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rememberwren · 7 months ago

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A Dichotomy of Thought || 10

Prior and future chapters here.

A visitor in the park.

CW: domestic violence, rape, ableist language, homophobic slurs (f-word), internalized ableism, suicidal ideation, mention of burning.

It seems cruel that such terrible things must happen at moments when you are your happiest. There’s logic in it, sure—there can be no joy without pain, and happiness is bracketed on either side by sadness—but logic and cruelty don’t have to live apart from each other. In fact, you would often say they are married.

Your boyfriend stands over you, blotting out the sun like a raincloud come to pour down on the briefest moment of peace you have felt in the last several days. Everything about him is innocuous: his clothes, his posture, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stares down at you with unspeakable fondness in his eyes.

“Hi honey,” he says. “How was work?”

Johnny goes to stand, but your boyfriend is quicker, banging his shin violently against Johnny’s knee. Johnny sucks in a breath as the pain winds him, body bowing over to protect his most vulnerable areas.

“Don’t stand on my account,” your boyfriend says to his crumpled figure. “Did I get the right knee? I did, didn’t I? I wasn’t sure if it was the right or the left—“

“Hey!” you bellow, the volume of your own voice surprising you. You stand between them, put both hands against your boyfriend’s chest, and push. He nearly goes sprawling on the sidewalk, only barely managing to get his feet under him in time. You point a shaking finger in his face. “You don’t fucking touch him!”

“An accident,” he laughs, lifting his hands. “I stumbled into him. It could have happened to anybody.”

“Yer a fucking cunt,” Johnny groans, both hands gripping his thigh above his knee, knuckles pale. “And so’s yer mother. Syphilis-infected-cocksucking bitch.”

“Not nice,” your boyfriend says mildly, shoving his hands back into his pocket. “Do you kiss my fiancé with that mouth?”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” you hiss. All three of you quiet down as an older couple inches by, hand in weathered hand. When they are a safe distance away, you ask: “How did you know I was here? Were you following me?”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” he says, lowering his voice to a dangerous timber, one that promises violence. “The same way you’re not willing to give up all of yours. You thought I wouldn’t notice you coming home late all the time? Do I look stupid?”

Johnny makes a sound, some kind of wounded laugh that only serves to put you on edge even more. You can imagine his answer—but he doesn’t know your boyfriend. He doesn’t know the kind of grim, intelligent cruelty that is wielded against you every day. Johnny is hot headed and craving violence, but he’s in no condition to experience it.

You have to protect him.

“We can talk about it at home,” you mutter, making sure to keep between the two men who seem eager for each other’s blood. Your boyfriend tongues his cheek, eyeing Johnny, weighing his options.

“Come on,” you say, louder. Reaching out, you grip his arm, nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t even flinch. But after an endless moment of waiting for further provocation from Johnny, he decides Johnny isn’t worth his time. He laces his fingers in yours and pulls you along, further away from the bench, from Johnny, from the sunlight.

“Get in the car,” he says, walking to the driver’s side.

“You’re not supposed to drive.”

“I won’t say it again.”

He won’t, either. You know him. So instead you slip into the passenger seat. There’s no worse feeling than being in an enclosed space with him. The air feels heavy and oppressive, weighing you down. At the same time, your body buzzes with adrenalin, preparing for pain. You numbly buckle your seatbelt while he starts the car.

“How long have you been cheating on me with that cripple next door?” he asks calmly.

“I’m not.”

The calm snaps, nothing but a thin sheet of icy veneer over a deep, dark lake of fury.

“Don’t—lie—to—me,” he says through his teeth. He holds out a hand and wiggles his fingers. “Phone. Hand it over. You’ve lost your privileges.”

“I don’t have it,” you lie. “It’s at work.”

“You really do,” he says, staring at you with borderline awe. “You think I’m a fucking idiot, don’t you? Oh, baby. Oh, honey. You’re in for it. How do you think I fucking found you? Give me the goddamn phone.”

You shake your head. You can’t give it up. Not when it’s the only safe way for Simon to contact you.

He reaches for your hand. The two of you struggle as you try to avoid his touch, briefly banging your knuckles on the car window, but then he has your hand in his grasp, and he takes your smallest finger and wrenches it back, back—you feel the pop, pain lancing through your hand all the way to your wrist.

You screech.

“Give me the phone,” he says, letting you cradle the misshapen hand against your breast. You grit your teeth, tears dripping off your chin. When he reaches for your hand again, you break and turn out your pockets, handing over your last lifeline. He takes the phone and beats it against the dashboard, again and again and again until the screen is a spider’s web of cracks, glass littering your knees.

He hands you back the broken phone.

“You broke my fucking finger,” you cry, voice warbling embarrassingly.

“You broke your own finger by not listening to me the first time,” he says, tossing the phone in your lap when you don’t take it. He puts the car in reverse. “Don’t blame me for your mistakes, baby.”

The two of you spend five hours in the emergency room together. This is an integral part of the experience; when he hurts you, he has to heal you.

Your pinky isn’t broken, only dislocated. They set it and splint it and warn you that it could take months to feel normal again, like you know at all what that word means. Beneath the tinny lights of the exam room, your makeup job must be failing, because the nurse asks your boyfriend to step out so that she can ask you a few questions alone.

This isn’t your first time in the emergency room, and you know the rules. You stick to your story (the one he had stitched together on the drive to the ER) even without your boyfriend’s oppressive presence looming over your shoulder. The nurse gives you a look that is both professional and pitying. You spend the rest of the visit refusing to meet her eyes, chewing on the nails of your good hand.

“Could you be any more suspicious?” your boyfriend asks mildly while the two of you leave. He waves to one of the nurses, who gives back a cheerful little salute.

Making friends wherever he goes; that’s your boyfriend.

Walking into your apartment is like walking into another world.

Everything has been upended: the couch cushions, the silverware drawers, the chairs at the table. DVD’s have been removed from their boxes. Even the fucking lamps have had their lampshades removed. The bathroom and bedroom doors have been taken off their hinges and laid neatly against one another in the bedroom.

“You weren’t the only one busy today,” he says, relishing in your grim expression. “You know the drill. Clean up. Then we’ll go to bed.”

This is an old trick of his that you know well. He tore the place apart searching for contraband—but he knows that even he isn’t all-powerful. Now he waits to see where you will rush to clean up first, where your anxious mind will take you, desperate to find out if he’s found whatever you’ve been hiding. Once it was money. Another time, a business card for a lawyer.

This time, a lighter that’s not your own.

You’re smarter now, though. You don’t go straight for your sock drawer where the lighter is hidden. You begin at the northernmost point of the apartment and clean north to south, east to west, methodical, your hand throbbing as the anesthetic wears off.

It is deeply late by the time you make it to the bedroom to find your clothes strewn across the bed. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, body aching from a long day at work (and a longer day after work). You can’t help but think of Johnny as you clean, tucking clothes back into their drawers, putting clothes back on their hangers. Did he make it home safely? Did he finally message Simon? Did he try to walk home? Thinking about Johnny out alone in the dark makes your stomach turn unpleasantly.

Sock drawer now. Most of these are still in the dresser, though some have been pushed out into the floor in your boyfriend’s search for ammunition to use against you. You pick up the few outliers and stuff them back into the drawer.

No lighter.

It’s not there. You know even as you continue to search without hope, rifling through your paired socks as subtly as you can. This is all just another game. He’s found the lighter and has just been waiting for you to notice it’s gone so that he can torment you with it. Maybe he’ll flick the spark wheel (the way Johnny can’t—God, Johnny, please be okay—) and hold the flame to your skin or your hair—

You touch something hard, plastic. Your breath catches. It’s there. It’s still there, tucked inside a pair of socks. He hadn’t found it. Relief rises up in you so poignantly that tears fill your eyes, even as you force yourself to shut the drawer and move on to another part of the room, feeling your boyfriend’s presence at the door, watching.

The lighter was so little, but it meant so much. You couldn’t even put into words why. Because it was Johnny’s, maybe. Because it was yours, now. Because it was one thing your boyfriend hadn’t put his hands on and destroyed or claimed as his own. Nothing belonged to you—not your money, not your body, nothing. Except maybe that silly lighter.

You wait until after he fucks you to speak, stubbornly maintaining your silence even through the pain and humiliation he inflicts on you. There’s something even worse about the way he draws your body against his afterwards, an arm looped possessively over your waist, the imitation of a loving cuddle.

“I want to break up,” you say.

He gives a long-suffering sigh, breath rustling your hair. “Keep dreaming, baby.”

The words won’t stop tripping out of your mouth.

“I mean it. I hate you—and you hate me. All we do is fight and hurt each other. Why…” you get choked up, swallow past the lump in your throat. “We don’t have to do this anymore. You can’t possibly be happy. Is this really how you want to live the rest of your life? Tormenting me?”

He is quiet for longer than you expect. You hold your breath, tears dripping from your eyes and over the bridge of your nose, down into your pillowcase. Maybe he’s thinking about it. Maybe he’s really considering it.

At last, he says: “Don’t ever think that there’s anywhere else in the world…anything else I’d rather be, than right where I am.”

Your heart plummets.

“Now go to sleep,” he says, kissing your neck. “You work in the morning.”

The sun goes down before Simon finds him. Johnny sits shivering on the bench where you left him, his eyes red rimmed and unseeing even when he hears the familiar footsteps of his lover against the pavement.

Simon sits next to him where you once sat, and for a long time, neither of them speaks. When Johnny finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough from hours of crying and disuse.

“I brought her here,” he says.

Simon nods. He knows. Of course he knows.

“I think she liked it,” Johnny adds, trying to find any brightness in the dark that encompasses him.

But all at once the tears come back, his throat burning, head throbbing. He bends at the waist, elbow on his thigh, and shakes, trying to keep his crying quiet, still clinging to the remnants of a dignity that God tears more from his grasp every day. When Simon’s warm arm wraps around him, it just makes him cry harder, even as he leans into the heat of the other man like a flower bends toward the sun.

“I’m useless,” Johnny weeps. “Fuckin’ useless. He showed up and just—took her, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop him. Even you think I’m useless—druggin’ me to keep me from getting in your way. I can’t dress myself, can’t tie my own shoes. What fucking good am I, as a human being? What’s the good in being alive if I have to live like this?”

Simon says nothing. Johnny leans up, letting the moonlight wash over his tear-soaked face. He wipes at his cheeks.

“You can’t be happy, either,” he says, taking in the solemn lines of Simon’s face, the shadows under his eyes. Simon looks older than his age, and Johnny knows who is responsible, who has aged him. Terrified to know the answer, he asks: “Is this how you want to live? With an overgrown child as your lover? One who can’t remember where he took off his shoes? Who needs you to, to cut up his food and button his shirts?”

“If that’s how it’s going to be,” says Simon simply. “If that’s how I get to be with you. Then yeah, Johnny. I’m solid.”

Johnny shakes his head. He can’t even find the energy within him to be angry. All that’s left is disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

“I mean it. I—“ Simon ducks his head. “—I never should have put those pills in your juice. I should have trusted you. I wish I could take that back.”

Johnny sniffs wetly. It’s as close to an apology as he’s ever heard Simon give, and it makes no small amount of guilt bloom in Johnny’s aching chest.

“You were right not to trust me,” says Johnny. “I was lying.”

“I know,” says Simon. He reaches down and laces his fingers with Johnny’s one hand. “But I want to be a man who trusts you, even if I’m wrong.”

Johnny is quiet for a long time, turning those words over in his head. A painful longing rises up in his chest, one he hasn’t felt since the days when he was still in the 141, days when he could barely breathe for wanting the man beside him so badly. When they’d had to love each other in secret, and it felt like he would happily have given anything if it meant they didn’t have to hide anymore.

I miss you, he thinks. I miss myself. Leaning in, he lays his cheek against Simon’s shoulder.

“Are we gonna make it?” he wonders quietly, watching the last of the fireflies twinkle around the dim park. Soon it will be too cold for them. Soon it will be too cold for Johnny.

“Whatever we do, we’ll do it together,” Simon promises, laying his temple against Johnny’s head.

He waits until you are asleep to creep out of the bed. There is no rest for him—not when he gets in these restless, paranoid moods. Not when he has a hunch to follow.

Quietly, he drifts through the apartment like a ghost. Everything is back in its place, but he tries to think of anywhere he might have missed to search. You are hiding something; he knows it. He knows you. You’re see-through to him, predictable in a way that used to thrill him but now just irritates.

“Where is it?” he mutters, standing in the living room, turning a slow circle.

Was the lighter really all you’d been hiding? That stupid piece of plastic and metal? He’d found it easily and decided it served him better left in its place. Let you think that he had missed it. Let you think that he was slipping.

“I’m sharper than ever, baby,” he mutters to himself in the darkness.

Halfheartedly, he searches a few places that he had already gone through: checking some of the mugs on the top shelf in the kitchen, feeling beneath the table in the foyer for anything taped beneath it.

He thinks about the cripple next door while he does it. Johnny. A problem, if he’s ever seen one. Him and his boyfriend both. What two faggots want with you, he can’t imagine—good Samaritans, perhaps? Well they would find out in good time what happened to people who put their noses where they didn’t belong.

Regardless, he doesn’t like it. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Sighing, he braces his hands against the table, resting his weight against it. If he’d known that this building would cause so much trouble, he never would have moved you in here. Not that the two of you had been swimming in options.

Your keys on the table catch his eye, but he doesn’t know why. He nudges them with his hand, metal dragging over the wood. On a whim, he counts them.

There is an extra key.

His brows lift. He picks up the keys and goes through them one by one, wracking his brain to remember what each one is for. At last he’s left with a single unfamiliar key. One that looks identical to the key to their apartment. A duplicate? he wonders. For when she’s locked out?

But no, the keys are different. Just similar.

An idea tickles at the back of his brain, but he’s never been the kind of man to ignore his instincts. He goes to the door without bothering to slip on his shoes, and steps silently out into the hallway. At this time of night, there is no one out and about, no one peeking at him from their doors. On silent feet, he pads to his neighbor’s door and grips the knob. Locked.

He slips the key into the lock—and it opens.

Oh that little bitch. Fury rises up in him until he can taste it in the back of his throat. He wants to go and wake you, take a fistful of your hair and drag you out into the hallway for all your nosy neighbors to see, wants to hear that shriek of pain you give when he hurts you so unexpectedly—

But no. He has to be smart.

He locks 5C’s door again, checks the handle, then slips back into his apartment. There will be no rest for him tonight. Not when there is so much to think about.

#ghoap x reader #dichotomy of thought

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plushieray2 · 7 days ago

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Insane Heartslabyul AU

Comic parts: [part 1] [part 2]

Explanation

It all started the day after riddles overblot. He was different in a strange way. He apologized for what he did but it seemed fake. Days after the incident weren’t much better. He would get unreasonably angry at anyone who tried to touch the roses who weren’t from Heartslabyul. He would stand in the corner watching everyone as if waiting for signs of something to happen. When he thought no one had their eyes on him, he had a huge grin on his face.

Ace was the first sign of disaster. He locked himself in his room forcing his roommates to find another location to sleep. Riddle simply unlocked his door walking in after the third day. After a few minutes, Ace walked out acting like everything was normal yet now the same eerie feeling the riddle gave off also came from Ace. Then deuce fell ill. He would gag and cough yet never went to the infirmary. A few days later the same thing that had happened to Ace happened to Deuce. It was too late by the time the same thing happened to Trey and Cater. The whole dorm has fallen into insanity.

The blot had fused with the roses. The blot infected pollen spreading around the dorm spreading a madness inducing sickness. The dorm members practically praising there dorm leader and the blot for saving them.

Yet they were everything but saved.

Character bios

Ace Trappola

- Ace was the first to fall to the madness.

- He dislikes not being able to stay out of the dorm for long periods without getting sick but he can deal.

- The one people outside the dorm are most suspicious of sense he finds it hard to hide his insanity.

- He believes he should share the feeling of being saved (insanity) with those he’s close with.

- Accidentally hurt Yuu Ken causing them to have memory problems when trying to “save” them

- Doesn’t try very hard anymore to “save” everyone anymore but he makes small attempts every now and then

- Once Yuu recovers through he will make sure to “save” them and everyone else if it’s the last thing he’ll do.

Deuce Spade

- The second to fall into madness

- Would have fallen sooner but held it in until riddle pushed him over the edge

- Wants to “save” everyone with ace also

- He wonders if his mom would be proud of him

- Knows something is wrong with him but feels happy and feels like he finally has a chance to do something right

- See’s riddle as a savior

Cater Diamond

- Third to fall

- Can stay out of the dorm for the longest period of time

- Even if you tried to tell him it’s wrong to rely upon the roses he dose not care.

- He knows it’s not good for him and he does not care.

- He knows exactly how to return the dorm to normal and he will do nothing about it.

- He feels happy and won’t let anyone take that away from him.

Trey Clover

- Last to fall

- Mostly stays in the kitchen and bakes with the roses

- Just happy riddle is happy

- Remember the chapter one character development?

- Mostly gone

- If the dorm members let anything slip or leave an evidence to the state Heartslabyul is in. Trey is the one to clean it up.

Riddle Rosehearts

- Riddle is a lot gentler to his dorm mates

- He’s very aggressive to anyone who isn’t in Heartslabyul

- Calls the members of Heartslabyul card soldiers

- His mood can change in a second

- He dislikes the idea of spreading the insanity to others sense he believes it’s a gift for his card soldiers and only them.

- If it makes them happy he’ll turn a blind eye.

- after the Yuu Ken incident he’s the one who’s trying to heal them.

- He’s the one who gave the Heartslabyul boys there mask

- .... .. ... / .. ... / .-- .-. --- -. --.

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mommyslittlebird · 26 days ago

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would puppy ever go through a little aggression phase? nothing too major but maybe pre heat when hormones are out of whack or just a little phase they have when they show territorial signs and little acts of aggression (never against wanda) maybe growling at people who get to close to wanda or nipping natasha’s fingers when she gets too close. little puppy resource guarding her mama❤️‍🩹

It all started one afternoon when Wanda came inside with a cut on her foot. It wasn’t anything major, she’d just cut it while she was doing some yard work with Natasha. It was, overall, a relatively minor injury.

But it had scared you in a way she hadn’t recognized.

You sat next to her while Natasha tended to the wound. You watched her blot the cut with gauze, covering it in dark and sticky blood. You could smell it. It made you sick to your stomach.

When Natasha poured some hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton pad, Wanda sucked on her teeth and whimpered.

“Stop it!” You barked. “You’re hurting her! Stop hurting my mama!”

“Baby it’s okay. She’s not hurting mama, she’s just making sure it’s all cleaned up so mama doesn’t get an infection,” she soothed, wrapping her arm around your head and giving you kisses. “Why don’t you go upstairs?” She knew you wouldn’t leave unless she gave you a job, so she made something up. “Can you go upstairs and make mama a nice little snuggle pile to lay down in?”

Reluctantly, you nodded and headed up to the bedroom. You made the bestest snuggle nest you could. You brought up all mama’s blankets and pillows from the couch. You laid all your favorite toys meticulously around the edges, and you arranged the blankets in a perfectly mama shaped circle.

Natasha helped her up the stairs, laying her in the nest before heading back downstairs. You laid on Wanda’s chest and kissed her face all over, hoping to soothe her discomfort. “You’re such a good puppy, always looking out for your mama. This is a beautiful snuggle pile you made us. Thank you so much, baby.”

You’d always liked Natasha. She played with you and wrestled with you in the yard. But when she came back up to Wanda's room and approached her, you just heard Wanda’s pained whimper and saw her scrunched up face. Something inside of you lit up. It was like your brain stopped and your body took over.

You positioned yourself between the two women, looking at Natasha with your teeth bared. You growled, low and dangerous, a sound Wanda had never heard from you before. When Natasha didn't back up, you lunged at her, nipping at her hand. "Get away from my mama! You can't touch her!"

Natasha backed up, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. Okay. I'm not gonna do anything to hurt your mama." She held up a blue bag wrapped sloppily in a washrag. "This is an ice pack for her foot. It will help her stop hurting. Will you let me help her?"

You softened, but only slightly, retreating back to sit on Wanda's lap. You puffed out your chest, bolstering up your most threatening demeanor. "Fine. But if you hurt her again, I'm gonna... I'm gonna fuck you up! And... and once you're done, you're gonna go home!"

Wanda gasped. "Puppy!"

Natasha had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling. "Okay. I promise I won't hurt her, and I'll leave as soon as I'm done."

She gently secured the ice pack to Wanda foot and allowed you to back her out of the room. Your paws clumsily closed the door behind her, and you dragged your toy box over to bar the door. Only then did you relax, climbing up onto the bed and lying flat against Wanda.

She could feel you shaking, pressing your head against her chest as if monitoring her heartbeat. "Hey, baby," she started quietly. "What was that? Why did you bite Aunt Natasha? And you know you're not supposed to say bad words like that."

"I'm sorry, mama," you whined, licking her in a gesture of apology. She could tell how genuinely guilty you felt. "I just... she hurted you and... and I was scared mama! It was like... I knew I was being a mean puppy, but my heart was telling me you were in danger. I know I wasn't supposed to mama. Even when I was doing it, my brain was saying “don’t bite. Bad puppies bite.”, but my body was doing it anyway. Like... like you was gonna die if I didn't!"

Wanda kissed your head. "It's okay, baby. You're not in trouble," she gently reassured. "You that thing in your body that was telling you that we were in danger was your puppy instinct. Your body didn't feel like mama was safe, and it made you act out a little bit. But it's okay. Mama will help you learn how to deal with it, so you won't be so scared when something like that happens again."

You tucked your head under her chin, nuzzling against her. "Mama?"

"What is it, baby?"

"Can you call Aunt Natty so I can say sorry?"

Wanda smiled and chuckled. "Of course, sweetheart. I'm sure Aunt Natty would appreciate that."

Puppy Collection

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #puppy reader x mama wanda #mama wanda #hybrid!puppy!reader #hybrid reader #hybrid!reader

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acotarxreader · 4 months ago

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Other Worlds part 3

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis - An unfortunate infection has the Inner Circle scrambling to try to save your life, only to settle on sending you home to receive the treatment you need, accompanied by Azriel who is about to meet a whole Other World, ours.

Warning: YN is very very ill at the start, silly, serious, Az has a panic attack boo, sickly sweet, fluff, jealous Az, agnst

A/N; You guys! It has been awhile! So long that I forgot my login and there was mild panic that @lady-of-tearshed helped to settle lol! But anyways here's a part 3 of the Other Worlds. Its always scary to write for the series because people loved part one so much but anyways here it is! Once my exams are finished I hope to write another part of Eris's fic as I kinda left ye high ad dry there! Anyways, as always, let me know what you think!!

Other Worlds and Part 2

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The feeling deep within your abdomen woke you from your light sleep, the growing pain keeping you from reaching REM. Perched up on an elbow you rubbed a lazy hand across your eyes, the buttery sheets clinging to the sweat on your back, uncomfortable heat sticking to your bones. Azriel moved slightly alongside you, burying his face further into your college hoodie you must have discarded during your sleep. The heat was choking, sending you quickly to dash to the bathroom, your cheek flushing purple from the suffocating sickly heat. Splashes of the coolest melted mountain water did little to stave away the purple blotting in your cheeks. You didn’t know if you were going to be sick or faint as the feeling of what felt like claws took hold of the muscles in your abdomen. You met the marble floor hard, that pain was nothing compared to what was growing in your abdomen. The cool marble gave some relief to your cheek as you met it but nothing could seemingly stop the inferno setting through your skin as your bones began to rattle with a chill off the stone.

“YN!” Azriel reached for your face, ice cold to the touch contradicting the feeling inside. He pulled you to your feet, your groans of pain bouncing off the tile as you clutched your arms around your waist until the pain became unsurmountable and blackout was your body’s only solution.

Your eyes hardly flickered, beads of sweat wiped with a cloth from your forehead as various fae shuffled around the room in frantic fear of Azriel’s stern orders. You groaned lightly, the pain remaining and the heat only having lessened slightly no doubt owed to the concoction of fluids Madja and her team plied you with.

“Am-am I dead?” You managed, eyes unable to open fully.

“No, love. We don’t know what’s wrong, but we’ll help you.” Azriel’s soft words were followed by a glare at the panicked-looking healer team, which couldn’t seem to figure out what was happening.

“I-I think it's the appen-appendix” You attempted to sit up, Azriel gently guiding you back down.

“What? What is that love? Do we need to banish it? Poison it?” He sank to his knees at your bedside, running his thumb over your hand in soothing circles as you gave a gentle smile.

“Out-it needs to come out- I’ll get sep-sepsis”

“Who is that? Can I get him now to fix you?” You gave the weakest of smiles. You’d die at the hands of medieval magic medicine, but at least you’d die with your love by your side. You fought the dark pull of sleepiness, its taunting comfort calling to you to dance with it, to stay with it. Rhysand burst through the door, boxes of supplies and tinctures in hand, Madja looking grateful but hopeless.

“Try these!” Nesta called over Rhysand’s shoulder, Cassian and Feyre holding multiple other elaborate glass bottles.

“I’m afraid we’ve tried all those” Azriel’s head whipped up from your direction to Madja’s melancholy voice, the look of a female who had exhausted the resources available to her.

“No” Tears rimmed Azriel’s eyes, looking back to you, waiting for a witty comment or comforting word, only a greying pasty complexion looked back.

“Well we could… no I’m not sure” “What Nesta!?” Azriel sprang to his feet, looking to the eldest Archehon like she was the answer to all his pleas.

“Well Azriel we could… we could send her home? Other world disease, other world solution?” Nesta shuffled from one foot to the other, an unusual discomfort in her own skin radiating as Cassian shared a concerned look with Rhysand.

“But-but what if you send her in the wrong place? Or what if-what if she can’t come back?” He looked amongst the four, all of which didn’t want to answer but Rhysand finally filled the airspace.

“She will die here Az”

“And what if she dies there?” his voice rattled.

“Then at least she can die knowing everything possible was done for her, we should want that for her” Cassian added softly, taking hold of one of Azriel’s shoulders in his hand. The healer team looked amongst themselves before looking to their leader to speak.

“She hasn’t got much longer, we must decide” Madja spoke with a kind firmness that Azriel knew so well.

“Fine, but I go with her” “Azriel” The four friends spoke in unison, being cut off by Azriel’s raised hand.

“You would not allow your mates to go alone, YN is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a mate, perhaps she is my mate but the human stuff is getting in the way, I don't know. Regardless, I will accompany her to her end, no matter what way that may present itself. Get Amren right away, Nesta and her will send us together” With the orders of the Spymaster the inner circle reluctantly went about the necessary preparations, fully unsure if this would even work or simply kill you both on conjuring. It didn’t matter to Azriel, in every reality he’d lose you and in every reality he would stay with you.

“Az how do we know when to try to pull you back?” Feyre did her best to hide her worry but it was easily read by her friends. Azriel took a moment to think, he didn’t know how time worked in our realm or how his friends would find him, all he knew is he had to get you to help.

“Your birthday Feyre, I’ll be home to help you blow out the candles” He hugged her tightly before doing the same to Cassian and Rhysand, the three ignoring that this could be goodbye forever.

“Until we meet again” Were Azriel’s final words to his friends before he took your weakened body in his arms, Feyre sliding a filled satchel over a shoulder as Amren and Nesta circled around you both. Blinding light followed.

The thud of his boots on the solid oak floors of a mildew-covered yet cosy dorm room echoed off the picture-covered walls. Azriel felt like he might vomit, never one to enjoy being at the will of Nesta’s power. He took an unbalanced step, realising that his wings had seemingly vanished from his back, the feeling turning his already upset stomach on its head. He clutched your body into him, taking in the room that held the same scent as your hoodie he loved so much, your home, it calming him. Your deep groan skyrocketed him back into reality as he took unsure steps out of your room and into the fluorescent-lit hallway. Every cell of Azriel’s body was screaming at him to freak out, a feeling he hadn’t felt since a child of utter uselessness towards his own outcome.

“Eh, hello?” He whipped around to the small voice of an even smaller woman as she stood toothbrush and shower caddy in hand. Azriel couldn’t find his voice, the whole situation was overwhelming.

“YN?” A man called from behind the girl as he ran towards the both of you. Azriel instinctively pulled you from his grasp.

“Cammy call an ambulance!” The man shouted and the small girl ran for the phone.

“Look buddy, I don’t know who you are but you’re going to tell me what the fuck is wrong with my YN” The male snapped, managing to take your weight in his arms as pure shock rattled through Azriel. What? What? What? Bounced around the head of the Illyrian as your weight began to go fully limp in the man's arms.

The next 40 minutes were a complete whirlwind that Azriel couldn’t find his voice in. The ambulance swept you all away, the male close behind in his car. The whole vehicle experience nevermind the beeping alarms within the ambulance cabin making Azriel feel fully out to sea. The next thing Azriel could comprehend he was being refused entry to the emergency bay, being forced to sit alongside the man in yet another fluorescent hallway.

“This has been a crazy fucking month” Azriel heard the man whisper under his breath.

“Thanks for finding YN-” Azriel sat up straighter, subconsciously puffing out his chest at the sound of your name on another males tongue “-I hope she didn’t cause you too much trouble, she gets kinda crazy around exam season, I’m Damien” Damien outstretched a hand that Azriel did not take, only refocusing his gaze on the double doors they took you through. The two sat in awkward silence for nearly three hours until a doctor returned to meet them.

“Well, we got very lucky, we got to her before any serious damage could be done, she's awake now if you want to see h-” Azriel stood before she could finish the sentence, bursting through the cursed double doors to find you, a small rattling intern leading the way to your room where you sat still groggy in the bed.

“Az” You gave a weak smile, morphine still flooding your system, the realisation of who you saw then sending you further upright in the bed.

“Az! What the fuck!?” You half shouted half laughed as he rushed to hug you into him, burying his head into your hair, taking deep breaths of the scent he loved so much.

“YN, I was so afraid” his voice hoarse from the somewhat vow of silence he had taken since arriving. You pushed him back, your hands wiping across his chiselled cheeks as you touched your forehead on his. He ran a hand up your arm, it catching on the IV.

“What is this?” he looked, taking in the sterile environment.

“Fluid, it's okay, it doesn't hurt. I can’t believe I’m back here, that you’re here!”

“YN you’re alive!” Damien's voice came from the doorway, sending Azriel back to his ironing board-like posture. He gave you a gentle hug under the scrutinising eyes of Azriel, your cheeks blushing.

“Damien I-I can’t believe you’re here?” “Can’t believe I’m here? You go awol for a month and then show up in the arms of this guy” Damien looked judgingly towards Azriel, arms tucked across his chest. Your sense of time was completely lost, you had been gone at least 6 months, had that translated as a month in this realm, the physics side of your brain was hurting.

“Visiting time is over” a burly nurse saved you from responding.

“I go nowhere without her” Azriel replied, the nurse only raising an eyebrow.

“C’mon Leathers, I’ll give you a lift back to the dorms” Damien replied bitterly, digging through his pockets for his keys.

“I doubt your puny muscles could carry me” Azriel whispered to no one in particular, you smiled gently.

“Go Az, stay in my room and one of my friends can bring you back to me tomorrow” You gave your best reassuring smile but met the doubtful face of the Illyrian. You leaned across the bed, beckoning him in to hear your whisper

“Az, trust me, an ICU nurse makes a naga look like a kitten” you grinned, Azriel shooting upright again, looking to the nurse with a respectful fear before kissing the top of your head and following Damien out.

Sat into the small Ford, Azriel dug what training he could to remain calm within another metal cage, this time the alarms absent.

“So, how'd you meet YN?” Damien broke the 5 minutes of dead air in the car, Azriels hand finding the handle above the door to cling to as Damien indicated onto a busy road.

“Not the ‘Jesus Christ we're going to die’ panic handle” Damien laughed at the sight, Azriel now using all training you had given him to read between the lines and not ask a silly question, he would save those for you.

“Well?” Damien tried again.

“She sort of…fell into my life” Azriel buried a grin, white knuckles growing across the handle.

“She has a tendency to do that, hard to saddle that one” he laughed, Azriel now glaring.

“She's not an animal she-”

“-oh dude I know, I get it, feminism woo-” Damien raised a sarcastic fist before returning it to the wheel “-but some women are meant to be left wild” he laughed, Azriel not returning the sentiment.

“So called ‘wild women’ are revered where I come from” he bit, Damien pulling up outside the building Azriel had hazy memories of landing in.

“And where is it you're from?” Damien raised an eyebrow, Azriel finding the door handle to allow air in.

“Somewhere YN will never need to bow to feeble insecure males” were his final words shared before exiting the car.

Azriel found your room again with some difficulty but was happy to find the door still open from the rush of excitement earlier in the night. The room felt like you, your photos and books and brilliance across every inch of the space. Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, taking it all in before the flood of sea he was thrown in overwhelmed him. Tears freely flowed down his cheeks, his hands knotting through his hair as the stress of it all reached boiling point before he fell back into the bed and allowed himself to be overtaken by the near miss you both had tonight. Sleep quickly stole away the cries.

—--

“Az, get your filthy shoes off my bed” You laughed from the doorway, skyrocketing the Illyrian upright, a daze of confusion to follow.

“YN!” He ran to you, swaddling you in his arms once again as you leaned into him.

“I-I just closed my eyes? How are you here already? How are you feeling” A rush of questions separated you both again.

“I wouldn't think too much about the time thing, it'll rot your brain sweetie-” you pulled from him, throwing down the jacket you had left Prythian wearing “-I got sent home, they said they've never seen someone heal so fast from halfway to death, those treatments from Madja must have worked wonders after surgery, I feel a lot better” you sat down on the bed, Azriel still trying to work his way through the time difference.

“YN I was so scared, I really thought you were going to leave me” “I can’t believe you’re here with me, in some ways I think I must still be in an infection-fueled catatonic state-” You looked at Azriel, his head tilted in confusion like when a dog hears the word walkies “- nevermind, I believe it, as much as I can’t, I chose to believe this is real” You smiled, eyes then landing on his bear shoulders, Azriel seemingly shrinking under the gaze.

“I know, wingless, how terribly odd, I feel like my balance is off” he laughed, a knocking coming to the door.

“She lives!” Damien beamed as you pulled open the chipping door. He squeezed you into a hug, the heat from Azriel’s eyes and your fresh stitches radiating through your body.

“Hello Dam, thank you for bringing Azriel back here”

“Oh it was no problem at all, me and ol Azills had a lovely chat” Damien clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, a huff of air leaving his nostrils as he did.

“Azriel will do just fine” he corrected.

“Nonsense buddy, you’re a friend now, c’mon we’re all going for lunch to celebrate your return from whatever place you were in” Damien left his side, taking your hand gently in his and leading you to the door.

Azriel crammed his figure into the back seat of the tiny Ford once again, trying his best to not glare holes into the back of Damien's head as he drove.

“You’ll have to tell us all of the great mischiefs I’m sure you got into YNN” Damien almost lovingly tapped your knee before returning his hands to the steering wheel.

“Not must mischief..” you trailed off, thinking of the great vast amounts of mischief you got up to in Prythian, all of which would land you in a psychiatric hospital if you tried to explain it to your friends.

Azriel folded his shoulders like a deck chair, squishing as best he could into the booth of the large, dilapidated pub some miles from your residence.

“Do they only make furniture for the miniature in this city?” He asked you under his breath and you laughed lightly as Damien returned to the table accompanied by three of your closest friends. Azriel fought the urge to block his ears as you and your friends all squealed at the sight of one another.

“I know, like howling dogs” Damien whispered across the table to Azriel as you swaddled your friends in hugs.

“You seem to have an affinity for referring to females as animals” he bit back, Damien rolling his eyes.

“Well hello there-” a red-headed female slid in alongside them, hand outstretched like a grand dame greeting a suitor “-let’s get properly acquainted” She playfully batted her eyelashes as you rolled your eyes.

“Easy Georgie” Cassy, Azriel remembered from the corridor, slid alongside his new friend. Damien gestured with his head for you to sit alongside him, allowing Ellie, Azriel's final new friend, to cap off the bench at the end.

“Tell us, tall dark and handsome, where are there more of you?” Georgie laughed, and your eyes looked down towards the menu burying a grin.

“I am a dying breed, my brothers are all mated off” Azriel answered in a somewhat serious tone, eager to end the affections of this new female as a waitress filled your glasses with refreshing water.

“Now who’s obsessed with animal analogies” Damien shot back as you took a drink to cover your confusion.

“If I was I’d correctly identify you as a little bitch” You began to sputter on the water at Azriel’s comment.

“Oh my god it’s like the real housewives” Cammy laughed as Damien and Azriel began to stare one another down.

“Okay okay enough of that” you coughed out, Damien rubbing your back to ease the deathly grip you faced for a second time in 48 hours, Azriel thought of all the ways he could have Damien taken care of, giving him comfort.

Azriel pushed around his burger on the plate, nothing compared to the food of home and simply couldn’t stomach it.

“YN, I thought you weren’t going to date boys until you finished the degree?” Ellie asked between bites of salad.

“Guess she went and found herself a man” Georgie laughed, the table other than Damien joining in.

“Tough luck Damien” The three girls laughed loudly accompanying your nervous chuckle as Azriel examined the pair of you. Soon after more teasing you found yourself at the bar top, waiting for an order of the coffee you had had dreams about.

“Hello love” Azriel joined your side, an arm wrapping tenderly around your waist, ever careful of the fresh stitches.

“Having fun?” “Yeah, it’s nice to meet the people from your stories, although I don’t remember a pig-headed troll being part of any?”

“Damien’s just being nice Az, maybe calling him a little bitch wasn’t the nicest thing you’ve done” you teasingly reprimanded him. “I call it as I see it” he proclaimed, observing the bar staff as they worked.

“It's funny how no matter the realm, the tavern will survive in any form” he laughed, kissing the top of your head as a member of staff passed a cup into your hand. You retrieved your card from your pocket, Azriel raising a hand before digging through his own pockets and pulling out coins.

“Az-” you tried but he had already placed the solid gold coins into the young staff member's hand.

“We don’t take Renaissance Fair money here buddy”

“Why do people keep calling me buddy?” You laughed at him, tapping your card on the outstretched card machine, the beep signalling a successful payment.

“What a strange place, a piece of…whatever that is containing all your wealth”

“Strange? A winged goblin takes my wages in a bank made of seashells at home and you think this is strange?” You laughed, taking a glorious sip of the coffee.

“You don’t think Gerry is helpful?” Azirel bemused as you rolled you eyes again.

“Gerry is the most helpful of anyone at home I suppose” Azriel beamed down towards your use of home, Valeris was still your home. You offered the drink to him and he took a regretful deep sip of the honey black liquid. His face contorted into shapes as the energetic liquid of life entered his system,

“Nice?” “I think Cassian’s dirt mixture was nicer” he winced out as you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t long before Azriel’s small sip of coffee had him bouncing off the walls with energy, so unused to the power of caffeine and colourings rife in our food. As the evening turned into night, the pub filled with college students ready to relax and the dance floor came to life. Georgie had the caffeine bursting Azriel quickly on his feet to swing around the dance floor with the other two girls, leaving you and Damien to chat in the booth.

“Looking for that ring before Spring YNN?” He laughed into his pint as the back of your hand gently met his chest. He quickly caught hold of it to keep it there, beckoning you to turn to face him.

“I could give it to you” he said quietly, barely audible over the booming music the was blowing Azriel’s mind some feet away.

“Dam, stop” You smiled sadly, taking back your hand.

“We were great together!”

“We were fuck buddies” You laughed in surprise at his bold statement.

“Exactly!” He joined your laugh, a familiar playfulness falling back between you both. Azriel swirled Cammy around when a sudden creep of a sugar crash headache started to slide up from the nape of his neck. He released Cammy’s hand and apologised to the girl's pleas to stay as he made his way back to the booth. Through the sea of people, Azriel found his eyes land on you and Damien, looking ever so comfortable in the booth. He watched as Damien took a ring from your finger and placed it on the one where people's wedding bands on before he leaned in and whispered something into your ear. Azriel felt a wash of rage, it chasing away any semblance of a headache from him as he shoved his way through the crowd trying to find the door. Meanwhile, you began to laugh at the obscene idea that Damien would ever be the one you’d end up with, slipping your ring back to your thumb. You looked out to see the back of Azriel’s head exit through the door as you attempted to follow him, finding it a lot harder to break through the crowd than the broad Illyrian.

Azriel stormed through the drizzle-drenched streets, crowds and crowds of people washing around him, the deafening buzz of overhead street lights had Azriel wondering how you weren’t all driven mad. He had no idea where he was, only that he wanted to go home to where things made sense and fluorescents were only found in the brightest flowers of Spring and not around every corner. The Spymaster stopped in front of an electrical goods shop, shut for the night but with the displays still on. Flashes of the news painted across the rectangular screen, more hypersonic buzzing radiating through the glass. Azriel watched in horror at the scenes of unrest, scenes of familiar trenches but with more gruesome otherworldly weapons. The sight turned his stomach, forcing his feet onward as pictures of the battlefield danced across his mind. He wandered off the step onto the road, a large SUV breaking harshly in front of him, blowing the bellowing horn in his direction, more incomparable noise. Azriel darted from the road, narrowingly missing being flattened by another SUV. This world was so noisy, so deafening he couldn’t understand you ever finding peace here.

The rain picked up its hammering from a drizzle to a drum as his rain soden boots met the pavement with increasing weight. Even the weather was different here, somehow crueller than what he faced in the darkest of storms at home. Azriel felt out of control, overwhelmed in every sense of the word, swaddled by the choking of the deafening never-ending buzz of street lamps. He couldn’t find his way through the sea of nausea and people, people chattering into their little glowing boxes, tapping a deafening finger on the buzzing screens. Buzzing, so much buzzing, all Azriel could think of until he found his breath uneven, no match for the buzzing. His heavy hips met the step outside a jeweller, the quietest of buzzing but still pinging in his ears. Calloused hands dug into his face as he tried to bring his breathing back, unable to capture its elusiveness.

“Az!” Your voice rose above the buzz, Azriel, lifting his head from his hands as you ran to him, the colour drained away from his cheeks. You caught him gently by the shoulders, his rattling bones bouncing off your rain-soaked sleeves.

“C’mon love, it’s okay” You did your best to pull his weight up from the step, guiding the seemingly shellshocked Illyrian back the few blocks to your dorm, the buzzing never really easing but breath beginning to return.

Once inside, you took his rain-soaked clothes from him, leaving him in just his undergarments before swaddling him in the duvet and guiding him down to the bed. The bone-rattling buzz continued inside your room, the maddening sound causing Azriel to claw at his ears.

“What Az, what?” you pleaded.

“It's so-so loud here!” he winced, eyes scrunched closed. You quickly darted around, unplugging everything, and shoving a pillow along the foot of the door to block the noise and light from outside. The motheaten curtains were quickly swooshed closed, soothing darkness swallowing the room until you lit a few candles to illuminate your bath back to Azriel as he lay in your bed. You discarded your own drenched clothing before sliding into the space alongside Azriel. His clammy skin clung to you as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“That, that was horrible” he whispered into your hair.

“I think you had a panic attack sweetie, a symptom of my realm” you nuzzled into his chest, eager to hear his heartbeat return to normal.

“Did I steal you away from your life here?” he questioned after a moment of comforting silence. He had seen you beam with joy many times since meeting you but never with the level of familiarity you seemed to have tonight.

“If you want to get technical, Nesta stole me” You chuckled softly before lifting to rest your chin on his peck and meet his eye.

“Details” he grinned.

“The only thing you stole was my heart” You admitted sweetly before making a retching sound “ew gross feeeeeeeelings” you mocked, Azriel rolling his eyes before kissing you sweetly.

“I bet Damien would have a few words to say about that”

“Yeah well Damien is a little bitch” You smiled, Azriel looking as proud as ever.

“My girl” he squeezed you tight.

“No one else’s”

For the following two weeks, you introduced the world a lot more softly to Azriel, with lots of breaks in the haven of safety from the buzz you had built in your room. Azriel began to see so many things right in this realm and challenged the wrong. He could see how someone could call this place home but it would never be his and he counted down what sense of time he could before you would return to his realm. Azriel’s bravery grew and one late one evening he ventured out alone into the world while you slept off a day of explaining how cars, debit cards, instant noodles and electric razors work.

The street where all the deafening had occurred was silent, as the sun sinking banished the need for overhead street lamps. He wandered with more comfort down the street until he landed at the step that you had rescued him from, a neon sign glowing in the window of the shop. “Cash for gold” Azriel read allowed, an idea sounding off in his head.

When you woke up to an empty bed, panic had stolen your voice as you began to haphazardly clothe yourself, your hand barely touching the door knob as Azriel strode in.

“Gods Az, I thought you were gone on another rampage-” You smiled, taking the flowers he offered you “-these are lovely” you beamed.

“YNN, I have a surprise for you” You raised an eyebrow as he came in, closing the door behind him. You watched him carefully cross the room, discarding the jacket you had bought for him in a charity shop, along with his other new clothing. You placed the delicate flowers on the dresser before turning to see a somewhat worried Illyrian.

“YNN, this is a strange world, filled with strange customs, but this is the custom I like the best-” “-yes”

“YN, I love you so much and I know we’ve only been officially together for a short time or a very long time, who can tell but-” “-yes” you mumbled in shock, Azriel not hearing you as he was wrapped up in anxiously delivering his speech.

“-I just know you're supposed to be mine forever and-”

“-yes”

“-I will work harder for the life you deserve-”

“-yes”

“-because you deserve the moon and stars and I want to be the one to give them to you, in every and all realms, YNN, will you be with me forever” Azriel retrieved a ring of precious stones, dazzling rays of your favourite colour danced along the precious metal as he held it out to, where it met silence.

“This is-this is where you answer, from what I’ve read” he mumbled after a moment, staving off the rising panic he wished to never feel again.

“I said yes Az” Tears brimmed your cheeks as he launched forward for you, holding you so tight that it may burst your bones.

“I love you so much YN, I don't know how I got so lucky to find you” he slipped the ring on gently, it fitting perfectly.

“I love you too Azriel” You kissed again, shielding each other from the chill of the night that leaked through the poorly insulated walls.

“I did contemplate pulling a Rhysand and have you face a beast to retrieve your own ring but I didn’t fancy trying to slip the ring under Nesta’s pillow while she slept” You laughed at him, gently hitting him into the chest, the gleam of the rings charm catching your eye.

“So now can we go get some sleep”

“I wasn't thinking of doing much sleeping tonight YN” he smirked and you returned the same, rolling your eyes.

“I don't know you didn't get down on one knee, kinda ruins it” You teased and he grinned biting his lip.

“Oh Gods I change my mind I can't be stuck with a Smart Ass for a wife the rest of my life”

“Wife” you repeated and it caused both of you to smile greatly, a tinge of sadness then panging through you.

“What about finding your mate Az?” you looked from the stones to his jewel-like amber eyes.

“I found her” he kissed you deeply, draining any and all doubt from your bones. Forever was a long time but you looked forward to its endlessness with Azriel.

------------------------

Whatcha think????

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honkha · 3 months ago

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JADE AND FLOYD

they look like bloody gangsters or maniacs who have decided that eating people is a cool option, but WAIT.

Their family owned a large illegal shipping business and they had plenty of time to prepare.

They took some place closer to the northern part of the country, like a hydroelectric plant or something, and began to run the community that was forming there, with Azul as the leader.

I've spent more time to sketch Jade than anything else.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst fanart #twisted oc #artwork #twst oc #octavinelle #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #twst floyd #blot infection

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fizzyboy · 3 months ago

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Small, rodent sized variants of blots.

These creatures are downright horrid to deal with in large numbers. They're fairly common in abandoned buildings or dark areas, with only a handful showing up and scurrying away. But there are times when a full nest as been integrated into the building.

They have confidence in numbers and will chase you down like a pseudo wave event. However, a strong enough attack can disperse and disorganize them, leaving the hoard vulnerable.

This is what got Dazzle infected.

#dandys world #dw #dandys wasteland #dandys world au

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starlee246 · 3 months ago

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Infection au stages!!!

Backstory is here

After careful observation, we’ve managed to gather information on what we believe to be the six stages of the illness.

•Days 1 - 6: Stage 1 - Contraction

This stage starts from the moment the virus begins to infect the host.

In this stage it’s possible for the host to recover by themselves, but only if they haven’t taken any medication.

Stage 1 patients have permission to access the whole school.

-Infection is obvious if the patient is bitten or came into contact with ink, which soaks through the skin, or contact with the infected, where it will manifest in the form of a black stain. This has been dubbed category A.

-If the patient caught it from sharing fluids, the first symptom, hives, will show up an hour into catching it. Unlike regular hives, greyscale hives appear in greyscale blotches, hence the name. These hives quickly go away by themselves. This is known as category B.

Other symptoms include:

-Loss of appetite

-mild discomfort of infected areas (A)

-showing symptoms similar to anaemia such as shortness of breath, dizziness when moving quickly and mild fatigue.

-Using magic while infected is incredibly unwise as it only progresses illness.

-Taking painkillers may alleviate symptoms temporarily but are not recommended as they extend the period of the first stage and deny chances of recovery.

-Should the patient recover, it’s unlikely they’ll catch it again. Lasting effects are being studied on the surviving handful.

-Category A infections are treatable via amputation if possible.

•Stage 2 - Spreading.

After roughly a week, the patient becomes contagious. Time periods of stages from here are irregular and vary wildly. They can no longer recover by themselves, but could recover with a cure, or amputations for category A.

Patients are conscious and retain their personality, though may act out of character at times, occasionally behaving violently. Stage 2 patients must reside in either Octavinelle or Diasomnia for quarantining, but are permitted visitors.

Those altering their bodies using potions such as merpeople, or fae hiding their features will be forced into their usual forms.

-Bodily fluids contain ink. Any tears, vomit or coughs will be riddled with infectious ink.

-infected areas will become irritated, black blotches spread and surrounding skin is greyscaled.(A)

-Fingertips start going black and hair will begin to go grey

-recurring stomachaches (B)

-skin will start to go ashy

-extreme fatigue and weakness

-any food or drink consumed will end up getting thrown up.

-their memories begin blurring. They forget things quickly and will get things wrong that they never usually would.

Stage 3: Takehold

At this point, there’s nothing more we can do so far because we have no cure. The patient will only get worse from here. The patient is still conscious, but will sometimes act out of character, generally behaving on their negative traits. They still have humanity, though, so friends will be allowed final visits to say safe, proper goodbyes while they matter.

-entire limbs are stained black.

-skin is significantly paler or ashier.

-prone to biting and other hostile behaviour at times.

-beastmen and merpeople will show animalistic tendencies.

-memory becomes significantly worse, often forgetting things they just did or things they’d never usually forget, even their names.

-starvation due to inability to eat.

-near inability to leave bed.

-eyes lose colour, vision deteriorates.

-internal ink buildup, manifesting as drool, vomit or cysts on the skin.

-infected wounds will start opening, both from category A and other injuries infected with ink.

-bad stomach and gastrointestinal pain (B)

Stage 4: mutation

Originally confused as recovery after stage 3, due to regaining appetite and being able to move properly again. On the contrary, at this point, the body of the patient is half dead, the disease being what keeps them alive for the most part. From the beginning of this stage, patients become dangerous, generally hostile and should only be taken care of by the professionals. They are kept locked away at all times. The patient is fully conscious and has humanity left, but almost nothing remains of their original personality, as the illness is puppeteering their body a lot of the time. This stage would theoretically still be curable to an extent.

-will frequently try to attack others

-skin and eyes are left completely monotone, any new hair is grey.

-patients’ bodies will regain ordinary functions but continue to get thinner.

-near constant leaking of ink

-old, even uninfected wounds open up.

-beastmen and merpeople’s animalistic traits become especially pronounced, both physically and in behaviour.

-the body will show ‘mundane’ disfigurements such as hunching and scoliosis.

-muscle deterioration occurs.

-flesh starts to rot.

-The patient becomes especially sensitive to pain. Painkillers can be used at this point to reduce inevitable suffering.

-the patient starts losing the ability to speak properly

-magic no longer works on the patient

Stage 5: disfigurement

At this stage, the body has died completely. It is past any hopes of curability. The patient is not who they once were. They are still semi conscious but completely locked out of their body, which is controlled by the illness. Patients are generally and ideally terminated at this.

-flesh is mostly rotten.

-patient is unable to speak more than a few words.

-the body goes completely numb.

-the patient no longer listens to commands.

-the patient is now completely blind.

-levels of hostility vary from person to person but generally act violently towards the uninfected.

-patient becomes unnaturally thin.

-entire body parts, generally limbs, may deteriorate.

-most of the internal body other than bones are turned to ink.

-skin becomes very thin and easy to puncture. Bones will often break through skin.

Stage 6: final stage

The final stage of infection.

The patient is not curable. The patient is no longer human. Even if they were once your friend, they won’t remember it. Kill them if you have the chance. Otherwise, run.

-their internal workings are entirely replaced with ink.

-any deteriorated or generally cut off limbs grow back, often in the wrong place.

-puddles of ink form wherever they step.

-patients with unique magics are especially especially dangerous.

-Cannot speak. Some exceptions may repeat words or simple phrases.

-hostility level varies but they are now focused on spreading the infection.

#Greyscale blot au #twisted wonderland #twst #twst au #disney twisted wonderland #infection au

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chososdiscordkitten · 1 year ago

Text

Bite me.

Synopsis:Choso tastes readers blood for the first time >ᵥ_ᵥ<

Pairing: Vampire!Choso x fem!reader Content: porn w/plot, established relationship, blood (duh), biting, missionary, spit stuff, blood stuff, cream pie

MDNI

The little secret Choso had was supposed to stay just that- a secret. A secret pushed to the back of his mind- too shamed and fearful of what could happen had you found out.

But there were times Choso swore you knew. When you’d carelessly brush your hair onto one side, giving his teeth full access to the tastiest part of you. Even if to the bare eye it wasn’t noticeable, he could see the thick stream of blood in your jugular pulse whenever he looked at it.

As though you were begging him to sink his teeth into your skin without words.

His suspicions only grew when you would ask questions in an insinuating tone. Why the brown of his eyes had a sprinkle of crimson in them, why at times he would show up to your apartment- his lips lightly stained in a distant red. And why he had a metallic scent to him every now and then.

And most of all- why he would look at you like you were a meal to be had.

And with the blooming relationship between you and him, you simply blamed it on something all humans feel—something a man would feel when looking at a person he had an interest in.

But to him, Choso never picked apart the reasons why he wanted to drink from you. The only way he could describe it was starvation that couldn’t be satiated even with stolen blood bags. A hunger that Choso felt rumble his very soul when he looked at you.

And he would push that feeling down- too fearful of the risk of tasting you and the inability to stop, making him wish he was never plagued with such a disease.

That hunger roused in his heart the very first time you kissed him. Along with the itching feeling of a new kind of hunger. Desperately chasing the warmth your lips pressed onto his cold skin.

That very same warmth that reminded him that you were filled with the cerise liquid he dreamt of.

You had your own suspicions. Sure, Choso was a little strange at times. Specific phrases indicating he had claimed you, at once even saying how fucking good you smelled first thing in the morning. It made you squint- and tilt your head in the slightest.

But maybe he just couldn’t formulate ‘normal compliments’ that you had heard before. Instead of strange, you saw it as endearing when he would say those kinds of things.

But when Choso spoke as though he were from another time, his brown eyes blotted with deep red spots. How his pupils would pulse when you looked a little too closely into them. He could go in the sun, but rare were the times he would.

The time you nicked yourself while mincing vegetables- he ran up to help. At first, with all the urgency of the world- grabbing your finger and scolding you for being so careless.

And holding your lightly oozing digit in his hand, he would watch the cherry blood seep from your tissue. And god- your scent stuck in his nose the longer he held you. And when the smell flooded his brain- hazing any reservations he had.

Choso lifted the tip of your finger to his lips- flashing them up at you only for you to snatch your hand away from him- muttering something about how it would get infected before wrapping it up.

How his cold hands would cling to you and feel the humanity pulse through your veins. The overwhelming urge to have you, have you moved into his place- far too precious to leave you on your own.

If he, himself- your boyfriend was having these carnal urges to do these things to you- to taste you. What would another person do to you?

And Choso, when the realization that you would be sleeping beside him- thick thighs bare and your neck exposed, along with the pulse in your wrist. In deep sleep- unaware of the starved creature lying beside you.

That’s when Choso realized just how masochistic he was being.

He loved you more than enough to endure the rowling thoughts in his mind- enough to stay awake and watch you. Even if he closed his eyes and tried to ignore it- he could hear the liters of blood pulse beneath your skin. Choso endured it as much as he could.

And with you moving in, it made it harder to hide that secret. Why there was a mini fridge with a lock on it, stuffed full of blood bags—Choso was sure you would find any day now.

So when it came to the late-night activities only done in the bedroom- as though your bare skin begged for his teeth all over your body. Choso could feel two kinds of hunger pulse beneath his skin when he first touched you.

Even more so when your bare body was pressed against his- unknowing of the torment the act inflicted onto him. The plush warmth that would surround his member, reminding him that you were filled with the tantalizing red liquid everytime he pushed himself into you.

It ate away at him. It felt like a lie- the idea that you’d look at him as a monster had he told you plagued him.

But he feared you finding the bags and seeing him as a serial killer- or a madman, and losing you before he could explain what he was.

So he sat you down- hoping you’d have an open mind when he dared say the words.

Sitting on the couch, his cold hands holding yours. You found it odd—rare were the times Choso held that much severity in his eyes when he spoke to you.

You smiled genuinely, unknowing what he had to be so serious about.

His thumbs lightly caressed the tops of your hands. “Do you remember when he watched that movie—with the strange girl and the man who played Batman?”

You squint your eyes. “Twilight?” His cold thumbs halt their caresses, looking at you seriously with a soft nod.

Choso started stuttering over his words- saying that he was like that man, but it was different. Words were spewed from his throat, throwing them at you and hoping you would understand. Confessing this greatest sin that had eaten away at him from the moment of meeting you.

You only raised your eyebrows- hearing the blathering go on and on. Only for your eyes to squint, “Are you trying to tell me you’re a….” hesitating, knowing how insane it would have sounded.

Choso only nodded, looking down at your hands with a little laugh falling from your lips. “Is this some kind of roleplay you wanted to try?” You joked, watching his face fall from its severity and mumble a small ‘no.’

“First of all- if you were, you wouldn’t be living with me. You’d be off in Rome living in a castle-” Leaning back onto the couch with an unbelieving smile. “And your teeth aren’t pointy.” you giggled, watching the man before you look at you with sorry eyes.

He parted his lips to speak- “And? I’ve literally seen you go into the sun.” pulling your hands from his and crossing them across your chest.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you—I can barely comprehend it myself,” he defended, watching your face wear an unamused look.

You pursed your lips, sarcastically saying, “Start with proof—how ’bout that?” Bored of this larping Choso decided to start.

Choso pulled his lips to the side, thinking of his least jarring approach. Proof- there was a lot of, but he tried finding the least callous one to show you.

He parted his lips, lightly bearing his top row of teeth with a little huff falling from your throat- seeing the unsharpened canines look back at you.

Choso thought back to you- closing his eyes and recalling your blood’s metallic scent when he almost lost himself in it. He could hear your steady heartbeat quicken when the pearly canines grew slightly- pointed downwards with a sharp end.

You scoffed- refusing to believe his attempts at a joke. And as though he could hear your thoughts- claims that this had to be some parlor trick. He reached from your hand, placing it onto his chin and urging you to touch.

Gulping lightly when his voice rumbled from his throat, “Touch them- they’re real.”

And as your thumb lightly grazed his bottom lip, you leaned in closer with squinted eyes. Lightly pressing the pad of your thumb against the pointy tooth, unknowing how hard Choso’s heart was beating in that moment.

You slid your thumb down the tooth, pressing up into the pointed edge with a wince. Pulling away, you looked at the little prick on your thumb.

You parted your lips to speak, only for Choso to beat you to it. “And-” he muttered, placing his hands on the side of your head and pulling you close to him- looking into your eyes. Far too close and watching the little pupils dilate- the color around them slightly swirling with splotches of red.

Choso pressed his lips against yours- knowing he had drunk earlier. Pulling away from you and watching your smug expression fade- “Taste it-” he muttered, pressing his lips onto yours again.

And as you allowed his tongue to press against yours- you could taste what he was referring to. The light flavor of metal mixed with his spit. Pulling away from you and holding your head with urge- “Do you taste it?” he muttered, his lips lightly brushing against yours with every word.

Too in awe and bordering on fear- you only looked into his eyes with a hint of suspicion.

Standing up and taking your hand- guiding you to that little locked mini fridge and yanking off the lock. Too much urgency and frustration to go find the key.

He showed you another form of proof he was, as he claimed—his strength. Sure, you knew he was strong—able to manhandle you with ease, leaving light bruises on your skin whenever he would get too rough, able to bring in all the groceries in one trip. You blamed it on his physique, knowing he was beautifully sculpted beneath his loose-fitting clothing.

But this—pulling a metal lock from a metal hinge without any resistance or even a grunt of struggle leaving his lips. Made you wonder just how strong he was—and how much he was holding back before now.

All of that was proof enough- but the sight of neatly stacked blood bags confirmed it. You stood there for a second- looking at the crimson bags of plastic and feeling Choso’s gaze on your skin. Suddenly, too aware of how vulturous it felt. Before, it felt admiration-filled. It felt like a gaze full of love.

But now it felt like he was looking at you with appetite.

Your heartbeat beating quickly made Choso realize you took this seriously now. You looked over at him- face deadpan with your eyes hinting to fear. “You don’t- eat people, right?” you muttered, a scared tone infiltrating his ears.

Choso looked down to the ground, “Not currently, no.” he confessed, hearing your hand lightly close the little door of the minifridge and gulp.

“Are you gonna eat me?” you asked, causing his eyes to flash back up to you in fear.

He knit his eyebrows and took your hands in his again, “I would never eat you.” he vowed, looking into your eyes.

“Have you thought about it?” you murmured, watching his eyebrows pinch in shame.

“it’s hard not to,” he confessed, watching your head lightly nod.

And with a light inhale- you walked back onto the couch, watching him sit on the other end as you stared at him. A million questions whirring in your mind as he shifted in your gaze. Wishing he could hear what you were thinking.

Somehow, still trying to justify the proof you asked for; just more larping, he’s a weirdo- or a psychopath. But that softness in his eyes- gave you a reason to try and ignore the proof.

You stared at him for a few minutes, trying to find the words to say- or an excuse to leave the apartment and run.

And when you were finally able to conjure the words, “Can I ask questions?” you peered, your face stoic and unshowing how hard your heart was beating. Choso nodded his head ‘yes’- knowing the truth of what he just confessed must feel like a lie.

In a world of fictional demons and countless books written with blood sucking people- it was fair that you had your suspicions.

Choso knew—he watched those very movies with you, holding back comments like ‘that’s not true’ whenever an incorrect fact was spoken in the films.

Even if you held a deadpan expression, your heartbeat gave away how you truly felt, “For how long have you been,” stopping your sentence short and thinking on what word to use.

“Since the 1870’s.” he spoke honestly.

You peeked your eyebrows- mentally doing the math and taking a long blink. “That would make you-”

“175 years old.”

You lightly grimaced, thinking back on every time he would say some timely word you had only heard in the black-and-white movies you’d watch with him. “Why are you here—with me?” you reiterated, watching his avoidant eyes look down at his hands.

“I mean, it must be torture,” you muttered, thinking of the difficulty shown in every movie with this exact plot line.

Choso looked up at you. “At times, it can be.” He lightly nodded, being able to hear your heartbeat slow in the slightest. “But I know I would never hurt you.”

After a handful more questions; if he preferred a specific kind of blood, what kind of people tasted better. Your heartbeat fell back into its normal state.

There was an adjustment period- asking if you could sleep on the couch rather than next to him. Not scared- but nervous to sleep next to him. And Choso being the man he was- he took that responsibility and slept on the couch for as long as you asked.

But then came the moment of acceptance- and Choso swore you started doing these things on purpose. Pulling your hair back and giving him a complete view of your neck. As controlled as his bloodlust was- it was still obscene how thirsty he got looking at you. And something carnal threatened to control his actions rather than his head.

And times when he would hug you- getting a nose full of that sweet scent that seeped from your skin. Or when you started sleeping in tank tops- exposing more of your skin to him as you slept. Helpless and too tired to notice his heavy gaze on your collarbones.

It also didn’t help when you realized that Choso was turned when he was a few years older than you— it hit you like a truck.

Fearing to get older than the age he was when he was turned. Then came the talk of if he would turn you.

When Choso thought about it- he wasn’t like any other protagonist in any vampire media. Choso was selfish and afraid of the day when you’d die- leaving him to roam the earth alone again.

“It isn’t as simple as just turning you,” he muttered, knowing what it meant when someone like him turned their partner. That’s the only part the stupid films got correct.

Sat on the kitchen counter and watching him patter through the kitchen- cooking you a meal as you pestered him with the same question. “You mean the whole- once I turn, we’re supposed to stay together forever?” you asked, unamused with the doubt he held.

“That- and technically, you’d be soulless,” he muttered as you let out a small laugh.

“Of all people- you are the last one I would describe as soulless, Choso.”

You scoffed, pulling your hair to the side and watching his shoulders tense up. Slightly tilting your neck and looking at him- “Is it not tempting?” You whispered in a taunt, watching his eyes flash to the smooth skin you displayed for him.

Thinking the way it worked was the same as the Twilight movies- one bite and you’d be turned, right?

Only your offerings meant nothing but a way of tasting you. Choso knew you wouldn’t become as he was from one bite. But christ- it was tempting.

It made his brain throb in his skull, being able to hear every little pulse your neck pumped with crimson. “It doesn’t work like that.” he muttered, stepping away from the stove and taking a step towards you.

“Still, you never wanted to taste it-” his hips easing between your thighs, placing his cold hands against the sides of your thighs. “You never wanted to taste me?” you whispered, his eyes blinking down to the exposed skin of your neck and gulping.

Choso’s hands gripped lightly at your thighs, almost bracing for what he was about to say- “I don’t want to hurt you.” he breathed, his eyes dark and full of want.

“You can control yourself, right?” you whispered, his head nodding softly. “Think about it- once I turn, you’ll never be able to taste me.” tone full of feigned pity, knowing he would turn you- even if he hadn’t said it yet.

Choso’s lips parted slightly and his mouth went dry. The thought pained his heart- knowing you had a point. “‘Lemme think about it.” he muttered, kissing your cheek quickly before turning back to the pan on the stove.

You sighed a drawn-out breath, “Dunno how you do it,” you muttered, watching his shoulders fall from tension. “If you were begging me to bite you- to taste you.” you exhaled sharply, “I wouldn’t have made you ask twice.”

And he did think about it- weighing out the options in his brain. How bad it would actually be if he tasted you- ’cause that’s all you offered. Just a taste, but with how sweet you smelled- Choso wasn’t sure that 'ust a taste' would be enough for him.

That paired with the pain you would feel, two sharp teeth sinking into your skin- Choso had no idea why you would keep offering. Why you kept provoking him to hurt you.

So one late night, your hands drawing searing touches onto Choso’s skin with your lips softly peppering kisses onto his cheek.

Most of the time, it was you who would instigate these activities. Too afraid to hurt you had Choso not kept his hands to himself.

However, this was the first time you instigated these acts after he confessed his secret to you. And still- Choso tried keeping his hands to himself, even if your own were daring to slip past the band of his sweats.

Topless and on your back, legs spread with his hips daring to rut into your clothed core. You raised a hand beneath the hem of his t-shirt, lightly grazing his back with your nails and kissing his ear lightly.

“Touch me-” you whispered into his ear, intent and urge soaking your words as his hands roam up your thighs.

A soft whimper left his lips at your words- his mind reeling at the fact that you were aware of the kind of monster he was, and you still wanted his touch.

His lips lightly pressed kisses onto your jugular- holding all the restraint he could as he felt the pulse of life beneath your skin. Your hands tugging at the fabric on his back in desperation- his hips responding by bucking into the clothing separating him from your warmth.

Taking a hand from your hip and placing it onto the band of your bottoms- sinking his fingers beneath the layers and to your soaked cunt. Showing him just how negligent he had been since he confessed to you.

A light whimper left your lips as he pulled his own from your neck, too tempted by the vulnerability to keep himself there.

The tips of his middle and ring fingers sink down to the source of your slick- lightly circling at your entrance and coating them before trailing them to the puffy bud atop.

Placing your lips on his again- desperate to relieve the ache between your legs as your tongue swirled against his. The distant taste of metal in his mouth as your eyebrows knitted together. His eager fingers started small circles against you, his hips mindlessly bucking into the air between you as your moans rumbled onto his lips.

It was agonizing the pace Choso tried keeping- your walls so desperate to pull him between them and feel him thrust.

The light touch his fingers kept only made your hips buck into his hand- gasping between every other kiss at the pressure. The grip his other hand held on your side- bordering on bruising from how frustrated he was starting to feel.

Beneath the layers of fabric- throbbing tears soiling his bottoms with every light roll his hips made to relieve the yearning his cock felt.

You tried holding out- suffered sighs of frustrations leaving your lips as his hand continued its snail pace.

But the ache you felt- Choso’s fingers only taunted it. So as you pulled away from him- looking into the mix of brown and red eyes staring back at you, “Need you inside-” you murmured with need, your words filling the air between your lips and his as your hands pushed down the band of his sweats.

The tips of your fingers pressing against the side of his thigh- almost as a plea.

And as you asked of him, Choso clashed his lips back to yours as he removed his hand from your bottoms- his hands full of desire as they pulled your pj bottoms off. Far too eager and desperate to grant your wish with the sweet scent of your skin filling the air- muddying his mind as your hands assisted in removing his bottoms.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt with his chest heaving- watching his hands remove the useless fabric and toss it aside. A small groan of appeasement left your lips as you got an eyeful of his sculpted torso.

Wasting no time in placing your hands on his hips, guiding him to ease himself back where he was before. Choso’s cockhead bordered on turning a violent shade of red as his hands found their place on your hips.

Your hand reaching for is base- urging him to sink into you as you had asked. Choso’s mind was hazy, unable to think as he looked down to the millimeters of space separating his cock from your entrance.

Your bare skin secreting the aroma the cause of the misty state his brain was in. Feeling the light pang of his canines that threatened to grow- a telltale sign he wanted to feed.

His hips followed the guidance your hand led him to, sucking air sharply through his teeth as your warmth surrounded the tip of his aching cock. The alarming rate of your heartbeat causes his eyes to blink back at you.

Wearing a desperate expression and a trembling lip- your mouth whispering muddy words in a silent plea.

And as your hand eased off his cock- Choso’s hips moved forwards, nuzzling his tip further into you as he closed his lips. Avoiding your gaze with his eyes shut tight- trying to hold back every urge that pulsed in his head.

His hips started slow strokes, easing himself out of you with a sigh of desperation. And your cunt tried with all its might to suck him back in, and Choso- not knowing how much longer he could keep his urges at bay, was so fucking close to rutting into you again- quicker and without hesitation.

Your hands clawed at his biceps, drawing him from the focus he tried holding. Soft moans escaped your plush lips when the tip of his cockhead nudged against the most sensitive spot inside of you.

Choso raised his head to face you- his mouth parted and his eyebrows pinched tightly. Your eyes caught onto the glistening peaks of white that Choso’s lips tried hiding, eyes full of hunger and thirst.

His hand rose from your hip and landed on your neck, feeling the warmth course beneath his grasp. Some way of bracing himself as he fought off the impulse.

Your hand trailed up his shoulder, landing on his nape and lightly pulling his ear to your lips. With a tone that sounded like the very gates of heaven to his ears, “Bite me.” you whispered, your hand guiding his head down to your neck where his lips previously kissed.

Choso’s mind was too foggy to even focus on his past reservations. The hand at his back clawing gently, your cunt surrounding his cock, the light hold your hand held on his scalp; made Choso yield the very last of his will over to you.

Closing his eyes as his nose engulfed the scent of your skin, his hips losing pattern in the slow strokes he held. Parting his lips and placing a wet kiss onto the place his teeth ached for.

The light moans leaving your lips were heard as an urgency to his ears, bearing his teeth and lightly grazing the sharp canines against your skin. A shiver settling in your spine at the feather-like scratch.

Choso’s teeth sinking into your skin with a wince mixed with a gasp falling from your lips. The groan Choso rumbled against the punctures made your hand lightly pull on his hair, tucking your lip between your teeth at the sting, losing the feeling of it as it mixed with the pleasure from his cock.

Choso almost came when your taste waved into his mouth. His thrusts sloppy as the saccharine taste of you trickled down his throat- warm, unlike the countless blood bags he had sustained himself on. And sweet- so fucking sweet.

Eyes closed and bordering on rolling to the back of his head with his hips quickening.

Then the reminder of, ‘just a taste’ rumbled in his mind. Unsheathing his sharp teeth from your skin and opening his eyes. Looking back to you- small trickles of blood on his lip with a look of fear in his eyes. His breathing labored and trying to hold back the throaty whines that dared leave his lips.

You moaned lightly- pulling his lips back to yours and tasting yourself on him. Uncaring of the strong taste of metal, you slathered your tongue against his, sloppy and inconsistent. Mostly sharp teeth clashing against your own as your essence laced his spit.

Your hold on his hair strengthened, a mess forming between your lips and his. Your eyes squinting tightly as his thrusts became rougher, the warmth in your tummy pooling at the action.

The hand on the opposite side of your neck lightly squeezed in desperation, your orgasm building as his tip bullied your gspot. Pulling away from him in a hymn-like moan, unable to keep the attempts of a kiss with every strong thrust he made.

Choso’s eyes blinked at your lips, lightly glazed in your essence with a small smudge at the corner of your mouth. He couldn’t help the mumbled words of, ‘M’sorry-’ that left his throat, connecting his lips with yours again and feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around him.

His eyes rolling back with the evident taste on your tongue. Thrusts sloppy and fast- pounding into you as your hands tugged at whatever they could find. Clawing at the broad of his back, and grasping a handful of brown hair in the other.

Soft whines lacing your exhales as you come undone, a low guttural moan separating your lips from his. Choso’s teeth clenched at the sudden vice-like grasp your cunt held around him.

The hand on your hip held a mean grip as he worked himself to orgasm. His chest caving against yours with every sharp exhale he made.

Your hand trailed from his hair and down to his jaw, placing your thumb on his lower cheek and curling your fingers beneath his chin. Angling his face for you to see, his scarlet-tinted lips trembling, his dark hairline dampened with a light veil of sweat, your low eyes watched with soft grunts leaving your lips.

Choso parted his eyes as he felt the grip you held his lower face with, watching an expression of desire form on your face as he felt the wave of his orgasm crash through him with a low grunt.

Thick and heavy pumps of his essence filled you, watching his peaked eyebrows wiggle with the slowing thrusts his hips made.

Huffing heavily as he nuzzled his cock further into you- as deep as he could. Lowering his forehead to yours and batting his eyes closed, pressing down a lazy kiss to your plush lips.

Steadying his breathing as your hands eased their grip. Lifting himself slightly, blinking his eyes open in a hazy afterglow- darting his eyes to the holes he punched into your skin.

Regret filling his stomach as he lightly tilts your head to the side, to give him a better view of the wounds. Mentally scolding himself for losing control and doing as you asked, even if the light trickling of your blood enticed him for more- the love he felt in his heart overrode his primal urges.

Easing himself out of you with a wince, sitting on his knees as you followed him. Pulling a sheet from the side of the bed over your bare body.

Sitting up and feeling his hand hold your neck in a curve, you grinned, peering into his worried expression. "It's okay." you declared.

You reached up to his hand, holding it in yours and looking at him straight on. “I liked it.” you whispered, watching his eyes blink in confusion. The corners of his mouth stained with your blood, parting his lips as you lightly caressed his cold hand.

Furrowing his eyebrows in disappointment in himself, “I can't-” Choso whispered, bordering on a whimper.

Just seeing the scabbing wounds was more painful to him than to you.

Knowing he was the one that did it- hurt just as much. And yet you asked for more. Continuously offering yourself as his own personal blood bag- warmed to the perfect temperature and laced with the sweetest flavor that he had ever tasted.

And he tried—Choso tried with everything in him not to let your words convince him otherwise. But the taste of you couldn’t be washed out from his tongue—not even with a hundred bags of cold blood from strangers.

So convinced that it was only because it came from someone he loved- that he found such addiction in it. That and how you would allow him to drink the liquid from your skin knowing it would satiate his hunger.

And everytime you would offer your body to him- he would always look at your eyes, asking for your sanction.

Even if the hunger pulsed in his stomach, that’s what he would wait for- the clear permission he was allowed to sink himself into you again.

(a.n) how I only used the word 'vampire' once? I have no idea.

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