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millersfinest · 3 months ago

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little death | c.k

part one

fledgling vampire!caitlyn kiramman & old vampire!reader

wc: 4k

blurb: her longing spirit was the very thing to draw you to her—come to me, come to me. after many years alone, you’d found a companion worthy enough to be yours. but creating a vampire of your own is not easy. even if you are consistently stricken by her delicate beauty and form. the prettiest of birds could still be a thorn in your side.

warnings: MDNI, descriptions of blood, vampirism, lestat coded reader, louis coded cait, cannibalistic themes (ish), eroticism (surrounding vampirism), eventual s m u t, a little toxic, slight manipulation, use of pet names, anne rice vampires.

note: i was watching interview with the vampire (the movie, but i have seen the show) and i immediately got inspired, especially since halloween is so close. please, enjoy the expression of my love for vampires. (btw this will be a two part series).

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The sweetness of her scent has lured you onto the damp cobblestones of England. Her racing thoughts breadcrumbed you to follow her path down dark streets that were haunted by whores and pickpockets.

It wasn’t like her to be in the slums of the city—that wasn’t where she was from. No, she was from the higher points of society. Where the sun cascaded through her large windows every morning. Maids infiltrated her sleeping quarters with different gown options at the break of dawn; handmaidens offering to primp and prime her for the day.

Yet, there she was, slipping through the worst parts of London. And what for? You wondered, lingering in the dark amongst the worldly sin that acted as a decoy for your damned persona.

The fair-skinned woman, hiding under a top-hat, ducked into a structure that resembled any other tenement on the street. But when the heavy mahogany door wailed from its hinges, you caught a whiff of perspiring human bodies—in other words, sex. It was pungent, hard to miss.

You frowned from the shadows, listening to the repeating voices in her mind. One last time— this is my last time. Before my hand belongs to someone else… Her thoughts began to drown out by silence, frustrating you.

It wasn’t often that you found yourself obsessed with struggling mortals. Perhaps, her beauty commanded you to watch over her, like the angel of darkness that you are. Looming over her, predatorily, profusely, passionately.

The apparition of your figure appeared on the balcony of the room she rented for the night. Forcefully, you swung the french double doors open, short heels clicking against the floor as you entered. A woman caked in makeup laid atop of your object of desire; with her hands shoved into her expensive trousers of pretend.

The whorish woman flinched at your entrance, meeting your haunting gaze. Her breasts heaving through the binds of her satiny corset. Fright radiating from her olive-toned skin. From the crevice of her shoulder, the woman who entranced your immortal being, peered. The coolness of her blue eyes pierced through you. Come to me. Or was that your obsession talking?

“You…” She muttered under her breath, nearly forgetting about the woman atop of her, straddling her.

Your steps were menacingly slow, approaching the bed bound by four wooden poles. The bedroom was grand for a whorehouse. The pace of your steps quickened fast enough to be missed by a mortal's eyes. The whore appeared in your arms, rather than on the lap of the high-born woman.

Her back was firm against the front of your body, unblemished fingers running along the plushness of her rouged lips, down her jaw; then, down the cleavage of her breasts. Drawing a small droplet of blood from the puncture of your sharp fingernail.

“This is what interests you, my love?” You pull her head to the side, revealing the artery that you’ve adored for centuries. The paleness of your irises latching onto hers, hungrily.

The woman in your arms whimpered, but you were a gentle feeder. Your touch is what calmed your prey—it was a gift. Every vampire was born with one. “Shh, little dove…” You hummed in her ear, licking the skin of cartilage. “Your time has come.” The sharpness of your teeth scraped at her skin.

Your obsession leaped from the bed, with her hands in front of her. “Stop it— don’t hurt her!” She exclaimed, wearily. She shared the same fear as the woman in your arm had. “It’s me that you want… Right? You can have me… I’m all yours, just— just let her go.”

She knew of you. The memories that sequestered in the depths of her mind began to paint a picture in yours. The imagery of your figure was shown to you at a ball. Waltzing with the many men that wrote their names on your calling card. You remember that night, vividly. Because that’s when you first saw her—Caitlyn.

Dressed in a shimmering frock that wasn’t modest in the slightest, but had enough coverage to not be mistaken for a woman of the night. Her parents were debuting her, announcing to the ton that she was ready to be married.

Oh, she was beautiful that night. And every night after. Once you caught her nectarine scent, she was all yours indeed.

“I have quite the appetite…” You feigned thought, looking between her and the woman in your arms. “I’ll have you both.” The sharpness of your teeth penetrated her soft skin. Her hand tried to claw at you, but she was no match for your strength. You were sucking the life out of her, quite literally.

Her life source wasn’t as sweet as you had wished—nothing could imitate your truest craving. It had a tartness to its flavor. There must’ve been too much alcohol or drugs in her system. Either way, it’s been days since you had your last meal—your flesh called for fresh, warm blood. So, you drowned in her.

Lowering her body to the ground as you inhaled the last bits of her. Pulled by the confines of your species, you didn’t notice that Caitlyn procured herself a bow and arrow. Tip sharp with authentic silver—where did she find that?

Your eyes glowered at her from over the whores’ fallen body. Lips stained, dribbling with the remnants of her blood. Sharp teeth tainted like they have been many times before. “I’ve heard the stories about you, night witch.” You licked your lips, slowly standing to your feet.

Caitlyn had pulled the string taut, ready to send that arrow flying toward your heart. “You have been following me— stalking me for a fortnight! I want nothing to do with your… Darkness.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, pouting your stained lips. “My… Darkness?” The woman’s blood had slipped down your chin, down the valley of your deep crimson gown. “I only come to those who call to me.”

Defeating the laws of humanity, you appear behind her, flinging the bow and arrow from her grips. Your other pressed her body against yours with unencumbered strength. “Your thoughts called out to me— needed, wanted me. Here I am and you’re trying to entrap me…?” Caitlyn fought against you, but to no avail. The side of your face pressed into hers, inhaling her sweetness. Releasing a sigh of pleasure from its potency.

“I ought to punish you…” She whimpered, feeling the sharpness of your teeth on her skin. Your tongue licks the side of her neck, sensually. Hovering your lips over her ear, you whisper. “However, the plans that I have for you don’t include punishment.” You spin her body around to face you completely. Her body is frozen in paralysis—letting you move her as you pleased. As if she were compelled under your strong gaze. “Only gifts. Many, many gifts.”

Her bright eyes were wide, taking in your features, with arms loosely draped at her sides—limp. “Your beauty will not be taken for granted…” You mutter, gently caressing the skin of her cheeks.

“Are you going to kill me…?”

“Oh, sweet, sweet love…” You pushed pieces of her hair from her face. “Not in the way that you think.” Leaning your face into the crevice of her neck, you nick her skin. A droplet of her blood blossoms over your tongue.

With that, you disappear from her body. Leaving the whispers of a pleasured moan behind. Caitlyn wavered like a lonely, thorned rose. She wanted to scream for help, but drawing attention to her whereabouts was not what she could afford. So, she crawled down the vines that grew up the walls of the brothel, leaping into a prickly bush. She left nothing of hers behind, but a kiss on the woman’s cheek who was fallen on the floor.

It was true that she had called out to you. The stories of dark angels burdening mortals with eternal life—or eternal suffering—was in the storybooks she read as a child. Now, easing into her adulthood. Responsibilities were beginning to strike her. Caitlyn was due to become a wife of a Lord, despite her insignificant wishes.

She complained in her mind for weeks before you showed your face to her, at the ball. When she saw you twirling hand-in-hand with dapperly dressed men, she knew you’d come to pull her from her misery. But her fear remained encompassed in her muscles. Which is why under her long coat, she armed herself with a bow.

Even though she couldn’t bring herself to thrum the string.

The next time your eyes fell on the beautiful Lady, it was the celebration of her wedding. Her family had thrown a ball, and unbeknownst to your immortal being, you received an invitation. In the eyes of most society, you were only an esteemed woman. If people knew about your bloody habits, it’s because you let them. In turn, meaning that they were not going to be alive for much longer. Humans could barely hold water, let alone a secret as important as vampirism.

Your beloved Caitlyn had said her vows to a man riddled with money. She was to be set for life—and her children.

When her solemn sapphire irises found you by the lemonade table, without a drink in your hand, speaking to one of the overbearing mamas of the ton, she froze. Her slender fingers were intertwined with her father’s, trying to waltz away from her fate. Inadvertently, she called out to you, again. Unsure of what that really meant for her.

The last time you seen each other, you admitted that you were planning to kill her. In truth, that left her frightened for days. She hadn’t slept soundly since that night. However, the thought that plagued her mind was if death would be better than marriage. Caitlyn never took kindly to the men of the ton, or any man for that matter. Yet, here she was, married to one.

The last step was consummation—and that was something she absolutely refused!

Patiently, you waited for the perfect time to sequester her. To narrow in on your beautiful prey; to cage her in your arms, and pull the life from her eyes just enough to give her a brand new opportunity.

It was in her final moments alone. In her chambers, dressed in a translucent cream sleeping gown. Her long indigo strands fell down her back in waves, front pieces pushed behind her ears. She was due to her husband soon, but her fingers trembled above her vanity.

When she felt your aged presence infiltrate her bedroom, her posture stiffened. But there was a sense of relief. “You have finally come to take me…” Caitlyn muttered, hopelessly. Her eyes caught the reflection of you wandering around her room. Fingers trailing over her trinkets and paintings on the wall. “What took you so long?”

Your eyes shot to hers through the mirror, as she didn’t risk facing you just yet. “Are you admitting to wanting my kiss of death, beloved?” Scaling her mind, you sifted through her anxious thoughts. The tall woman turned toward you, achingly.

“You promised to kill me… But not in the way that I would think. What does that mean?”

Instead of directly answering her question, you slightly divert. “How does a woman from a large, well-known family become so small?” You pace around her chamber, with sickeningly slow steps. The trail of your mahogany gown dragging along the wooden panels of the floor. “For weeks, your thoughts had been calling out to me for some resolution. That is what I’m offering to you… Resolution. Absolution.”

Caitlyn stood to her feet, clad in thin slippers. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt drawn to you. The softness of your speech was alluring—comforting in the face of death. You held out a delicate hand toward her. Fingers cold, remnant of what you were, beckoning her forward. She slid her hand into yours, reaching for you while her body still took the time to catch up. “Let me release you, Caitlyn, from the shackles of propriety and fabrication… And everything you don’t desire carnally.”

Slowly, she blinks, under the spell of your ancient beauty. Your hand creeps up from her hand, up her arm, finding solace in the crevice of her neck. Pulling her close, her sapphires bore into yours.

Time stops with her in your arms. Your beloved Caitlyn, finally succumbing to you just like you knew that she would. “You’ll never have to see him again… Unless you want to. By then he’d be eons beneath you.” She leaned into your hand, looking at you with doe eyes. You hover your lips over hers, breathing in the last moments of her humanity. “This is only a little death.”

She pushes forward, subtly, with wanting for your lips to touch. They only brush each other because you pull back. “I’ve only heard your thoughts— tell me you want absolution. Tell me you want me.”

Her hand trailed up your forearm, holding your wrist for support. The thumb of her hand caressing your skin. “I want you.” Her voice barely skipped over a whisper, pulling her body closer to yours. “I want absolution. I want you.” Caitlyn chanted, breathily.

Pressing your lips against hers, she fell victim to you. Whining against your lips as if this was something she had always wanted. The taste of sweetened lemons and cinnamon danced over your tongue. Bracing your arm against her back, your feet lift from the floor. Lips trailing down her jaw, leaving wet kisses against the skin you were preparing to puncture with your teeth. Her arms wrapped around your neck, unaware of the hovering of your bodies. Still, chanting the words you wanted to hear.

A whimper left her rouge-stained lips when you bit into her jugular. Clenching the roots of your hair. Vermilion liquid slipped from the corners of your mouth as you fed on her bodily energy. You had to drain her to the near brink of death, but her flavor was so intoxicating. You were beginning to wonder if you could willingly stop.

After all, you weren’t the most controlled vampire.

Groaning against her skin, you tightened your grip. Her hands began to loosen in your hair, arms falling limb to her sides. Taking everything in you, whipping your head up, you stopped yourself. Caitlyn’s eyes had rolled to the back of her head, but she was still there. Head nodding in a state that she wouldn’t survive in for long.

Gently, you lay her down on her bed, pushing her hair from her face. “Only a little death.” You repeat, biting into your wrist to share your gift. Living her head, you press your wrist to her drying lips. “Drink, my love. Drink.”

And she does. With every drawl, her strength grows. Arms reaching up to push your wrist deeper into her face—as if it could go any further. You winced but accepted the pain of your fledgling. Her thirst light eyes looked up at you from her awkward position on the bed. They enticed you more than anything ever had, allowing her to put you through pain, weakening you. “Enough…” You mumble, stammering. “That’s enough!” Snatching your arm from her grasp, you stumble backwards.

Leaning on the bedpost near her legs, you heave, wishing to regain your strength. A mischievous curl appeared on Caitlyn’s lips, but before she could revel, she crunched up like a piece of shrimp. Her hand clawed at her stomach, gagging like she wanted to throw up. “It… Hurts… Ahh!”

You run closer to her, placing a hand over her bloody lips. “That’s your body dying… You need to stay quiet before someone hears.”

Her eyes clamped shut as she groaned into your hand. Sighing, you shut your eyes. Perhaps, you forgot to think this part through. With your remaining amounts of strength—which wasn’t much—you picked her up. Placing one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. Then, you leaped off her balcony and ascended toward your luxurious manor.

It was like you had appeared in another location, rather than flown there. Caitlyn was stuck in a haze of pain, wallowing on the bed you placed her on—yours. “Please, help me! Take away my pain!”

“I cannot do that. It’s something every one of us endures, sweet thing.” Your fingers caressed her paling face, running along her dark eyebrows. Sooner than later, she goes unconscious; and you watch as the beauty of her features embellish.

Caitlyn Kiramman didn’t need to be immortal to inhabit the nature of beauty. Her stoic features were burned into your mind the very moment you saw her and her silhouette. From this moment forth, she belonged to no one but you—she was your companion for all eternity.

When she opened her eyes to reap the benefits of the reborn, you weren’t anywhere to be seen. Her sight was clearer than ever—she could see the accumulation of dust on the crevices of your floral wallpaper. The spider weaving a sticky web in the wooden shutters on your long windows.

Caitlyn wandered the dim halls of your manor in search for you. Clenching and releasing her fists, as her slippered feet shuffled against the floor. She passed portraits of you hooked onto the walls. Where the gowns you wore exposed the time of the painting's creation. Then, she passed a dark corridor. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she wandered. Peeking into the room with a creaked door.

Her pale fingers pushed it, lightly. It’s hinges cracking under the subtle pressure. Two coffins remained, there was no bed frame or mattress. Just elegantly carved coffins—side by side.

She eventually found you sat at a long dining table only covered in expensive décor. Bronze five-headed candle holders, each wax stick blazed with a flame. There were only two chairs at the table: one for you, and assumably, one for her. A glass of a red, thick substance sat before you. The sides stained with its color—you’ve been drinking it.

“You’re awake…” You mused, shutting the small book in your hands. “Please, sit.”

A maid steps forward from out of nowhere, pulling the chair back for Caitlyn to take a seat at the table. Hesitantly, she does. Her eyes leveling on the female maid, chewing the soft skin of her bottom lip. “How do you feel?”

Her eyes were still taking in the interior of your home. It was inspired by the Strasbourg cathedral—gothic in all its glory. It wasn’t the same French style that the majority of England was interested in.

“I feel… I feel different.” Her voice was much smoother than before. More elegant—if that was even possible. She sighed, placing her hand against her stomach. “Very hungry, as well. Do you have any food here? Sandwiches?”

A boisterous laugh falls from your lips, but you cover your mouth with a white handkerchief. “Sandwiches? No, there are no sandwiches here.” You take the glass filled with blood between your fingers. “But, if lunch is what you desire. She’s right behind you.”

Her eyebrows furrow, peering back at the maid who had just pulled out her chair. Her head was down, hands folded in front of her body, politely. “What…?”

“Your body will no longer digest human food.” You explained, concisely. “She is now your diet.” There was still hesitation coming from your fledgling. Frowning, you narrowed your eyes, tightening your jaw. “If you don’t feed, you will die. And that death would be far from little.”

Her now paled irises looked back at the maid. “Go ahead, Miss Luther.” You wave your hand in the direction of Caitlyn. The woman was young with flushed cheeks and freckles that spread from the middle of her face. Her blond hair was pushed back by a pleaded coiffe.

The maid sits on her lap, without being asked. Causing Caitlyn to peer a crossing the table at you, with a slight glare. Miss Luther tilted her head to the side, exposing healing puncture wounds that were made by you. Caitlyn spoke your name like a warning. “I’m overwhelmed…” She squeaked, drifting her hands up the maids body.

“Well, you need to eat.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

The maid turned toward the Lady, smiling sweetly. “It’ll only be a pinch. I’m used to it.” She paused, looking down at the fledgling. “I offer myself to you, my Lady.”

With that, her eyes widened, shooting up from her seat. She flung her back so hard into the wall behind her that it cracked under her weight. Miss Luther fell to the ground, harshly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She waved her hand at the girl, before looking toward you. “I can’t do this.” Caitlyn stretched her neck from the woman—trying to pull the scent from her nostrils. She could smell the ripeness inside of her. “What have you done to me…?” She muttered, slapping her hands against her face, running it through her long hair.

“Only what you told me to.” Slowly, you stood tall from your seat, eyeing the situation at hand. You had never run into a newborn vampire who ran away from the enticement of blood. Downing the glass that was filled with the very essence of debate, you slammed it back on the table. The crystalline glass shattering under your fingers.

Appearing beside the maid, you pull her to her feet, gently. “Put your humanity to rest, my love, and drink from her.” You caress her freckled cheek before taking her jaw between the pinch of your fingers. “That is what she is here for— that is what she wants. Its more savory than sweet when they’re fearless.” Caitlyn remains stuck to the wall, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to have to tempt you…” Taking the maids wrist, you cut a thin slice with the blade of your fingernail.

Caitlyn hissed, baring her teeth. You chuckled, dabbing your finger along the laceration. Dipping your finger into your mouth, and popping it from your lips. “Savory, indeed.” You raised an eyebrow, holding her wrist out to her. Still, she hesitated, frustrating you more.

Your hands move quicker than your thoughts. Before you know it, you’ve pulled her from the dent in the wallpaper, nudging her to the maid. “You don’t have to kill her…” You offer, pushing her forth. “Just taste her.”

To be honest, you were fooling her. There wasn’t a such thing as a fledgling vampire getting a taste and not killing their victim. You were trying to save her from a painful death. She didn’t get this far to die because she didn’t want to feed. And what would that make you look like as her sire—the one who bore her?

With furrowed eyebrows, she leaned into her wrist, going teeth first. Her tiered white canines delved into the laceration, moaning at the flavor. A grin grew on your lips as she pressed her face deeper into her forearm. Miss Luther whimpered, watering eyes peering up at you. The thumb of your finger wiped a tear from her cheek, as the fledgling made a hungry move to her neck.

Caitlyn clawed at her with vigor, gripping the grey frock causing it to rip at the seams. Gutturally groaning into her jugular—getting every last drop of that vermillion goodness.

“Just like that…” You mutter, running your fingers through Caitlyn’s hair.

The maid went limp in her arms, her eyes fluttered shut. Caitlyn pulled back, dropping her body; overcome by a high. Her teeth were tainted with blood—its dribbling caught by the translucent cream nightgown that exposed her feminine silhouette. It stained a valley down her sternum trailing all the way to the frills at the hem near her ankles.

She bled Miss Luther dry—just like you expected her to.

Her hazed eyes looked to you, tongue licking her lips. The pupils in her pale irises dilated. “I ache for more…”

“Of course, my love. More you shall have.”

#🪅#millersfinest #caitlyn kiramman #arcane #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman smut #au!vampire #lesbian #lgbtq

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hpgal · 6 months ago

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DC x DP : Those Glowing Green Eyes

CW: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Violence

TLDR: Danny is on the run from the GIW and ends up in Gotham heavily injured where he gets found by a gun wielding vigilante.

Word Count: 2313

Everything hurts.

But when did it not?

But this time it wasn’t just injury number 67942 causing these aches and pains, though it did contribute to it. The mental anguish of being ran out of my own home and turned away by those I loved. Because I was a ghost. That pain was worse than the wound in my side.

Now the GIW is chasing me across the country and my last scuffle with them left me hurt worse than ever. They’ve been pushing hard this time around, new toys, more numbers. It was ridiculous. Seeing my own family there made me hesitate when they jumped me too. I didn’t react, just stared in horror as my own mother aimed a gun at me and my own father cheered her on.

Despite it all, I am still convinced there is hope. That there was. But when she pulled that trigger, all hope was gone.

Now, that leads me to the present. Somehow I escaped and now was walking around with a gunshot wound in my side, a bum wrist and I think a head wound in an unknown city. Thank The Ancients for the luck I had with a portal to The Ghost Zone being nearby. I fell through it but had to immediately find another door to the mortal realm when I saw Vlad nearby, who has also been hunting me since this began.

So here I am, in a dark, dank city. The ectoplasm here is toxic as hell and tastes like multiple smokers' houses smashed together and death. Night was falling and it got cold here fast. That could just be my core or it could be that I am slowly bleeding out. That was unclear at the moment.

Either way, I walked the street looking for shelter, mostly ignored by others or simply stared at. Honestly, I did not mind, I didn’t want the attention. Even with the toxic ectoplasm here I could heal up quickly and bounce back to the Ghost Zone to expel the toxicity of it with the help of the feeder ghosts and be good as new. It was abundant here, not nearly as much as Amity Park but it was a close second. That little fact told me this city reeked of death which meant it was probably also dangerous.

Maybe once this whole my parents and the government trying to murder me passes, I could come back here and purge the toxic ectoplasm as Ghost King. Because that is the only thing left for me to do, become Ghost King since my human life seems to be over. I have no clue what there is left for me to do with everyone I loved and the U.S Government wanting me dead

Too bad I can’t fully exercise that power of King until I come of age next year. I could’ve resolved this and just hid in the Ghost Zone for the rest of my undead life. Vlad wouldn’t be able to touch me then. Curse my stupid half alive and half dead existence, no other ghost would’ve had to wait but the council likes to be a pain in my ass. Probably in spite of Clockwork in all honesty, I half joke to myself.

My mind reels as I think about home, my friends, even Vlad. All of them had turned overnight. Even Jazz, though she showed hesitancy at every turn. Their eyes seemed to have a tinge of red when I saw them attack me for the first time, reminding me of Freakshow and his mind control abilities. That was the only thing I could justify holding out hope. But I didn’t see that in my moms eyes this time when she shot me.

Even Vlad switched from the whole crazed rich fruit-loop routine of trying to make me his son to attempts on my life. By the Ancients, if he were there this last attack and not in the Ghost Zone, I would’ve been dead. I had no doubts about it. It was pure luck that he didn't notice me in the zone.

I grimace as I continue walking, holding my side, warm blood seeping through my white shirt and the bandages I put on it already. My vision and mind feel foggy as I turn a corner, instantly clearing for a moment when my ghost sense activates, sending a shiver down my spine, hair standing on the back of my neck.

Now?

Really?

I nearly groan both in pain and frustration at this change. I look around pissed off only to find a guy in a red helmet across the street. My entire being on edge as I see him. He didn’t look like a ghost but he gave the impression of having an association with ghosts. He had higher ectoplasm in his body than normal. Even more so than most Amity Park citizens. For a second I thought I saw the flicker of a core but just as quickly as I saw it, it goes away.

Could he possibly be possessed?

The gears turn in my head as everything screams at me that he is bad news regardless. The moment this masked man steps towards me, I muster all the energy I can and start to run, my decision being made. There was no way I could fight in this condition. Every inch of my body, my muscles scream at me for this. My side burns and my vision is blurry at best.

I risk a glance back to see him following and pick up speed. Grateful for my inhuman abilities still being of use despite my injured state. It’d be easy to go ghost or phase through a wall on a normal day but this was not normal, even for me. There are so many ways I could lose this guy but no, I keep running, oblivious to anything except the urge to escape this new, unknown threat.

Him following me all but confirms my suspicions that he is bad news. I mean I saw those guns on his side. They could be loaded with anti-ghost bullets. I’ve been shot once today, I do not plan on doing that again. Ever. He has to be a hired gun by the GIW is the only explanation to this.

At some point in the chase, I look back to see he is managing to keep up with me, which in hindsight made so much sense with my injuries. I turn right only to find this was the wrong choice. Because of course that would be my luck today. I screech to a halt, nearly crashing to meet the dead end head on, a brick wall separating me from escaping. I lean against the wall in frustration before turning to see if he was in the alley yet.

I could just phase- ”Demon brat what have I told you about stepping in my turf?” Damnit.

I am so tired. I am trapped. I am injured. This day just freaking sucks.

I glare at him with as much intensity I can muster. If only I could use my powers, scare him away. Now that he was closer it was clear he was a human who experienced death. Not a ghost. Not a halfa like him, just a human. But if he did that then the GIW would be sure to find me again in no time. And the stranger called me a demon brat. That has to be some sort of slur to ghosts, although I am not familiar with slurs for ghosts. Is that even a thing?

I shake the thought away and focus on him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance and movements, ready to fight back.

Despite the mask covering his face, I could feel this stranger looking at him up and down despite it being dark. Maybe his mask had some sort of night vision built into it. He was assessing and judging him. And I was doing the same to him between the glares, my superhuman night vision letting me miss nothing in this dark space.

He looked like what I imagined a human vigilante would look like. Except 10 times scarier like he wouldn’t care if he helped civilians or not. Maybe this guy was just here for an adrenaline rush or some other bullshit reason a normal human would act like this. The red mask was intimidating, he was well built and tense, ready to pounce on him like I was on him. Except he wasn’t fighting death itself right now so he for sure would win without me using powers. Maybe he is a hired gun by the GIW with how he is sizing me up.

The vigilante takes a step towards me, “Woah, woah, you're bleeding.” he seems to hesitate but I glare back up to him like a feral animal. This had to be a trick right? The care and concern in his voice wasn’t real.

I backed up against the cool brick wall behind me, sinking into a low stance, ready to jump and fight back. I let the wall support me where it could and where it couldn't, I sucked it up with gritted teeth. I had faced worse before. If I died here I’d probably become a full ghost anyways so I could haunt his ass for the rest of his life, exercising the full power of Ghost King just to be petty for the inconvenience. Serves him right for the scary vigilante routine. Too bad for him, I am scarier and I would not fall for cheap tricks.

I try to make myself as intimidating as possible. Hell, the blood seeping from my head and how ready I was to fight probably made me look like a feral, wounded, animal right now. I mean that is what everyone else thought I was anyways, right? I bare my teeth at him, my canines most definitely unnaturally pointed.

“Seriously, kid? Two can play this game.” The man takes a step closer, I watch, calculating.

Then his eyes glowed green.

At least that had to be what happened under the mask. I felt the surge of ectoplasm being used when it happened and I snarl at him in response. This would be a harder fight than I thought. How did I miss the ectoplasm tainting him, enhancing him this way? The fact he could willingly do it meant he was trained and well versed in his abilities.

Well shit.

He seems taken aback at my response, not expecting me to not be frightened. Well tough luck buddy. “I can do that too.” I say with venom dripping off my tongue between gritted teeth, not willing to let this guy get the best of me.

I look up at what I presume are his eyes based on his mask and allow my own eyes to flare neon green, brighter than his. A show of power and dominance that some ghosts use to avoid a fight. Maybe I could avoid this fight entirely if he had the innate understanding many liminal beings had when experiencing this with or without knowing what it means. Either way it was clear he knew something.

“I have been hunted, shot, maimed, and tortured by much, much worse.” I threaten. “You do not scare me. And I sure as hell am not going to go down to a nobody like you.” My vision continues to blur and darken at the edges as the adrenaline from the chase starts to wear down, the rapid heart rate pumping my blood much faster than I need it to be to prevent blood loss as more blood seeps from my wounds. That little trick took more energy from me than I anticipated.

The unknown man looks at me, his body language indicating he was confused and concerned. I nearly wanted to laugh but I needed all the energy in case I had to fight. “Shit.. you’re not Demon Brat. Kid,” he starts, his body relaxing ever so slightly, “you need help, let me help you.”

The man takes another step forward, holstering a pistol. When did he draw that to begin with?

I flash my eyes again, a bit weaker this time as I feel my legs start to buckle under me. No. Not now. I can’t go down now. Panic welling up inside me as I growl at him and try to steady myself against the wall.

“Go away,” I muster, throat dry, “this isn’t your problem.” I manage to say as my last attempts to get him to screw off.

The man takes another step towards him, now in arms reach, “Look, I know a doctor who might be able to help you. She-” I stumble a bit and he reaches out ready to catch me, still keeping from touching me, “Shit- kid. She won’t turn you away. She can help. She doesn’t share the identity of her patients. She treats the Bats. You can trust her if not me”

My body shakes at his words. Or maybe I was shaking the entire time. God it was so cold now. Almost as cold as being dead for real. And man do I have experience with that. My entire body felt so heavy and aches everywhere. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Except I hated how dark my vision had gotten and blurred.

Something about how he speaks and acts, I decide in my haste, wanting to not die a second time to trust him. My body relaxes, no longer ready to fight him. Was it a bad idea? Probably but I did not want to die in an alley this time. My vision darkens and the last thing I remember is falling into his arms as my answer to him.

Please help me, stranger.

--------

A/N: This was a fic I planned on writing but got burnt out after writing the first chapter so I figured I'd post it here, maybe it'll motivate me to continue it.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp crossover #dcxdp #dp x dc #ghost king danny #dp au #jason todd #red hood #danny phantom headcanon #gotham #infinite realms

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poke-me-with-a-stick · 1 year ago

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More DpxDc sleepy rambles!

What if blob ghost were more like bees than bottom feeders?

Like, they go around collecting small amounts of ectoplasm from everywhere, even environments that don't have a lot to give, and take it back to a 'hive' to stockpile. Only, because they are ghosts and not actually bees, they usually gather more than they need to survive. This would make them a lifeline for any ghost that stays in the material plane. If they're stuck in a place devoid of ambient ecto, they just have to find a blob ghost and follow them back to their hive!

But what happens when the ambient ecto is contaminated, like a bee collecting sugar from a non-natural source? You get contaminated honey(ecto), which can't sustain a ghost long term. Wether the blobs fade due to lack of proper nutrition, or they leave to make a new hive in a less toxic environment, they end up leaving the contaminated ecto behind. These abandoned hives are Lazarus pits.

(Sorry if this makes 0 sense, I'm super tired and my head hurts. But I needed to talk about the bee blobs)

#dc x dp #danny phantom x dc #blob ghosts #Blobs are bees #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dpxdc prompt #dcxdp prompt #sleepy rambles

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soaps-mohawk · 4 months ago

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The Love Language Of Food

Kyletober Day 9: Feeding

Summary: He won’t let you go hungry. He just wants to take care of you, that’s all.

Pairing: Kyle x fem!reader

Word Count:

Warnings: Feederism, feeding kink, food, foodplay, weight gain, fat kink, weight kink, manipulation, gaslighting, guilt, body dysmorphia, insecurity, a little body worship but in a toxic way, oral sex, munch!Kyle

A/N: And this is where things start to get freaky 😏 there's no going back from here.

MASTERLIST

“Can’t let you go hungry, love.”

Those are the words you hear most often from your boyfriend. More than ‘I love you’ and even ‘how was your day?’ The phrase is a staple in your household, gracing your ears at least twice a day, if not more. The concept of hunger and being well fed has permeated your life in all forms thanks to your boyfriend and his love of food.

If food is a love language, then it’s his.

He never lets you cook. Ever. You’re only allowed in the kitchen to grab food or drinks, but god forbid you put your hand on more than a plate. Even heating soup is frowned upon. It’s his job to take care of you, his job to provide, his job to make sure you’re fed.

He does just that.

You watch as he scoops a heaping second helping onto your plate. It’s bigger than the first helping, you think. He won’t let you do anything but sit there as he makes your plate. He knows your favorites, the ins and outs of how you prefer each dish he makes. He takes trying new recipes as a learning opportunity, not for him but for you, observing your eating habits in the way he’s done for the last two years.

“Eat up.” He says, placing the plate back in front of you.

You’re full, but you have to eat it. He’ll get that sad look on his face, those big brown eyes shining as he stares at you in disappointment. He’s just worried about you. He just doesn’t want you to go hungry.

There’s a churning in your stomach as you pick up your fork, hand squeezing tight around the knife as you cut another piece off the juicy chicken. It’s delicious, as all of his food is. He is a good cook, taught by his mother, he says. You’ve met her, you’ve met his whole family many times. They’ve never brought up his habits, the way he always gives you a second helping and dessert, even if you look like you’re about to pop.

You feel like it sometimes.

Kyle watches you closely as you continue to eat your second helping. He’s done, plate cleared and silverware placed neatly across it. He’s watching you, eyes following the movement of the fork to your lips, watching as you chew, watching as you swallow before following your fork back down to the plate.

You force the second helping down, not feeling up to an argument, the inevitable guilty look as you refuse his help, his care, his devotion.

Food is his love language.

You can’t break his heart like that.

The band of your sweatpants is tight around your stomach as you finish the last bite on your plate. You lean back in the chair with a sigh, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. You feel bloated, distended, not an unusual feeling after a meal with Kyle. After every meal.

He makes you sit on the couch as he does the dishes. You don’t get to touch them, not even when you offer to help him. The kitchen is his office, his sacred space.

You adjust your sweatpants as you choose to lay on the couch, trying to ease some of the bloating feeling. Your sweatpants are almost too tight, though Kyle wouldn’t complain if you walked around in your underwear. He probably wouldn’t complain if you walked around in nothing. You might have to at this rate.

None of your pants fit anymore.

***

The tightness of your shirt has tears stinging your eyes. It’s one of your favorites, or at least it was. It’s too tight now, squeezing around the curves and lumps of your body, things that have only gotten bigger since you started dating Kyle. You let out a sigh, fighting to get the shirt over your head, tired of seeing the pattern on the front stretched across your boobs. You’ve had to go up two bra sizes just this year.

You poke at your stomach as you stand in front of the mirror in nothing but your underwear. There’s a churning in your stomach as you stare at yourself, and it’s not just from how full you still are.

“What is it?” Kyle asks as he enters your bedroom, always so aware and attentive. You might have grown to hate it, had it not been the first time you’ve ever had someone care this much. He sets the items he’s carrying on the nightstand before turning to you.

“I’m gaining weight.” You say with a pout, poking at the rolls of your stomach again.

“Nah, love.” He says, coming up behind you. He wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re perfect to me. Every inch of you.” He squeezes you tightly, so tightly you’re afraid you might do something embarrassing. “Come on.” He says, turning you towards the bed. His hand slides down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze. Something else that’s gotten bigger.

He’s never complained, though.

“You didn’t have dessert.” He says. Your eyes flicker to the nightstand, and sure enough there’s the familiar chocolate sauce and whipped cream. He even brought the sprinkles up.

He climbs on the bed, all lean muscle and long limbs. Sometimes you want to hate him, but then he gives you that dazzling smile and you fold instantly. He makes regular gym visits, but your days of working out are over. He gives you that disappointed look if you do even a squat, softly reprimanding you for possibly hurting yourself.

‘My girl shouldn’t be doing anything. That’s my job. You just sit there and look pretty.’

You don’t feel pretty anymore.

“What is it?” Kyle asks again as you hesitate at the foot of the bed.

You shrug, looking down at the comforter. “Just not...feeling it right now.” You really aren’t. The bloating in your stomach, the fullness still weighing you down, and the weight of your body’s changes still fresh on your mind. You just want to put on a baggy t-shirt and crawl into bed so you don’t have to see yourself anymore.

You can picture the frown that forms on his face, the way his brows pull together. “Come here.” He says, reaching out his hand.

You stare at it for a moment before you climb on the bed, letting him guide you so you’re lying next to him. His hand gently rubs your stomach as he leans over you on his elbow. His lips are pulled up in a soft grin as you stare up at him. His eyes sparkle as he stares back at you, shining with the love you know he feels for you. He does love you. He wouldn’t insist on taking care of you in the ways he does if he didn’t.

He wouldn’t make sure you’re fed if he didn’t love you.

“You are perfect to me.” He says quietly, still staring down at you with those soft eyes. “You always will be. You’re my girl.”

His hand shifts lower, still rubbing your stomach. It moves with his hand, his fingers digging into the softness for a moment before relaxing. His palm is warm as it presses against your skin, and he offers no complaint about how it sinks into the softness around your waistline.

“You know I care about you. That’s why I make sure you’re taken care of.” He leans down closer to you, his breath fanning your face. It smells like chocolate. He must have snuck a taste of the sauce before coming up. “You’re my good girl.” His voice pitches lower. “Always so obedient for me.” His hand presses harder against your stomach as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “So perfect for me.”

You melt into him as he kisses you, lips moving softly against your own. He knows what he’s doing, kissing the air straight out of your lungs. His hand lifts from your stomach, cupping your cheek instead as he presses against you, a hard bulge pressing against your hip. You moan softly against his lips. All thoughts are wiped from your mind, all doubts and self-hatred out the window as he kisses you, as he grinds his bulge against your body, proving his love and unwavering attraction towards you.

No matter what.

“You didn’t get your dessert.” He murmurs against your lips, pressing one last burning kiss against them before pressing himself back up. “Can’t let my girl go without her sweet treat.”

Your stomach twists at the idea of eating again, of forcing more food into your body, but at least you know what to expect this time. Your body betrays you as Kyle leans over to grab the chocolate sauce and whipped cream from the side table before settling on his back. The dampness in your panties that had started as Kyle kissed you intensifies as he begins to spread the chocolate across his body, following it with the whipped cream. The sprinkles come last, some of them sliding off of him and onto the comforter. That’s going to be a mess later, but he’ll be the one worrying about that.

You don’t have to do anything.

“Well? Come enjoy your dessert, love.” He says, motioning to the sweet treat waiting for you, slathered across his smooth skin.

The mattress dips as you press yourself up onto your hands and knees, hovering over him from the side. You start at the top, pressing gentle kisses against his skin as you work your way down to his pecs where the first bit of whipped cream is waiting for you. His lips part as you lick at it, spreading the cream across his skin. His eyes are on your mouth as you suck and lick at his skin, cleaning up every last bit of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. You can’t help but hum at the sweetness, satisfying that desire for your dessert, something you always get after you eat. He’s conditioned you to expect it, conditioned you to need it.

He’s sticky but satisfied as you work your way down his stomach, muscles clenching at the ticklish feel of your tongue on his skin. “C’mere.” He gasps, wrapping a hand around your thigh.

You get the memo, straddling his shoulders as you continue to lap up the chocolate sauce on his stomach. It’s rich on your tongue, coating it in sweetness as Kyle pushes your panties to the side. You moan against his skin as he presses his face into your puffy lips, inhaling deeply. Your arms buckle as his tongue drags across your pussy, licking you just as you are him.

He’s getting his own dessert as he eats you out, slurping at your juices as he holds your hips, not caring as you begin to rock back against his face. You had voiced your worries and hesitations once as he invited you to sit on his face. You’re too big, you’ll suffocate him.

‘Then I’d die a happy man.’

All thoughts of self-doubt and self-hatred are wiped away as he continues to lick and suckle at your clit. Your face is pressed against his abs, your skin and his covered in chocolate as you give up trying to lick him clean. He’s perfect, the way he can make you forget, the way he can wipe the very thoughts from your mind with his mouth and his tongue.

He eats you like he’s trying to devour you, just as he makes you eat to devour his food.

Food is his love language, you think as your legs shake with your first orgasm of the night. He feeds you because he loves you.

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#kyletober #Kyle Garrick x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kinktober 2024 #call of duty fic #call of duty

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