimes, he’d given her a stern look. The woman begged him for forgiveness and pleaded that he save her from torment. Katsuki had met Ochako’s gaze, those intense red eyes speaking for him before he uttered a word.

“Do what you want to her.”

With that, he’d left, and Nirvana had been in an uproar. Apparently, the woman had been a project of All Might, the god of Nirvana. He’d wanted to bring her to Nirvana to rehabilitate her and let her be reborn. This would have been her third reincarnation.

In her first life, she’d been a male serial killer slicing up prostitutes in alleyways. In the second, a cruel dictator who’d caused mass genocide and a world war. Reincarnating her as a woman did nothing to stop the blackness embedded in the soul. It was tainted.

What angels failed to realize was that some souls weren’t worth saving. This one chose to be evil. That set the start of Katsuki and Ochako spending time together. Ochako wasn’t sure when she’d fallen in love with him. All she knew was she’d fight by his side for all eternity, and their combined powers, tied with the desire to change the status quo made them dangerous in the eyes of the current leaders, hence their curse. It wouldn’t stop them from being together. They were destined, written among the vastness of all universes.

Their battles and a love that couldn’t be extinguished would live on forever. Tales of how an angel and demon overthrew the celestial realms would never be forgotten. It would change the course of time for millennia to come when it happened.

Katsuki’s fingers trailing up her sides brought her out of her musings to study those bright crimson eyes. 

Shaky palms cupped his jaw, bringing him down to meet her lips once more as his wings materialized. They expanded as Katsuki hooked his arms under her thighs, hoisting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist with practiced ease. His arousal pressed against her core with promises of heated passion to come. Bringing each other to the edge had become second nature, but neither grew tired of seeing the other coming undone from their touch.

“Ready for me to fuck you senseless, Demon?” Katsuki asked before leaving open-mouth kisses along her collarbone that made her toes curl.

“Always, Angel,” Ochako replied, raking her nails through his ash-blonde locks. “Tonight, you’re mine again.”

They blasted into the night sky toward their cabin of old, intent on making the most of those few hours until they met again. The chill of the air rose goosebumps along her skin, but the warmth of his chest helped satiate the cool bite of ending autumn. The clear night sky let the full moon blanket the tops of full oak trees, a beautiful night for them to spend together. Ochako relaxed into her lover’s embrace as they flew across the night sky, the Earth a new vision from their place amongst the low clouds. They couldn’t fly as high as they once did because of her human stature, but Ochako didn’t mind because the glitter of the river’s surface nearby gave her peace.

When they landed in front of their mortal home deep within the forgotten woods, the earthy hint of dirt reached her nose as the dust bloomed from the flap of Katsuki’s mighty wings. Ochako wove her fingers between his and led him toward the small cabin, the lights flickering the closer they got. Ochako smiled, grateful for their friend and forest king, Izuku, keeping their location hidden. She swung the door open, listening to its soft creak before stepping inside a place that looked well used from its cleanliness. There was an open kitchen to their left and a beautifully furnished living room straight ahead. The domestic feeling reminded her of her hopes of settling down with her lover after their battle against the gods. It would happen. Ochako’s determination and Katsuki’s stubbornness to love each other unconditionally and without fear or repercussion rang clear and strong. As Ochako led Katsuki toward their bedroom, his footsteps behind her heightened her arousal. They belonged to each other this night, as fate intended them to be.

🎃

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

So if Midnight Mass was posted, does that mean horror shows are allowed as well?

Mod Sus has probably been way too flexible when it comes to adding movies to request list (read: allows Hellboy just because it has ugly monsters) BUT we still aim to keep this blog mainly horror movie themed. That being said, we got some mini series here too, I'd say ones with max 2-3 episodes of continuous story. Individual stand-alone-episodes might pass as long you don't ask us to go through entire Goosebumps season or so. But no entire series like American Horror Stories, no.

Don't overthink it when thinking about request to send us.

[the-slasher-files]

SLASHER FILES' BLOOD FEST: WEEK ONE

SAVED FOR THE DEVIL

MICHAEL MYERS

Prompts: FIRE. WOUND(S). SUBURBS. BONDAGE

Keywords: ACRID. MALIGNANT

You were finally home. Back to comfort. Safety. You just wish you could stop the shaking.

It was your first night at home alone without the help of your best friend. They had work the next day, and it was time to get back to some sort of normalcy, even for yourself. But you couldn't stop the memories and waves of violent anxiety. Every twist and turn, trying to melt into your couch, it only made your body ache more. The gash on your thigh grew warm with irritation, stitches throbbing and your muscles would tense with a deep, tight pull.

This wasn't how you were supposed to spend your week off.

You take a moment to collect your equilibrium once you raise yourself off the cushions; Hesitating, eventually opting out of grabbing your crutches and slowly, you move out the front door. You just needed some air.

Limping down the wooden steps with clinging hands against the railing, you were thankful no one was ever out around this time of night. No one to gaze and pity you or ask about the accident. The corpse of your totalled motorcycle lay against the asphalt of your driveway, a mangled sore thumb within the so-called "perfect" suburb. But you knew all your neighbours just wanted gossip to spew behind picket fences of your "wild night out". At first, the suburb seemed warm, and safe, with lovely families and idealistic women, now, it just seemed creepy. Something like a maze of houses with monsters hiding in plain sight. Pointed roofs cast dark silhouettes against the midnight sky, mirroring the sharp jaws of a bear trap that kept you in place.

There was nothing but eerie silence around you, the cool breeze carried with it the acrid smell of singed plastic, motor oil and leaking gasoline. It twisted your stomach. Goosebumps arose on your flesh as memories flooded back; Blinding headlights, crushing metal, screaming brakes and your hands grasping at the metal trying to rip your leg apart.

Breathe. Breathe. You're safe.... safe.

The gentle squeal of your front door drew your mind back to the present. Your bare feet padded softly around the corner, seeing the front door open merely an inch that the wind could've pushed open. Odd, but not abnormal with the amount of pain pills still sitting within your veins.

Climbing the steps once more, you closed the door behind you. Taking in a deep breath, your body ached and shivered, restlessness eating at your very core, yet the exhaustion wanted to tear you down into the ground. 'Ice, medication and sleep' the doctors voice repeated.

"Ice, meds... Ice cream and sleep" You softly spoke to yourself with a slight delirious chuckle.

The dim led lights greeted your skin in a cool glow just as the cold graced it as well. It was all so normal— The gentle fog that rolled out, the soft burn of the ice pack once your fingers grabbed the ice pack. Normal until there was the cracking of your skull against the freezer door. Your wrist snapping between the gap, bones cutting like a blade through tendons and muscle, coating your skin in blood as your body fell lifelessly against the hardwood. It wasn't the headlights of a vehicle blinding you or the force of a 4000 pound piece of metal colliding with your figure, but your body flooded with agonizing terror all the same.

Reacting on instinct alone, a pure fight or flight to stay alive, your body twisted to your back so your eyes could gather the impending doom. A looming shape of death came from the shadows of your dark home. A reaper with a white unaffected face, boots heavy without fear of a sound, mythologically pounded towards you. Clambering back, clutching your broken wrist that was spilling out, malignant eyes stared down like a predatory ready to fest on his prey.

"P-please— I" Your voice caught in your throat.

Stuck mindlessly as the large boot pressed upon your chest. Ribs compressing down on your lungs, something caught his attention on the kitchen counter, and a bloody hand reached out. The flash of silver captured the low light from the fridge still hanging open, blood dripping down the plastic. Slowly, the man knelt down, a powerful leg in navy coveralls crushing your sternum, waiting until he heard the sick crack of bone drawing a blood-curdling scream from you. Thrashing, grappling and writhing, unable to move under the shadow above you. Your lungs hurt with every breath, burning and tasting copper as he just watched. Toying with your vital fear and raw emotions, watching you hopelessly settle to watch him back.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" You screamed, no one would come to your rescue— Wouldn't dare to leave their cozy homes and search for the wounded within the black night.

With your wrists above you, laying lame on the hardwood floor, your yelling seemed to displease the shape. And within a matter of seconds, his large arm drew back and then hurled forward to slice a kitchen knife threw your hand. Pinning it. Before you could curl your other hand in defence, the man above repeated the action. Nerves, tendons, muscles and bones all set ablaze in the sight of the beast, he tilted his head curiously. A sick enjoyment.

His breathing could be heard beneath the mask and over your pounding heart. He was labored bearing witness to your struggle, and it was not in sympathy.

Your crimson ran hot, forming a puddle and tangling within your messy hair. Stretching out his arm, he grabbed another blade from within the knife block and finally released his knee from you. He had you exactly where he wanted, pinned in a sick way of bondage to do whatever he pleased. The searing pain from your hands travelled all the way up your arms, forcing you not to move, just crying and feeling every broken breath that you took.

Begging softly between cries, they fell on deft ears as the man gazed over your body. It was as if he was enamored by you if he could even feel those emotions. But the man was just looking for another reason to keep you alive a little longer, and he found that reason.

A thick finger, oddly gentle, coasted along the fresh wound on your plush thigh. Stitches raised, skin still raw. It pulls a lamentable whine from you, raising your knees with the instinct to protect yourself from a vile predator. And you swear you hear the man above give a quiet 'hush' as he tilts his head in curiosity.

"Don't, please" You try and beg again, twisting your body in any futile attempt. "...I won't tell anyone, I promise"

The massive blood-soaked hand trailed up, knife within his dangerous grasp. Sharp, deadly, he grazed the blade across your cheek, almost as if it was a gentle caress— He followed the flexed tendons of your anatomy. Jaw, throat, and playing at your collar bone. The man was curious. A sick young dog let loose to play god and have his own fascination piqued with blood and torture.

Your chest rose and fell in quick succession before arching in anguish, having the knife drive home into youe jugular. The beast above had hooked his blunt fingers in your stitches and tore the flesh apart again. You wished you could let out the scream you wanted, but blood came like a tidal wave, washing the tubes of your throat. It would drown you as he pushed the knife further.

Leaning down, the man grasped your jaw to see him, making sure your last dying moments were spent gazing the devil in the eye. Like a religious figure on pinned to the cross, you died under his torture. In the safety of your own home. God saved you for the devil, your rightful death. Blood pouring in a halo, he left to become the shadows once more.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb:

"Myth-making with a majestic monster at its heart, laced with style and suspense." —Kirkus Reviews

"A haunting yet poignant story that will leave readers hungry for more." —Publishers Weekly

Endless night befalls a sleepy seaside town, leaving it to young Madeline Tock to save her community from a threat known only as the Night Mother . . .

The moon is stuck like a broken clock in the midnight sky, the sun a distant memory. No one in this quiet seaside town can remember how long this unnatural darkness has lasted. No one, that is, except for the curious girl who lives in the graveyard, caring for the dead: twelve-year-old Madeline Tock. In gratitude, the departed whisper their worries to her, sounding just like her overprotective but loving father: beware this endless night and she who causes it.

Because there’s someone else who can hear the whispers, too . . . someone whose gown is a map of the cosmos, hair a tangled constellation, eyes like the lights of faraway stars. The Night Mother. Her elemental duty is to gather the souls of the dead in her lantern, then send them to their eternal rest as beautiful moonlight. But when her hunger for power drives her to take souls from the living, Madeline bravely stands up to defend her town and those she loves. Can Madeline help bring back the sun, or will she be lured by the starry promises of this mysterious woman?

Written by Jeremy Lambert (Doom Patrol, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Goosebumps) and richly illustrated by Alexa Sharpe (Lumberjanes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Uncanny Magazine), The Night Mother is a lush gothic tale perfect for readers of all ages who relish in the wonder of the night sky.

Review:

A gothic tale about a girl in a sleepy seaside town who finds her life turned upside when a stranger washes ashore and tells her that the Night Mother is coming after her... Madeline Tock is a twelve-year-old girl who lives in a sleepy little season town where the unnatural darkness has been for as long as anyone can remember. When a stranger washes up in the town and says that Madeline is in danger and thatr someone known as the Night Mother is coming after her, things are about to get crazy. Can Madeline and her new friend stop the evil force coming after her and is she really Madeline's mother? This is a beautifully drawn story and the first one in a series. It's a fun read and I absolutely needed more! I need the second book right now because I am so curious where the story goes next! Definitely pick this up if you ant a spooky seaside read!

Release Date: October 8,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Oni Press for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[kimi-twstheadcanons]

🎃Twisted Wonderland Spooky Playlist🎃

Welcome to Twisted Wonderland, where you find magic and wonders beyond what you understand.

Spooky Season has come at last, with pumpkin smiles and wicked laughs.

Cheers to a spook that’ll haunt our dreams, with horrifying monsters that will make us scream.

Through the night they roam and stalk, preying on you on your midnight walk.

Horror and scares are their specialty when this time arrives, because giving people goosebumps is what makes them thrive.

Beware of whom you meet, for you never know who will give you a trick or treat.

Happy Halloween!

[whenimgoodandready]

*Goosebumps (2023) Season 2 Theories

I read that the producers were really interested in expanding the new Goosebumps series’s by adding in the other books, most definitely Night of the Living Dummy ones, and that’s awesome! I mean, think about it, Kanduu said he can unleash more monsters, weeeeeeell what if he meant the monsters from the other books! 🤩It’s the perfect seasonal plot for Season 2! He could unleash all the other monsters and we’d get them all for Season 2! Picture this:

Calling All Creeps!-This can be about Kanduu summoning all the monsters to awaken and them slowly coming alive.

The Girl Who Cried Monster-I wanted Margot to be the one to tell the others about the monsters coming back, but then I thought, maybe Allison should! We barely knew anything about her other than being Isaiah’s jealous girlfriend, so maybe this’ll give her some characterization and become a member of the group finally when she sees there’s more to life than just the social status of high school.

Monster Blood-One fan suggested this when they said that the dupes blood can be the monster blood, but what if it’s the blood of the monster the teens defeat and when they think they won, the blood slowly moves to its next host to possess!?

The Beast from the East-Those creatures (not all the monsters are caused by the monster blood mind you, some are original monsters from the temple that were unleashed) can play that overly complicated game of tag with the teens. Also, for those who read the books, if one of the “dupes” survived, the beasts will let them go as they’re “Level 3” players😉

The Werewolf of Fever Swamp-The monster blood gets on a lone wolf dwelling in a swamp and infects it turning them into a werewolf.

The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight-The monster blood gets ahold of a simple scarecrow that attacks people at midnight.

The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb-The monster blood gets onto to a mummy at an Egyptian exhibit in a museum that awakens it from its sleep.

Phantom of the Auditorium-The monster blood infecting an actor in the schools/town theatre’s play of “The Phantom of the Opera” and kidnapping people to be the only star.

Attack of the Mutant-The monster blood infecting a cosplayer at a comic con into the character from the graphic novel, but they’re evil and delusional to think everyone at the convention is the real deal.

The Abominable Snowman of Pasadena-The monster blood infecting a yeti statue outside of an ice cream parlor in Pasadena the teens were at for a traveling thing.

Vampire Breath-Not an actual vampire in the show per se, but what if a student accidentally created this kind of potion and it’s fumes turned people into blood sucking monsters!?

The Blob That Ate Everyone-The monster blood forming together to create a giant blob that consumes everything.

How to Kill a Monster-After finding out how all these monsters keep showing up, Margot will try to figure out a way to stop it from the spell book she now has. She’ll also use it throughout the season as a guide to look up the monsters and find other spells to repel them.

——————————————-

For the Night of the Living Dummy, these will go deeper into the Kanduu storyline when he now possess Mr.Bratt.

Night of the Living Dummy lll-This’ll pick up right where we left off with Mr.Bratt discovering Kanduu isn’t dead and getting possessed again. Poor guy can’t catch a break!

Slappy's Nightmare-This’ll deal with Kanduu before the war and how his life was growing up in the 19th century and he probably didn’t have a good life judging by that era (dirt poor? abusive parents, no friends, etc.) which got worse by the war.

Bride of the Living Dummy-This one I’m excited about cuz what if Kanduu had a love interest that they forgot about due to obtaining all that power, but then something triggered that memory. Maybe he sees all these happy couples (ex.Margot and Isaiah) and remembers his sweetheart, Mary Ellen! Maybe he’ll try to bring her back by using a doll he bought from a garage sale and going to her grave to say a spell to bring her back!? Or a teacher from the school falls for Mr.Bratt and Kanduu (still possessing him) will use her as the vessel to bring Mary Ellen back!