#cw black scleras

[vidra-comprehends]

Blorbo from my fanfics, a. k. a. the turian I have been painfully gay about for the past week or so.

Milo (pronounced 'me-lo') is my adaptation of Melenis, one of Garrus' team members in his Archangel days.

[ID: A scan of an A4 page filled with seven pencil and pen drawings of the same character. She is a light brown turian female from the Mass Effect universe with red facial markings. A downward-facing triangle covers the top of her nose, while two half-circles adorn her browplates, hinting at a full circle. Her eyes are yellow with green rims.

From the top, left to right:

A full-body drawing of Milo in an unusual red and white outfit. It looks like she wears it as casual clothing. The stretchy dark red and black fabric covering her arms hints at a large muscle mass. An independent text bubble next to her reads: 'That's our Milo.'

Milo from the waist up in custom-made Eclipse armour. She does not have any facial markings here. She is reading a datapad. She is asking someone: 'So, next meeting?' 'Ugh, do you not know how to read?' comes the answer. 'This is last week's schedule,' she explains in turn.

A child's drawing of Milo in her vigilante outfit, which is a set of dark blue armour with Archangel's sign on the front. The drawing itself shows exceptional understanding of dimension and form, but the writing next to it makes it clear that the author is still learning how to write. It takes them a few tries to spell 'vigilante' correctly, while the other side reads: 'I know she is a turian, but I want to be like her when I grow up.'

A full-body drawing of Milo looking back over her shoulder. She is wearing an unusual outfit, which uses dark blue, purple, green and yellow elements as well as various textures and patterns. A text bubble connected to her says: 'Is this comedy night? No? Then leave me alone.'

Another drawing from the waist up, but this one is more simple with only the red outlines of the person. It is clear that some areas of the body and the padded armour have blood smeared over them. Her eyes, her facial markings and the liquid oozing from her mouth are completely black. She is pointing towards the viewer. Over the apparition is black lettering that reads: 'What do I tell them, Shepard?'

A drawing showing Milo's upper body and part of her thighs. Her purple-red-black outfit is suitable for a night club's environment. Orange and blue lights shine on her from opposite sides. She rests an elbow on a counter or railing (which is not depicted), slightly leaning forward. Her expression is confident. A conversation between two unseen characters reads: 'I think I'm jealous…' 'She's working.' 'Still.'

In the last drawing, Milo is clothed in an outfit similar to the first one, but also covering her arms and using heavier fabrics. Her arms are raised in the process of some hand gesture. She looks up and to the side.]

[f-ai-n]

Kaeya studies,,,,, plus childe n kaeya with flowers ro celebrate my friend's childe chibigurumi and my kaeya chibigurumi

[munefille]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥

yandere!m.merman x gn.reader

cw: mentions of death, disturbing imagery

as a fish takes refuge inside an oyster, it sees only the chance to hide from the unforgiving water within the calm mollusk, unaware of the true nature of its biology. unfortunately for the fish, the oyster has already activated its unique defense mechanism, encasing the fish as an immortal, precious pearl.

The rhythmic push and pull of the tides never failed to lull you into a state of mild stupor. Soft, slightly cool sand cushioned you while a gentle breeze brushed past your cheek and played with your hair. The day was only moderately gloomy, a grey tinted sky hanging over you as the clouds came and went, the sun nowhere to be seen. Still, you almost liked it better like this. The beach was more private, freer without the confines of eyes watching it.

Your calloused feet hopped onto the rocky shore, leaving the inviting sand disturbed as a sign of your presence. The salty ocean scent intensified the closer you came to the evermoving water. You stood atop the tallest rock, attempting to scan the waves at your vantage point, searching for your most curious find.

At last, peeking out from between the waves, did you spot the partially submerged head of your friend. His black eyes were trained on your form, no doubt watching you long before you noticed him.

A grin emerged across your face. "I see you!" you called, motioning for him to come closer as you waded into the water. The eyes disappeared beneath the tide at your request.

You felt him before you could see him, smooth scales wrapping around your leg in a firm hold. He reappeared directly in front of you, inky black eyes mere inches away from your own.

The creature's appearance was a far cry from the mermaids of your childhood, beautiful human women who happened to have a tail as their bottom half. No, he hardly mirrored the sentimental fairytale. You noticed his eyes first, sclera and pupil alike darkened together as they melded into each other- then you noticed his rubbery flesh stretched taunt across his sharp bones, with pale, sallow skin, nearly as grey as a corpse. You initially thought that's what he had been when he simply peered at you from afar, unmoving and unblinking against the rocking sea. He was just humanoid enough to lure concerned passersby like yourself deeper into the water, yet not quite passable as human.

In a closer vicinity, as you are now, you could see small scales dotting his cheeks and neck. Under the right light they appeared as little moons, revealing an opalescent luster that you could only describe as ethereal.

"Hello," you greeted with a wide close-lipped smile. Last time you had bared your teeth at him ended with him misunderstanding your friendliness for a threat. You weren't sure if he could talk, but that didn't stop you from trying to make conversation. You had a feeling he understood you to an extent anyways.

The mercreature tilted his head sideways in response, sleek, wet dark hair falling over his shoulder. An inscrutable expression remained plastered on his features; one you gave up trying to interpret using human facial language.

Silky scales gently tugged you further into the waves towards a rocky mass that stood above the crashing water. The current strengthened, oscillating you to its whims, but the guidance of the unyielding sea creature kept you from being swept away entirely. Although you would consider yourself a strong swimmer, you knew you would never compare to a creature born of the water, one who moved so in tune to the sea that his lithe form became indistinguishable from the tides.

Finally, you reached the rocks, gripping the relatively dry surface for relief from the unrelenting waters. You found a comfortable position on them, resting your upper body while you let your legs dangle. The mercreature remained below, lower half of his face once again concealed under the water, leaving only his unblinking eyes visible. His body underneath the water became obscured even further by the dark ring of hair that floated around him. Those eyes regarded you with scrutinizing intensity that would've resembled a predator, had you thought hard enough about it.

"What a nice view-" you began, but the thought was cut short when your companion pulled himself below the water, disappearing from your sight almost completely, save for the movement in the water that signified a strong tail pushing against it.

Confusion laced your face. The few minutes he had gone was enough to make you worry. Why had he left so abruptly? Surely he would be back? You weren't certain you could swim back to shore on your own. Although you trusted him- in fact, you would even consider him a friend- doubt from his apparent unpredictability lingered. After all, you had no way to reliably communicate, nor were you sure if your opinion of your relationship was mutual.

Your concerns vanished as he broke the surface of the water, swimming towards the rocks with something that gleamed as the light hit it.

He stopped at your feet, lifting the object slowly up to you. If you hadn't known better, you'd say the action seemed almost shy.

A gasp left you as you got a view of it. In his webbed, slender fingers lay a glistering mass of refined pearl, hints of color dancing across it the glossy surface. Distantly, you recalled that the creature's scales were of the same material. It resembled an anatomically correct heart. Never before had you seen a pearl shaped in such a way, nor did you know how it could've been, or why the shape was so accurate, even down to the imprint of the vessels. It was as if the thing had been pulsating. Why was it so accurate?

The beautiful piece was presented to you like a gift, so you had gladly accepted. You collected it from the awaiting hands. The coolness of it nearly burned you as it touched your flesh, the brilliant iridescence of it stealing your attention away from the faint scent of iron permeating the breeze. It distracted you from the bloody teeth of the now grinning merman, sharp rows glinting bright cardinal red. You thought nothing of the diluted red in the dark water, seeping towards your feet. The sinking body below, twisted and stuck eternally in a cry for help, was lost to you as you held the glimmering heart with reverence.

_____________________________✧_______________________________

i love creepy mermaids

[shalomniscient]

BAD ROMANCE || acheron x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ALL YOUR LOVER'S REVENGE, YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE !

cw. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, snuff (but not permanently), graphic descriptions of violence, gore, violent sex, masochism on part of reader, reader is honestly just fucking crazy, no lube, creampie

notes. hyv was insane for that animated short frfr also the song for this fic is obviously bad romance but the cover by halestorm specifically. check it out, it slaps !!

VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE READ !! ↳ This work contains dark content, to the point where I must tag this as DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. I cannot stress this enough. ↳ There will be graphic depictions of gore and violence, and violence during sex. Please check and heed the content warnings. ↳ You are responsible for the content you consume.

Acheron first encounters you on a desolate planet bereft of life. You stand alone amidst withered trees and lifeless stumps, your feet bare upon grey, scorched earth. You don't react when the embers land upon your skin. Your gaze is cast to the melancholy sky as you hum to yourself, rocking back and forth on your heels. You don't even turn to her when you speak.

"We finally meet, oh harbinger of death," you hum, your tone light and airy, unbefitting this dead space. "I've been waiting for a while."

Acheron blinks, slowly, taking you in. There's something about you that's distinctly... similar, in a way. You are more than you seem. Something blessed—or perhaps, cursed—by a higher being.

"You know me?" she asks, taking a step towards you, and you finally turn to face her. Your eyes give her pause—fathomlessly deep and dark. Your sclera are pitch black, and your irises the colour of blood. An enigmatic smile stretches across your features as she stares.

"Of course," you say. "How could I not, when the voices of those you have slaughtered cry out so desperately for salvation?"

Acheron's eyes narrow. "What are you?"

Her question pulls a giggle from you. What are you, not who are you. She has a suspicion already, but she wants to hear it from you, first. You reach out towards her, caressing her pale cheek with your hand—were this any other situation, Acheron might even consider it lovely, free from scars or blemishes.

"The same as you," you whisper, your eyes half-lidded in a way that has Acheron's grip curling around the hilt of her sword. "My fellow Emanator."

Her hand shoots out to grip your wrist, pulling your hand away from her face. She squeezes, muscles in her arm flexing, and she swears she hears your bones creak. But you remain unfazed, smiling almost dreamily at her.

"Are you here to stop me?" she growls. Just a little more pressure, and she'd snap your pretty wrist like a twig.

"No," you say simply. "I care not for your mission."

"Then why have you sought me out?"

You hum, and with your free hand, trail a finger down her chest. The arm caught in Acheron's grip is starting to bruise. "Because there is something I want from you."

"And what might that be?"

You beam at her, and lean in, close enough to brush your lips against hers. It makes Acheron jolt, and distantly she can hear your wrist shatter, but the intensity of you so close demands all her attention. You speak your desire against her lips like a kiss.

"Death."

After that incident, you follow her around, much like a lost cat. Your mangled wrist righted itself within seconds, and Acheron pieced together whose Emanator you are.

Yaoshi, the Abundance.

She has heard about the favored of the Abundance, but has never encountered one—until you, of course. As she braces herself over you, your hands pinned to the floor of a dead duke's mansion, she wonders if your other Emanators are as odd as you are. Or as hungry for death.

She doesn't remember how many times she's killed you by now. How many times she's unsheathed that blade of hers and carved it through your soft flesh until all that remains of you are mangled pieces on the ground. But she does remember sitting by your side, or what's left of it, and watching as your flesh knits back together, cells multiplying and dividing and sowing sinew and muscle until you finally come back from whatever end you experienced ever so briefly, your chest jerking up as it floods with air. And despite herself, she's starting to enjoy it. Such a pretty little plaything you make, one she hasn't been able to break no matter how much she's tried.

You always look for her first when you return. And you always ask her for more.

Like now, as she has you flat on the floor, and you look up at her with the hungriest eyes she's ever seen. You had watched, delighted, as she ripped and tore apart that infernal duke, giggling all the while as his 'children' scattered to the winds. And once she was done you had pounced on her, wild and almost feral, throwing your arms around her neck and whispering into her ear, "me next."

She won't remember doing this, but right now it's difficult to think beyond the drumbeat of her pulse in her ears. She can hear yours, too. It's so fucking loud. She wonders what your heart looks like, pulsing away in your chest. She wonders what it'll do when she rips it from your ribcage and holds it in her hand.

She crashes her lips against yours like she wants to devour you. You groan into the kiss, if that's even what it can be called. Acheron's teeth scrape your lower lip then bite, drawing blood, and the taste of your blood on her tongue makes a shiver course down her spine. Your blood has a unique taste—metallic, certainly, but with a hint of sweetness kind of like peaches. She fucking loves it. You wrap your legs around her waist and grind up into her pelvis, against the growing bulge there. Acheron growls, manhandling your wrists above your head to grip them with one hand so the other can hold your hips still.

She trails her kisses lower, down your jaw and to your neck. She drags the edges of her canines against your jugular and you shiver in anticipation. She can feel your pulse against her lips, against her tongue, thump-thump-thump, and she resists the urge to sink her teeth into the artery and let the crimson liquid spill into her mouth. Instead she keeps going, lower and lower, until she reaches the collar of your clothing.

With one swift movement she tears the fabric apart, and it falls into tattered pieces around you. You jerk as the warmth of the surroundings settles on your bare skin, though Acheron offers you no reprieve. She scratches her free hand down the side of your ribs, drawing red lines as she goes. Her lips descend on your nipples, already stiff as she licks and sucks one before moving to the next. Everywhere her lips touch, dark marks bloom like brutal flowers on your skin.

You whine out her name softly, arching your back, and Acheron looks up the length of your body with electric, half-lidded eyes. Your expression is twisted into one of pure pleasure—the pain had always been something you loved, something you craved. And Acheron is all too eager to give it to you.

She moves back up, and uses her free hand to undo the buckles of her shorts. They’re almost constrictingly tight now, and she fumbles with the zipper until it comes loose and her aching cock springs free. She hears you make a pretty, breathy noise, and sneers down at you. Her hand slips down your body to your core, and her cock twitches when she finds that you’re fucking dripping.

“Getting off being used like this?” she hisses, dragging her finger through your drenched folds. “Dirty girl.”

“Please,” you moan, canting your hips into her touch. Acheron withdraws her fingers at that, then slaps your still-clothed pussy. You jolt and whine in surprise, those unnatural eyes of yours widening. “Wh—“

“I’ll do what I want to you,” she snarls, gripping your calves and manhandling your thighs open. She pulls you forward until her cock brushes along the soaked fabric of your panties. Her tip catches on your clit and you moan despite the dulled sensation. Then, her fingers hook into your underwear and tug them to the side, exposing your pretty pussy to her.

“So shut up and just take it,” she growls, before shoving her entire length into you with one smooth thrust.

You scream in both pain and pleasure as Acheron splits you open on her thick cock. She has both her hands beneath your knees, holding your legs wide open as she ruts into your clenching cunt, hardly giving you time to adjust. She’s vicious with it, each snap of her hips making the sound of flesh against flesh ring throughout the abandoned mansion alongside your shrill cries of ecstasy. Your fingers claw at the floor until they bleed, drawing red lines on the black marble.

Acheron grunts as she feels your pussy squeeze her—even here, balls-deep in your tight pussy she can feel your incessant heartbeat pulsing away. She feels like she can drown in it, in that rhythmic pitter-patter of your heart as it races like some sort of prey animal.

Yes, that’s what this all feels like—a hunt. She as the wolf, you as the rabbit. She the hunter, you the hunted.

It’s a god damn fucking frenzy. Lust and bloodlust fog her mind. Her hair is turning white. She fucks you into the floor, shifting her position so that gravity helps with each thrust she makes. She practically folds your lower half in ways that would snap a regular human, but only serves to deliriously excite you. Aeons, you’re fucking crazy, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel it too.

But the end of the hunt approaches. She feels you tightening around her, and you scream out her name with each downward drive of her hips. Your heartbeat thunders in her ears now, and she matches her thrusts with each beat, sending slick flying from your gushing cunt and her own leaking cock. She leans up, nosing beneath your jaw, right where your pulse thrums.

But here’s a thing about hunts—there’s only one way they end. So her teeth sink into your neck, the taste of iron and peaches spills onto her tongue, and the world goes white as she reaches her peak.

She’s always never felt more alive than during the moment of the kill.

When she comes to again, she’s kneeling on the floor and there’s blood on her lips and chin, spilling down her neck and onto her chest. She clicks her tongue and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. Beyond that, her clothes are in fine condition, as if nothing ever happened. And maybe she might have believed so, were it not for one thing:

It’s quiet.

That pounding drumbeat is gone, replaced by calm silence. And that’s when she remembers—you’re still here. She looks down, and there you lie, motionless in a pool of crimson liquid, the flesh of your neck torn asunder, exposing the white of your bones and the attaching tendons and sinew.

Your face is frozen in an expression of bliss, eyes half-lidded and lips curled into a half-smile. Idly, Acheron thinks it’s a rather pretty look on you.

(You come back a few minutes later, chest heaving and eyes shooting open. The scarlet halo of blood surrounding your head on the floor makes you look like a bleeding saint.

And then you smile at her, sickly sweet, and your heart starts up again, slowly restarting the cycle once more.

Acheron can’t fucking wait.)

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Monstrous Broadcast (Monster!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Post Stayed Gone Monster Al, Size kink go brr, Blood, DubCon, belly bulge, broadcasting sex, cream pies, cum painting... Rating: Adult Summary: You were sent to Alastor's Broadcasting tower to tell him something just in time to catch the tail end of Stayed Gone. Alastor is in a rather unique mood and in terrifying form as he decides the best way to work his excess energy off is with you.

You were not sure how you got here. Charlie had sent you up to Alastor’s tower to tell him something. What it was, you couldn’t remember. 

Fear raced through your veins as you watched Alastor grow as he stood from his chair. Raw power crackled through his radio tower. He had set aside the microphone tipped cane he so often carried, freeing his hands as he stood. The sound of his voice carried, wrapping around you and drawing you closer and closer. 

Joints loudly cracked and popped as the monster that had once been the handsome, charming Alastor turned to look at you. Bright red radio dials looked at you, the points on the knobs ticking around and around with his heartbeat. Or was it yours? 

Black sclera surrounded the dials, so dark you thought it could swallow the universe. The stitching on his clothes stood out, bright red lit up and glowing with his lower. The usually small antlers on his head were far from that now. They extended, wide and heavy, tines scratching against the walls as he reached out to you. 

Everything about him was so much more massive. His smile stretched wide, bright red blood seeping from his lips and running down his chin. It dripped to the floor, splatters that went ignored. 

You trembled in his hand as he looked down at you. He had an imposing stature as a standard, towering over you, but now he was at least double the size. Wide eyes roamed over his shoulders, now so much broader than they had been. Everything was too wide or too long, his head hanging off a bent neck that shouldn’t have been able to support it. 

“Alastor?” You watched with wide eyes as he looked down at you, head crooked with an unnatural crack that reverberated around the room. 

“Just who I wanted to see,” Alastor said, voice more static than you had ever heard it before. 

You and Alastor were not a couple, but you also were not not a couple. There had been countless nights you passed, tucked into his side, listening to the static weave in and out of his voice. In public, you were nothing more to him than a friend at best. Over his shoulder, nearly blocked from view, was the lit up, glaring ‘on air’ sign. 

“What are you doing?” The question was hardly more than a hissed whisper as a large clawed finger hooked into your pants. 

Alastor only laughed as he pulled, the fabric biting into your lower back before the stitching gave way, ripping. Your eyes roamed over the terrifying man in front of you. It would be a lie to say you didn’t find the power, chokingly thick in the air, attractive. It was so easy to forget just how powerful your lover was. 

There was no denying it now. This was the demon who took lives as a hobby in his life. This was the man who cut down overlords that had ruled for decades as if they were nothing when he landed. This was the man that commanded respect and fear. 

Alastor’s clawed finger cut through your shirt, easily snagging and shredding your bra in the process. You were left naked, standing in front of the bank of windows that looked out over the dark Pentagram City. The only buildings lit up from inside was the hotel. 

Anyone looking in would be able to see you.

That sent excitement through your core. Alastor’s cock strained against his pants, the terrifying size only adding more excitement. With one hand wrapped around your waist, he lifted you easily off your feet. His other hand made quick work of his belt, freeing his cock.

“Alastor,” you said, this time more urgently, as he parted your legs.

“So wet for me,” static threatened to eat his words. 

Red radio dials looked at your glistening folds, betraying how attractive you found his show of dominance and power. A black tongue ran out from between needle sharp yellow teeth, running over his lips before slithering back inside the cavern of his mouth. The stitches at the sides of his smile strained, keeping his smile firmly in place while he spread your knees wider, pushing your legs up and out. 

“The show is far from over, folks,” Alastor said.

“It’s not going to fit,” you whined as the massive head of his cock, more the size of a fist, ran between your folds, probing at your unprepped entrance. 

“Don’t worry,” Alastor said, cheery as the sound of excited cheering burst through the static, “We’e already dead.” 

“What does that mean?” you whimpered as his hand stroked the length of him. His shaft was as thick as your forearm. 

“It means,” Alastor’s cock pressed into your weeping opening, bulling the muscle to widen. “That I will make you take my cock, even if I have to break you.” 

Burning pressure spread from your core as he forced you wider and wider. Pain and pleasure danced as he slowly sank deeper, not even an inch deeper. You could feel his cock pressing against bone as he spread your opening as wide as it felt like your pelvis could accommodate. 

He thrust ever so slightly as the head of his massive cock pushed deeper and deeper, each withdraw spreading your slick over him. You panted and groaned, body trembling as he slowly forced you to take him deeper and deeper. 

Burning pain had your back arching, breasts displayed to him. Wetness seeped out of you, running down the swell of your as. Alastor’s smile and the pain told it you was blood. 

You screamed as the head of his cock popped past your opening your, hole snapping tightly down around his shaft. Pleas of mercy dropped from your lips as you begged him to shrink down, to return to the lover you knew so well. 

Alastor did not relent. Instead, as he pushed deeper and deeper, each slight withdraw followed by a push deeper and deeper. It felt like he was everywhere inside you as he filled you. 

A new pain came to life as his head nudged against your cervix. Tears ran down your eyes as he pulled back, only half his length fitting into you. Static covered praises fell from his bloody grin as you bounced with the force of every thrust. 

The on air sign still was lit behind Alastor. Each of your whimpers, each begging plea, was being broadcast across the city and perhaps further. You didn’t know how wide Alastor’s reach actually was. 

It felt like he was ripping you in two, reach measured thrust of his massive cock splitting you apart. It hurt, but fuck, it felt good. Pain and pleasure mixed as Alastor’s monstrous form hovered above you. Black blood dripped onto the broadcast desk, soaking between buttons and dials. It splattered onto your side, cooling as he worked in and out of you.

Around the city and beyond, perhaps all throughout hell, the sound of your gasping breaths and whimpered pleas, the sound of Alastor’s snarls through the static shifted, tone changing as different effects and overlays were applied, shifting and changing. 

“To big,” you cried as he pressed into you, thrusting his cock into your cervix, pushing you higher up the panel as your body refused to yeld more space to his cock. You were already straining and failing to accommodate his size. Blood trickled down from your core, lubricating his cock more and more while your body painted his desk with it. 

A clawed hand grabbed your shoulder while he looked down at you with small red glowing dials. His face was nothing more than sharp. The teeth, the eyes, the smile- it was all sharp and dangerous, just like the pain that racked through you as his fingers gripped your shoulders. Claw tipped fingers bit into your shoulder as his smile cut somehow wider. 

“I can’t,” you whimpered. Your legs fell open wider as you tried anything to make more room for him. The blunt head of his cock pressed into your cervix more and more. “Please, Alastor, I can’t.” 

“You’re so wet for me, Cher.” Alastor’s static voice growled out, smile not moving as his voice seemed to come from all around her. “You can take it.” 

“I can’t,” tears ran down your face as he pulled back, cock slipping as he backed out of your opening inch by inch. The shaft his cock drug against your sensitive clit, folds spread and stretched to the point of ripping. “Fuck, Alastor. Please, I just- it’s too much, too much.” 

“You can,” Alastor promised, abdomen tensing as blood dripped from his chin onto your abdomen, “And you will.” 

The dark promise was the only warning you had. His body flexed, curling in on you as he thrust forward. His shaft ran over your clit, a blinding pleasure even as it felt like he had ripped your insides apart, forcing them to accommodate him. The scream that ripped from your throat echoed through all of hell. 

Your claws, nothing near as impressive as Alastor’s, dug into his arms as you clung to him. Tremors ran through your body, a convulsion of muscle triggered by pain and adrenaline. Pleasure tainted it all as his cock slid over the bundle of nerves, teasing her clit. 

Wide pain-filled eyes looked up at the black void of Alastors. Your lover had always been gentle with you, until now, even at his most demanding. His hips rutted against you, grinding the fur at the base of his cock against your clit, sparking more pleasure through the pain. 

“Look at you,” Alastor’s voice came from all around as he enjoyed the view. “Look how your stretches.” 

His hand caressed down your naked chest, claws scratching over the pebbled buds of your nipples as he made his way down, palm pushing against the swell of the head of his cock, straining out against your insides.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, running your hand down after his, feeling him from the outside of you. “Alastor,” 

“That’s right, cher,” Alastor groaned, “That’s me, so deep inside you.” 

Each twitch of his cock lodged deep inside you stirred your guts. He ground his hips against your clit, sparking a pleasure that seemed only to be amplified by the pain racking through your body. 

“Tell me it doesn’t feel good,” Alastor growled out, pulling back a few inches only to thrust into you again, clint dragging against his cock, forcing your back to arch. Your breath gasped, pleasure winning out over pain as you ran your hands up his arms in a pathetic attempt to hold the monster that your lover had become. 

“Please,” tears ran down your eyes as your legs relaxed, seeking more of the poisoned pleasure his thrusts gave you, “Fuck, please, Alastor. More. Move. Fuck, do something.” 

The whole of hell heard the moment you had given up, surrendering to the Radio Demon. Gasping moans of pain morphed into that of pleasure as he thrust his cock in and out of you. Each shallow stroke became deeper and deeper. Blood smeared under you, a testament to the ruined state of your insides as he fucked you with full, deep strokes. 

Tears ran down your face, soaking into your hair as each long thrust of his cock hit harshly, bodies slapping together. Your breasts bounced, nipples dancing in front of his glowing face as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Going to cum?” he asked, laughing at the way your stomach distended with every thrust. 

“Fuck, yes.” You whined as his cock brushed your clit again and again, pace quick and never letting up on the stimulation. 

He swelled inside you, somehow able to push your organs aside to make room for his size. Each twitch of his cock felt violent and yet you thrived on it, basking in the poisoned pleasure. 

The coil inside you did not snap, nor did you step over the edge. It wasn’t a soft push. He didn’t even throw you over. No, when you came, it was something unlike anything you had ever experienced before. 

Your world shattered. The coil was little more than shards of shrapnel, adding to the mix of pain and pleasure. The edge seemed to disintegrate under your feet, becoming no more. Muscle ripped with the force of the convulsions that ran through your body. 

His name was a shriek, blowing out speakers throughout hell as your body clamped down on his cock. The thrusts into you were brutal now, stinging pain blooming from where his hips slammed into wet skin. 

Alastor’s static rose, becoming a feeling in the air and less a sound as he held you steady, chasing his own release. Your fingers dug into his coat, trying so hard to ground yourself as you struggled to pull breath after breath into your lungs. 

He came with explosive force, wedging himself deeper and deeper into your opening as he pumped violent spurts of his seed into you. You could feel it as he painted your guts white and then he kept going, thrusting into you as more and more waves of seed was deposited into you. 

He came still, even as he pulled out, fist wrapping around his twitching cock. Long, hot ropes of cum spurted from him as he thrust into his working first, shooting out onto you. As his seed gushed from your twitching hole, a mix of white stained with ribbons of red, he painted your stomach.

Ropes decorated your breasts, coating your nipple. He moaned, shoving seed back into you with claw tipped fingers as he fucked his hand. Ropes landed on your neck as you gasped, only to have hot cum land on your face.

The salty taste of him invaded your mouth as his fingers finally left you. Seed soaked into your hair as you lay, twitching, bleeding, leaking and gasping for breath. 

Only once his cock stopped shooting hot ropes onto your spent body did Alastor’s form recede, changing from the monster that had taken you with such violence to the man you had known. All the while, you lay soaked from the inside out in his seed. 

Alastor stood, looking down at the result of his work. Jagged breaths racked through your body as you struggled to focus your eyes on him. You had sounded good, broadcast throughout hell. A truly lovely encore to his performance with that TV dimwit. 

Better yet, you looked more beautiful to him now, body spent, broken and wrecked, leaking blood and his seed onto the broadcasting equipment that was his pride. 

Oh yes, you looked good like this indeed. He would have to repeat this broadcast, perhaps make it a reoccurring special. Not too often, though. Even with your demonic abilities, you would need time to heal all the tissues he had torn. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[huntersrequiem-if]

Hunter's Requiem

demo [HERE] | forum [tba]

dark fantasy, horror (?), romance

CW: violence, gore

You are a minor deity of the Hunt, known by your followers as The Hunter, used by the other Higher Beings as The Hound. The All-Seeing Sun had given you countless tasks over your existence.

Yet one day, while on a mission sent out by him, you were summoned and judged for treason. The punishment left you mangled; your magic ripped off.

Cast away, you went into a deep sleep to recover.

After centuries you awoke to find your name spoken in whispers in the darkest nights. The Traitor. The world has changed, yet you still have true believers who await your awakening.

Will you be successful in your revenge? Will you be able to topple the gods or will you try to live in peace?

Features:

Play as male, female, nonbinary.

Your choices will affect the fate of your followers.

Befriend, romance or even antagonize a wide cast of characters.

Have a loyal shadowy companion by your side.

Astaroth [M]

"And to think I hated you. Now I can’t imagine living a single day without you.”

Your “other half”, attached to your psyche. He is content to stay in the backseat and offer comments. Tall and lean with gray skin. His face is sharp and angular, eyes with black sclera and white iris. Long black straight hair parted only by his antlers. His hands are black, tipped with long claws. The gradient loses color the closer it gets to his elbow. When he grins at you, you see beast-like teeth glinting in the light.

The Beloved Moon [F]

"That was the worst mistake I ever made. Please, I will do anything you want for you to forgive me.”

Moon has a curious interest in you. Since the moment she saw you, she had sought any chance to talk with you.

A short woman with deep blue skin and freckles that shine like stars. Her skin is shifting between deep blue and purple. She has a round face with full lips and a button nose. Round eyes with black sclera and bright blue iris stare at you with curiosity. Her long curly hair is white with pale blue streaks. Massive white feathered wings cover her back, sometimes used to cover her body like a cloak. Her smile might be gentle but the sharp fangs showed less so.

The Eternal Night [NB]

“I have turned a blind eye to the world far too long. I will no longer allow anything to happen to you.”

The Eternal Night is a distant person. Even more towards the other gods, yet for you they show a kinder side. They are tall and slender. Their sharp face is softened by full lips and expressive eyes. They have dark grey skin paired with stark white hair, that reaches their chin. The wavy strands frame their face nicely. Their eyes-- black sclera with crimson iris—are often covered by their mask. Massive black wings sprout from their back, and then the light catches the feathers right they look more blue than dark.

Santana [F/M]

"Why is it that every time I look at you I feel that I have known you for lifetimes? Why does my soul yearn for you?"

A priest you met in your past, a rather interesting person with a stubborn brand of kindness.

Tawny skin sprinkled with freckles. Golden hair is kept in a braid, far away from their face, yet a few strands escape and frame their heart-shaped face. Expressive eyes look at you, their blue gaze shining brightly.

They stand at an average height, donning the white and golden robes of the priests of Sun. Over that, they wear a chainmail.

You thought you lost them to the sands of time.

??? [F/M]

“Do you have any idea how long I prayed to see you, to hear your voice?”

Every day, they're slipping farther, their grip on the edge of the chasm growing fragile. Can you drag them back or will you shove them off?

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[rekaning]

Desiderium | Elijah Mikaelson x Wife!reader

CW: None. Lots of feelings? Elijah just needs a hug honestly. Summary: Esther's machinations against Elijah has him confronting the deepest truths of himself that he has kept buried deep inside his heart. Truths he has never told you about.

You could say with certainty that you knew your husband better than most. With nearly two decades of being married and a few years of getting to know each other before then, you were pretty sure you had insight into his thoughts that not even his siblings had.

His time as a prisoner of his mother had changed him. He was no longer in control of the beast he had so meticulously kept under lock and key for over a millennia. You could see that he no longer seemed comfortable in his own skin. He rarely bothered to put on the tailored suits that had become so ingrained into your image of him.

The most agonizing aspect of this change was that he distanced himself from you. Physically, he was still with you, sleeping at your bedside, reading in the library with you, partaking in breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you. Emotionally, however, there was a notable lack in your routine talks.

Where you two would talk of both everything and nothing before, now, there was stilted conversation, non-emotive hums of acknowledgment, and strained smiles.

It was painful to see him this way.

But at this point, you'd had enough. Your stubborn husband was clearly not dealing with the trauma his mother had subjected him to, and it seemed he had no plan to do so.

Thus, your current situation.

You had lured Elijah into the library, making sure to warn the household of your plan to confront him and have him heal, or at least start to.

As a powerful witch, you placed a barrier, barring Elijah from escape, in addition to a silencing charm, preventing any outsider from listening into your conversation.

A frustrated sigh escaped your husband's lips, his finger tapping at the armrest of the cushioned chair he was currently seated at. His normally warm brown eyes were tinged with agitation, "Dearest, is this truly necessary?"

You smiled back, unbothered by his obvious discomfort, knitting your hands together and placing them neatly on your lap, "Darling, we both know that you've been avoiding me for quite some time. I've had enough of it. We are going to talk about this, so, whatever nonsense you've been telling yourself to keep you from opening up to me is to end now."

You saw his jaw tick, could practically hear him grinding his teeth. Several emotions flitted across his eyes; fear, relief, shame, and sadness. You longed to ease him of his woes, but you had to understand what was going on with him.

You walked over to him, holding your hand out, wiggling your fingers in a clear sign for him to grab on. He did so with slight hesitation, his large calloused hands slipping perfectly into yours, his hold gentle. You pulled lightly, coaxing him to join you as you walked backwards toward the loveseat beside the armchair he'd been on.

You and he sat down, your hands still intertwined, and you began to stroke the back of his hand with your thumb, tracing random patterns and shapes into his skin.

You both sat quietly. You were preparing to question him while he was preparing excuses and formulating ideas to get out of this situation.

You could see the gears turning in his head so you reached out with your other hand and tenderly cupped his cheek.

His eyes shot downward to the floor in shame.

Your heart ached, seeing that expression on his handsome face.

"Darling. Please look at me." You whispered softly.

Slowly, he trailed his eyes up to your own. To your surprise, his sclera turned red and black veins became visible.

You had only witnessed Elijah's true vampiric form a handful of times, the majority of them against a threat against your or his safety. And the other small portion had been during more intimate moments, but they were never unprompted. You normally had to ask him to drink from you, and even then, he'd take the most minuscule sips.

To witness him now, unprovoked and unprompted, and see the barely concealed hunger in his eyes; you had no words.

Your surprised silence must have been enough for him, for a moment later, he looked away, inhaling deeply through his mouth, pushing down the raging hunger and tampering it to a simmer.

"My Dearest, please forgive me, I—"

You forced his head in your direction, eyes no longer wide in surprise but instead in eager determination, "Do not apologize, Elijah. No more apologies. Explain, please, just...whatever it is that is plaguing your mind, just let it out."

A long silence permeated the library. The hesitation caused you to stroke at his cheek, your eyes softening to stare up at him in complete adoration, "My darling Elijah. There is nothing you could say that would make me love you less."

Another beat of silence before he nodded, "I am...unsure of how to start. Will you...allow me to show you?"

You nodded without a single hint of doubt, "Of course."

This time, your husband was the one to reach out as he placed the tips of his fingers against your temple.

And you saw everything Esther had done. She'd broken down every wall he'd placed in his mind. The Red Door that he'd had buried deep inside. Memories that she had locked away—whether she had meant it as a form of protection for him at the time, didn't matter—it had broken him. He never gave himself the time confront what he was. Instead, he locked away his own confusion at being transformed into a vampire, couldn't deal with the fact that he had killed his first love, never acknowledged the fact that he could no longer have children despite how family-oriented he was. All this he had ignored and locked away for the sake of his family, to keep them safe and away from Mikael, to fulfill the promise he'd made to Niklaus, for his baby brother's redemption.

As the images of his torture faded from your mind, you realized that tears had formed and fallen throughout the mind-meld.

Elijah tenderly wiped away at the tear tracks, bringing your head close and placing a feather light kiss to your temple, "Forgive me, my love." He whispered hoarsely.

You placed your own hand over his, wanting him to continue touching you, "There is nothing to forgive Elijah."

He shook his head, "I am a monster, the atrocities I've committed are too numerous and you—"

You gripped his face firmly, eyes still maintaining that warm, gentle look, "I," you emphasized, "know exactly who I gave my heart to." Your hand trailed up and combed through his hair. He closed his eyes momentarily to savor the gesture. He opened them again and stared into your loving gaze.

"I know that I didn't marry a saint. And I'm okay with that."

His eyes were so vulnerable, he looked like a kicked puppy, eyes shining with barely concealed hope, "The lives I have taken, the method in which I have wrought destruction is..."

"Not so different from me."

You could see him about to deny your statement, but you placed a finger on his pouting lips, "Darling, I have lived a very long time. You know quite well the lives I've taken. I am no angel."

A smile bordering on a smirk made it way on his lips, "No," he muttered, "you are a goddess."

A bubbling laugh erupted from your lips. You could feel warmth envelope your chest at the sight of mirth dancing behind Elijah's gaze.

"My sweet Elijah." cupping his face again, you continued, "There's more to this isn't there? Please." You brought your forehead to touch his.

"Let me in," you whispered.

He could never get anything past you. The woman he married was observant, piecing the most minute of details together to create an understanding of a problem. She had only gotten better at reading him over the years. At knowing him when he was still trying to understand himself.

"I could never fool you, could I?"

You chuckled softly, "It certainly is entertaining when you try."

He sighed again.

He had been thinking about this non-stop since Niklaus and she had rescued him. An ache he had buried so deep that he'd forgotten it was there. Meeting you had inched it to the surface but he had stamped it down the more and more serious you two got.

He clasped his larger, rough hands around yours, moving them onto his lap. He stared at your more delicate fingers. So much more slender than his, smoother, softer.

"Since I was a boy," he started, "I had been raised and taught that a man was to provide and protect those of his family." He raised his eyes and stared off into the distance, "And with how my father treated Niklaus...how I had failed my brother when we were still human, I made a vow to myself that I would always keep him safe, keep our siblings safe.

"You know of my...unfortunate luck with past lovers."

You simply nodded, smiling encouragingly for him to continue.

"Killing Tatia was...it was almost as if I had killed the human part of me. Her death was my birth as a vampire."

His eyes then strayed back to you, "Over the centuries I fell in love and I lost them all. Some I lost to Niklaus' actions and others...I chose my family over them. And then? I met you."

He caressed your cheek at that. You nuzzled into his warm touch.

"Having had so many lovers die, I buried the desire for companionship. You met me at a time where I was afraid of getting close to others. I thought, that if my brother got wind of another woman in my life, he would do everything to take her from me. And yet, you stayed.

"You fought at my side, struck down enemies in my name, broke down every barrier I had placed around my heart, and you uncovered that buried desire for love I had been so afraid to feel again. For I knew, that if I lost you, that would be the end of me."

His words were poetry, touching the deepest parts of your soul and you couldn't help the tears that welled in your eyes as he spoke with such raw emotion.

He closed in on you, his lips pressing into yours with a heavy passion.

When he pulled away, his eyes were alight with wonder, "And then you became my wife." His smile was so radiant as he thought back to that moment where he'd gone down on one knee and asked you the question that had been plaguing him for a few years at that point.

"I had what I had most wanted. The companionship I had longed for, for so long. Since the day my father pierced my heart with his blade. The love of a woman who loved me just as profoundly as I did her."

His breathe hitched, "And yet..."

He went quiet. You could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek. You merely stroked his hands, allowing him time to structure his next words.

You knew what he was getting at. Ever since coming to New Orleans. You could see how the situation here was affecting your husband. How he had looked at his brother.

"And yet," Elijah said, finally, "the desire for something else began to brew deep within. A desire I had not given a thought to since becoming what I am. I couldn't think about it, because what could I do but let it fester and infect my mind? And then mother happened. She said the one thing that caused that desire to spread its way into my every waking thought."

You could see the turmoil and anguish rolling off his very being. You lifted a hand and placed a gentle kiss, encouraging him to go on.

"It is selfish of me to want more, when you, my dearest, were a dream come true in a millennia of loneliness. But I..."

You lifted his chin, eyes so full of understanding, it was nearly blinding for Elijah to look directly at you. But you held his gaze and whispered so tenderly to him, "It's okay. You can say it."

He closed his eyes. Of course, you already knew.

"The longing I have felt...the wish I buried with my human self...I have always longed to be a father."

Tears fell from Elijah's eyes as he finally uttered his wish. Your own tears poured from your eyes as you hugged him close.

You had seen the looks of envy your husband had shot at his brother since learning that he had impregnated Hayley. You'd noticed the way his eyes would sometimes fall to your own stomach, imagining what you would look like with his child. And after nights of love-making, when he thought you had fallen asleep, he would caress your belly, hoping against hope that your body would accept your coupling and consummate a child.

You and he had never spoken about the inability to have children. He was a vampire after all. But it wasn't hard to imagine. You had done so many times before. Your husband, rocking your son or daughter to sleep, reading books to them, talking tenderly to them.

He was so dedicated to his family already. You could only imagine how he would be for his own children.

And with that thought, you eased away from your embrace. Your eyes burning with determination.

"I promise you, Elijah. I will do everything within my power to give you a child."

His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up at his mouth gaped open with surprise.

You were a powerful witch. With grimoires dating back centuries with spells and rituals lost to time. Your husband never asked for much, but if it was a baby he wanted, then a baby he'd get. You would make damn sure of it.

*** Author's note: I really wanted to write this type of perspective of a man truly wanting to be a father, and Elijah, I feel, is that kind of man. He's so family-oriented and caring and loving and I can only imagine the type of amazing father he'd be.

I've read a lot of stories where the want of a child was more along the aspect of breeding kinks and the baby-making process, and those are all well and good (I like reading those too, honestly) but for this, I feel Elijah's desire to be pure; he truly wants to be a family man, a good husband, and a loving father.

Also wife!reader is essentially my OC from an Elijah/OC fanfic I have in the works. I will not be posting anything from that story anytime soon as it's still in the works (7 chapters so far and nearly 35K words) but this particular situation was in my head for a while now.

Anywho, thank you all for reading, and for those of you who have liked and reblogged my previous two mute!reader entries, a huge thank you to you! I hope you all enjoyed reading this!

[neevblanc]

Aizawa with a pro hero & highschool sweetheart reader finally talking again after months (or even years) of no contact 😋

a/n —hey hey anon!! thx for sending this in! I've never written for shouta b4 despite having read my fair share of media involving him lol. i hope i can do him justice for you!!! this is such an interesting prompt hehe p.s this was literally the funnest thing to write ever im actually incredibly invested. i might as well have fleshed out a whole au for this, not that it rlly reflects it i think haha!

blanca’s cafe event!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Aizawa Shouta x GN!reader

Tags— semi-angst, awkwardness, mentions of injuries/war, bittersweet

CW/TW— Manga Spoilers?

note — quirk — Revitalize: the ability to heal wounds and injuries by simply touching the affected area. They can accelerate the body's natural healing process. Their healing abilities also extend to others. They must gain the energy to do so by taking it from enemies or using their own(think Moyra from overwatch, sorta. w/ a mix of bastille's group healing ability thing teehee).

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"Have We Met Before? by Tom Rosenthal, Fenne Lily"

02:20 ━━━━━━━●─ 02:39

��� ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

“ Will you know it when you see it? Have we met before?”

You hadn’t been in Japan for years, having been sent to America by the Hero Commission as soon as you had graduated from Yuuei. Adjusting to the culture (both civilian and hero) was a struggle, but you did well with your healing-centered quirk.

Once the war had taken place, the commission had called back all of the heroes they sent to foreign countries they could, and you just so happened to be one of them. All for One was a looming threat, and with the amount of casualties suffered, they sent you home to help the war effort.

You stand inside Yuuei’s walls, stomach rolling at the bleak sight. Cities had been razed while you were gone, and Yuuei had been converted into a base for civilians and heroes alike. People milled around almost aimlessly, no doubt restless, as they were afraid to leave school grounds. You make your way through the crowd, eyes focused on the building you had been directed to.

Yuuei hadn’t had dorms since you last checked, but amongst all the changes you’ve seen in your hometown, you didn’t have the energy to even question it. You hurry up the steps and knock idly on the door, rocking on your heels while you wait for it to open.

The door creaks open, and an eye with a black sclera blinks at you before it opens wider, revealing a yellow-eyed, pink girl. She grins tightly at you, obviously confused by your presence.

“Hello, can I help you?” She said, and you take note of her for just a second. Young, most definitely not any older than 17- and tired. Her demeanor screamed of exhaustion. You smile gently at her.

“Hi, Nezu directed me this way. I’m looking for your teacher. This is 2-A, right?” You say, taking a step back just in case you had gotten it wrong (which you hoped wasn’t the case, seeing as the dorms were marked with the class names). The girl nodded and opened the door further, shifting to allow you room to enter.

“Yeah! You’re in the right place.” She says, and you enter the building quickly. You take your shoes off and place them into one of the cubbies near the door, and you note the number of shoes already in the cubbies. It reminds you of school, and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

The girl hands you a pair of guest slippers, and as you put them on, she grins a little softer.

” I’m Mina, by the way.” She says. You nod, both of you making your way out of the genkan.

” You have a very pretty name, Mina. I’m Revitalight, but you can call me y/n.” You reply, and she squints a little at you.

” Revitalight? I’ve heard that name before…oh, and thank you.” She says, startled out of her contemplation as she remembered the compliment. You nodded, a soft laugh leaving you. Even with the war, she was kind and very much a child. It both saddened and warmed you how her demeanor did not wholly mirror that of the community outside.

You both make it to the couches, where another group of teenagers are milling around. Their idle conversations pause as you stand at the edge of one of the couches. You wave politely, and Mina gestures toward you excitedly.

“Please welcome American Pro Hero: Revitalight!” She introduced, and you don’t have it in you to fight the American label- you’ve been a Pro in America for longer than she’s been in school. No point in telling her you went to Yuuei, too - or that you were still under the HPSC’s rule. The others say hello enthusiastically, waving from where they were sprawled out on the couch.

“Please, call me y/n.” You say, sitting on an unoccupied section of the couch.

Mina explains you’re looking for their sensei, and a girl with frog-adjacent features stands from her place on the couch.

“I’ll get Sensei down here for you then.” She says, voice horse how you’d expect a frogs to be. You send her a grateful smile.

” Thank you.” You respond, and she does little more than nod and disappear down the hall.

“Why are you here, Revitalight-san?” A boy with glasses says, and you pause to consider what you can tell them.

“The commission asked me to return, and I’ve been dispatched here. Principal Nedzu said I should head here before finding Recovery Girl.” You explain, trying to ignore the way the kids around you sober up quickly at the mention of the Hero Commission. You didn’t know how much they knew, but you hoped it wasn’t much- for their sake.

“What’s your quirk do?” A blonde asks, and you can see his curiosity blatantly on his face. You smile and raise your hand, gesturing toward him. He straightens from his flopped-over position and stands excitedly, opening his arms.

” Hit me!” He says, pouting at the bespeckled boy when he tries to get him to sit down.

” Denki, we don’t know their quirk. What if it’s dangerous,” he cautions, and you laugh a little to ease his worry.

“Don’t worry, um,” Mina whispers into your ear quickly, “Iida-kun. This won’t hurt him at all.” You reassure, and Iida settles back into his seat without further complaint.

The kids watch as you flex your hand just slightly, and suddenly, a bright yellowish-white light floats slowly from your hand to Denki, curling and moving in the air. The glow hits Denki straight in the chest, and he takes a deep breath.

“Woah.” He says, shaking out his body and looking down just in time to see the glow follow lightning-like patterns below his skin and fade down his arms. You tilt your head and eye the lightning bolt in his hair.

“Your quirk is electricity, right?” You say, prompting him to nod. The way the kids stare at you makes you want to laugh, but you hold off in case they take it mockingly.

“I can tell from the patterns it made. I only see those jagged lines from people who have lightning quirks or have been exposed to high voltages.” You explain, and Denki brightens at the information.

Mina’s about to ask a question when someone clears their throat behind you, and the kids all deflate into exaggerated whines or pouts.

“That’s enough, all of you, to your rooms. Or anywhere but here, really. If you even think of eavesdropping, I’ll have you scrubbing bathrooms for a week.” The voice says dryly, and you grin as the kids file out quickly, whining, “This is a common area; it’s not eavesdropping,” and “Sensei’s such a buzzkill.”

You turn to face them with a sheepish smile already in place.

“Sorry for intruding. Principal Nedzu said I should speak to you before,” You pause, finally registering who exactly you’re talking to. The gaze you get in return is similarly dumbfounded.

“Shou- Aizawa-san.” You stutter, correcting yourself. The man before you is every bit the boy you remember, even with the injuries you can see littering his body. The same tired eyes, pitch black hair, moody expression.

And still, you’re hit by his age. The mature structure of his jaw and the strong frame that screamed, well, Pro Hero hit you more than you’d think. Most of all, his height struck you. Last you had seen, Aizawa was pretty short for your age. He stands in front of you at six feet at least, and you wonder when a growth spurt that big hit him.

You flick your fingers anxiously, and his eyes follow the gesture for just a moment.

“Y/n. It’s been…a long time.” He says, crossing his arms in an attempt to seem casual. You can see the awkwardness of the action, though, in the way his shoulders tense and his brow furrows. The familiarity makes you a little light-headed. You smile, nodding.

“Yeah, it has. 12 years, now?” You say, looking around for just a moment to avoid his gaze. His hair, longer than you remember it being, is tied into a half-up, half-down style. He nods, and you lace your fingers together in front of you.

“Nedzu said the commission was sending someone, though he didn’t say it’d be you.” He says, and you try to find some emotion in the statement. When you don’t identify anything negative from his words, you shrug.

” Principal Nedzu didn’t tell me you were the teacher I was meeting either. Speaking of,” You hum, stepping closer. Aizawa shifts, obviously watching you but not moving away. “Sensei? Didn’t know you wanted to be a teacher, Aizawa.”

Aizawa grimaces slightly with a sigh and drops his arms from his chest to shove them into his pockets. “It’s not really my thing. But someone has to do it.” He says, and you squint a little at his response. With his hands hidden in his pockets, it clicks in your mind, and you bite back a smug smile. Aizawa had a similar tell to you- his hands start motioning to crack his knuckles, even if no pop comes of it.

You let a calmer grin settle on your face, staring up at him.

“Totally. Either way, I think it’s pretty cool of you.” You compliment, and his mouth twitches faintly in response.

“Why are you here?” He asks suddenly, and for a moment, you can see in his face that he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

You huff a sigh, “Same reason as everyone else. The war effort needed help, so the commission sent me home.” You explain. Aizawa nodded absently, reaching up to rub at his neck as he thought.

“You’re here to help Recovery Girl, then?” He says, face serious. You shake your hand in a so-so motion.

“Yes and no. I’ll help RG here for now, but I’ve been told they’ll send me with patrol groups and into war zones when needed. I can heal en mass in a way she can’t.” You shrug. Aizawa frowned, and you could tell he wasn’t happy with how the hero commission seemed comfortable throwing you wherever. Still, they’ve been this blasé with your life since you agreed to the program years ago, so it wasn’t something you concerned yourself with anymore.

“That doesn’t seem sustainable at all,” Aizawa says, critical as always. You give him an unimpressed look.

“War generally isn’t, no. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you say, waving your hand casually. “Anyway. I meant to ask, what’s up with…this.” You say, gesturing toward the eye patch. He pursed his lips briefly.

“War causality. Still getting used to it.” He rumbled, and you smiled gently at him.

“If anyone can kick ass with one eye, it’s you, Aizawa.” You hit his shoulder playfully, almost in slow motion as a joke. The movement is familiar, and for just a second, you remember how this same punch made him hiss like a disgruntled cat and glare at you, teetering away from the force.

Now, the stare he levels you with is unimpressed; mouth curled upward. He hadn’t budged. Your stomach flutters for a moment. “You’re ridiculous.” He mutters. That is familiar. The warm tone in his voice makes you painfully nostalgic, and through the ache in your chest, you laugh at his response.

“One of us has to be,” You tease, backing up and crossing your arms. Aizawa shoots you a look and rolls his eye. Without another word, he turns back down the hall he came from, and it only takes you a beat to realize you were supposed to follow.

“C’mon, Mic would wanna see you.” He calls, waving a lazy hand to gesture you over. You follow eagerly, almost tripping over yourself.

“Oh my GOD, Mic’s here too?!”

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 1- Blood(Yan Kraang Raph x Reader)

A/N, not important: I'm doing something! So, for the month of October, I'm going to attempt to write one fic a day. Most will be dark/yan, so I'm sorry if y'all want fluff this month- Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Blood, Vomit, major character death, kraangified Raph, major injuries, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 2342

Summary: The infection from the Kraang wasn't completely removed, and now Raph sees everything as a threat.

You watch your boyfriend rub at his eye again, the sclera red and irritated. Concern is evident in your features, making your usually soft expression pinched. Raph meets your gaze and his hand falls, his right eye twitching as he clearly aches to keep rubbing it.

“It’s still bugging you.” You remark softly, your face set in discomfort. Seeing him like this sends worry flooding through you. You knew it was hard for him, especially after the threat of the apocalypse. But seeing him still mess with his eye, the same one that had been the entrance to Raph’s mind? It was incredibly distressing, to say the least.

Raph nods at your words, his eye blinking in rapid succession as he attempts to flush out the pain. You sigh, moving closer and pulling his face down so you can take a look at it. It was veiny, the cornea starting to change from the comforting black to a dark pink. You grimace, rubbing your thumb under his socket. “Do you want to go have Leo and Donnie look at it again?”

“It’s late.” Raph mumbles, nuzzling his cheek into your hand. “Raph can wait until morning. It’s just a bit itchy, doesn’t even hurt much.”

You sigh, nodding as you lean your forehead against him. Your thumbs rubbed his cheeks, trying to soothe his nerves and keep him calm. Knowing he was even in the slightest pain broke your heart, but you knew he would be okay. “Okay. Just promise to get it checked by them soon. I don’t want you to lose an eye, you hear?”

Raph nods before scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to his bed, peppering your face in soft kisses on the way. You chuckle at his affection, leaning into his arms. He was your knight and your protector, the strength that held his family together. While the possibly infected eye was concerning, it was Raph. He would tell you if something was wrong. He was fine. He always was.

Raph situates you on the bed first before curling around you, making sure to keep his spikes and weight off of you lest you get hurt. You cuddle into your boyfriend, kissing his nose as he reaches above you to turn off the lights. The room is plunged into darkness, the weight of your boyfriend's head pinning you down as his arms wrap around you. Feeling his heart beating against your chest was comforting, grounding you and lulling you to a peaceful sleep.

The night moves on, the air still and quiet. You’re lulled awake to the feeling of a wet substance on your arm and chest, your face scrunching up in disgust as you realize Raph had managed to drool all over your chest and arms. You shift under his weight, trying to escape his tight grasp so you could move away and hopefully wash off without him realizing. The world seems to be against you however, as the moment you shift a low grumble erupts from your boyfriend’s throat, sounding almost like a deep growl.

Your face pinches in slight concern, your hand moving to his head in hopes to soothe him a tad. Your hand glides smoothly over his thick, leathery and scaled head, his grumbling turning to a soft breathing. Your hand halts the soft rubbing when you hit a patch of what feels like fleshy slime, your hand sinking into the gooey surface and being encased by it. You pull back, disgust and confusion pinching your features while you desperately try to peer through the darkness to see what you just touched. Your quick retreat seems to have alerted Raph, his head lifting up and his eyes meeting yours. His glowing, mismatched, pink and yellow eyes.

A chill runs down your spine and you gasp, your eyes focused on him and the soft glow from his eyes makes the fleshy goo protruding from his socket more visible. Another growl leaves his throat as you tense up, his body shifting to hover over you. You try to pull away, to push him back and slip away, but he doesn't budge. A small cry leaves your throat, panic rising in your chest as he shifts further onto you, his eyes holding a dark look. It was terrifying, seeing your boyfriend reduced to this state once more. Once was enough, but it happened again. You want to sob, to rub your hands over him and wash the Kraang parasite away, but you knew it wouldn’t work. You couldn’t even tell how far gone he was, with the Kraang being gone and all.

“Raph?” You ask weakly, your voice choked with fear and panic. His eyes hold a small semblance of recognition when you speak, his sharp gaze softening a tad. His eyes aren’t as cloudy as they were when the Kraang were close, the connection clearly not as strong. He nuzzles you with his snout, a gesture that was once innocent and loving now feeling like he was deciding whether you were going to live or die.

“Mine.” He practically rasps, his voice grating and making you feel like your mind is being scratched. You’ve never heard him like this before, tears coming to your eyes as the situation truly dawns on you. He nuzzles against you again, a quiet churr coming from his chest. You wanted to scream, to alert the others, but your voice was caught in your throat. You never wanted to be afraid of Raph, but in this state, you had no idea what he could do.

“Raph, baby, please.” You say quietly, small hiccups interrupting the cadence of your speech. You reach up to cup his cheeks, your arms sticky with the drying drool you were starting to suspect was blood from his repossession. “I need you to get up. You need help.”

He snarls at you, his eyes narrowing as he nips at your fingers. You quickly pull back, not daring to challenge him in this state. He had lost his mind, no longer himself. You hoped dearly his brothers knew how to turn him back, lest he be lost forever. It was terrifying to even consider.

You lay trapped with him for hours as the night goes on, his eyes constantly flickering over your face. He growls every time you move, more pressure added to you if he believes you might try to get up. You shift uncomfortably underneath him, trying to keep your breathing steady. It had been impossible for you to sleep with him like this, the thoughts of everything bad that could happen flooding your brain. It wasn’t until you heard the quiet padding of footsteps outside Raph’s room that you finally allowed yourself to feel a guise of hope.

Raph’s head perks up, hearing it too. From the humming that was joined with it, you knew it was Leo, probably coming to wake you and Raph for breakfast or just to be annoying. The way Raph’s eyes narrow makes you sick to the stomach, a horrible feeling washing over you like a tsunami. Nothing about this seemed good. The side door of the train car starts to open, and Leo’s bright smile is seen. Raph tenses, and you hold back a scream.

In an instant, Raph’s barreling towards his younger brother, his fleshy fist hardening into three thin spikes that sit on his knuckles. Leo dodges the attempted stab, but is too slow to catch the rebound as Raph throws him against the wall. His shell hits the concrete with a sickening crunch, his head loosely hitting the lip of his carapace when he slumps down. Raph looks as if he’s going to charge at his fallen brother once more, but grunts before turning back to you. He scoops you into his arms and starts to carry you off, marching deeper into the lair as you struggle. A painful squeeze makes the air leave your lungs, and you quickly back off the fighting. He navigates the lair perfectly, clearly still holding some form of memory. Whether it is muscle or actual recognition of his home is unclear.

The training room comes into view, Raph quickly lifting up the metal garage-like door just enough to where he could squeeze in. He looks around, his eyes shifting from corner to corner. You shift in his arms, uneasy and uncertain of his plans. It was downright terrifying not knowing what was to come.

Raph seems to make up his mind as he strides across the room, picking a corner and setting you down. He takes your shoulders and pushes you against the wall, holding you firmly for a couple seconds. 

“Must… Stay. Raph protect.” He garbles, his eyes staring firmly into yours. The reflection of your terrified face in his sclera was downright awful, the pink and yellow eyes making you nauseous. You can do nothing but nod, not willing to find out what would happen if you were to defy what he wanted.

Raph stands up, moving quickly as he leaves the garage and starts to head off into the lair. You curl up in the corner he had set you, breathing heavily as you start to panic. Was Leo okay? Have Mikey and Donnie found him yet? As every second passes, more weight is added to your chest and you start to cry, tears rolling down your face from shock and fear. You really hoped Leo was okay.

A quiet electric buzz to your left makes your hair stand on end, your body shifting away from the offending sound. A light blue portal sits in the room, Donnie’s worried face poking through before both him and Mikey fall in. Leo enters a second after, his shoulders stopped and movements slow. You feel more tears sprig at the corners of your eyes, a small burst of laughter escaping you as you see him in front of you.

“You’re okay.” You murmur quietly, more laughter leaving your chest as your mind desperately tries to process everything happening.

Mikey squats down to meet your eyes, his face holding a quiet worry. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, letting it thud against the wall. “No. No, the only thing he’s done thus far is hold me too tight.”

The three sigh in relief, Mikey offering you a hand to let you stand. He helps dust you off, rattling off the plan as he does. “Donnie has a tranq gun we’re hoping will stop him. Leo and Donnie are going to try and remove the infection again without hurting him. It was done once, it can be done again.”

You all don’t address the way there was no guarantee it would even work, let alone stop it from happening again. It was better to remain ignorant and positive, only hoping for the best. Even Donnie was keeping quiet, letting logic and facts sit this one out. The door to the training room rumbles, and you all step back, Leo leaning heavily on one of his katana’s. 

Raph re-enters the room, his arms piled high with different soft, plush materials. Blankets and pillows spill from his arms, a trail of plushies behind him. He stares at you for a moment before zoning in on his brothers. Donnie holds the dart gun in his hands, shaking slightly from the pressure. He aims it at his oldest brother, taking a deep breath. He fires.

You barely blinked in the time it took for the dart to hit Raph, his arm raised to meet the dart before it harmlessly fell to the ground. A beat passes in heavy silence, everyone’s minds trying to weigh in on what had just occurred. Raph doesn’t give his brothers the opportunity to replan or try again, quickly charging at them with a ferocity you’d never seen. In an instant, Donnie’s flying across the room after Raph throws him, and Mikey is desperately trying to hold him back from attacking poor Leo once more.

You watch in horror as Raph grabs his youngest brother by the ankle, slamming him into the ground over and over until his shell is in pieces and he’s no longer moving. Blood is splattered all over and his fleshy back is exposed, Leo staring in shock and horror at his broken baby brother now sprawled across the floor. His body is spasming and Raph simply walks around him, as if that isn’t his own sibling.

The coppery smell fills the air, choking you and Leo and vomit climbs its way up your esophagus and spilling onto the floor as you dry heave. Leo and Donnie are screaming, your own voice mixed in through sobs. Mikey is ever silent, his eyes glazed and flickering wildly. You didn’t even see when Raph got to Leo, the wounded slider quickly overpowered when the older’s jaw latches around his arm and rips it off. The scream that follows is blood curdling, Leo’s own blood painting the walls red and mixing with Mikey’s. Leo scrambles for a moment, his eyes glossy and unclear while adrenaline is pumping through and making him act on instinct alone.

It’s not enough. Raph grabs him by the head, crushing his skull against the ground in quick succession. Donnie staggers to his feet, sobs and screams making his body shake. You fall to your knees, puking once more at the sight. It smelled so badly of blood, so badly of pain and suffering. You felt your airway close, unable to look as you hear Donnie’s body hit the ground and join his brothers.

Raph’s heavy footsteps coming closer aren’t enough to pull you from your stupor, sobs wracking your body and your friend's blood smeared over your body. The warm liquid dripped from your hands and face, diluting with your tears into a disgusting puddle at your feet. Raph picks you up, his hands gentle. He nuzzles his face against yours once more, more blood being smeared as he touches you. “Mine. Raph protect.”

All you could do was cry.

[evaslytherpuff]

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Dark! Sebastian x Dark!Ominis x f!OC

18+ MINORS, DO NOT READ!!!

!Forced Poly Relationship!

(Characters are all 20+ years of age!)

CW: Angst, Memories of traumatic events, Violent events, NSFW, Dubious consent, Blood Kink!, Kn!fePlay, Oral (F receiving), Hogwarts Legacy Spoilers for Sebastians quest line, Beginning stages of Stockholm Syndrome!

If any of the above warnings may be triggering PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

Chapter 3

Vivian's eyelids felt extremely heavy as if they were being pulled down by small weights. She blinked slowly as her eyes adjusted to the area around her and she was greeted by the glow of candlelight. She tried to lift her hand to her face to rub the grogginess away but she could barely move, something was preventing her from lifting her arms. She turned her head to the right and was face to face with Sebastian's sleeping form. His heavy arm was draped over her chest and he was snoring softly. Ominis was on her left, curled up against her like a cat, his leg slung over her thighs. She was lying flat on her back and risked waking them up if she shifted too much. The appearance of their dreaming faces almost seemed innocent but she knew better. They were dangerous despite their beautiful and handsome features. Ominis' long eyelashes rested against his high cheekbones and his breathing was smooth and even. Sebastian's hair was a mess of wavy locks and his mouth hung open a little as he snored lightly.

She sighed and shut her eyes again. How the hell am I going to get out of this one? She glared at the canopy of the huge four poster bed. The curtains were drawn so she couldn't even see the room around them. Her neck was sore, her body felt stiff, and she was angry at herself and frustrated. She couldn't even cry anymore, she had no more tears to shed. She felt like a fool for being so trusting and now she was trapped in this awful situation.

Her two friends were vampires. Actual. Fucking. Vampires. It still didn't feel real to her but the aching wounds on her neck were all the proof she needed. Not to mention how their eyes flooded black, even the sclera. Their fangs were very real and the memory of them piercing her skin made her tremble. She despised how she felt as they fed on her, the sudden arousal, it felt like her body betrayed her.

She was slightly relieved when Ominis rolled over, removing his long leg from her body. Now, she just had to get Sebastian's arm off of her. Her best bet was to attempt to wiggle down the bed instead of trying to lift his arm up. If she slid underneath it, she could make her escape from the bottom of the bed. She maneuvered until his arm was over her neck. She held back on making any choking sounds even though the weight of his arm smothered her. She tilted her head back and shimmied under his limb until she was finally able to free herself of their sleeping bodies. She swiftly crawled off the rest of the bed as Sebastian groaned and pulled Ominis into his arms.

She gathered in her surroundings and assessed the condition of her body. The room was huge with gothic furniture and stunning Victorian architecture. The walls were a pale contrast to the dark furniture. There were no windows on any of the walls, making the area feel excessively warm. It was a perfect rendering of Ominis and Sebastian, the light and the dark joining together. The space was adorned with black and green accent pieces and there was a large fireplace along the back wall. She had to admit, the bedroom was lovely but she wasn't going to waste time drinking in its grandeur.

Besides the dull ache in her neck, the rest of her body felt perfectly fine, she was just extremely thirsty. She looked down at herself and gasped. They had changed her clothing, the nerve of these men, she wanted to strangle them. Even worse they dressed her in one of her designs, a long ankle length robe that tied around her waist that was a pretty lavender color, but it left little to the imagination. It was the type of gown that a proper woman would save for her wedding night. Vivian couldn't let her anger get the best of her right now, her main focus was just to get the hell out of there.

She noticed the bedroom door off to the right of her and she quickly crossed to it making sure she was as quiet as possible. Thankfully the door wasn't loud or creaky when she opened it and she wouldn't dare to close it behind her out of fear of waking them up. She entered a corridor that was just decorated with paintings and lit up by candelabras. This area had no windows as well. She became frantic as each room she came across was beautifully decorated but, once again, had no windows. It didn't even seem like there was a way out of this labyrinth. When she finally found the huge double doors that appeared to be the entrance, she pushed at them with all her might, but they didn't budge. They were locked from the outside?

"What the fuck? There has to be another way in and out of this place." She mumbled to herself.

After running around for what seemed like hours she found her way into a spacious kitchen. She flew to the icebox and flung it open grabbing a pitcher of apple juice, bringing it to her lips to chug from it. The drink was refreshing and she sighed in relief as she was able to quench her thirst. She set the pitcher down on a nearby counter and noticed an array of pots, dishes, knives, and utensils throughout the kitchen but none of them seemed used. With their new diet of blood, this room likely hasn't been used for awhile. She moved closer to the knives hung along the wall above the stove. She had to protect and defend herself somehow. She was cursing herself for not being skilled in wandless magic. Why didn't she practice it more, become more proficient with it? Then the memory came flooding back to her of the time she almost blew herself up when casting confringo without her wand and was in the hospital wing for a week, drinking Skele-gro was absolutely disgusting, but Sebastian and Ominis stuck by her side the whole time it took her to heal.

"Morning." A deep rumbling voice rang out behind her and she spun around to face them. Speak of the devil. It was Sebastian and he was leaning his towering frame against the entryway of the kitchen. His smoldering gaze examined her from head to toe, a wicked smirk was plastered on his face. He pushed off of the door and started to cross to her but she reached behind her to grab a butcher knife. She held it in both of her hands pointing it in his direction.

"Don't come any closer, Sebastian!" She tried her best to sound intimidating but failed miserably. Her voice didn't sound like her own, it felt weak and terrified, her hands were trembling and her mind wondered what he would do. He didn't stop, he just kept inching closer to her with his hands raised. He was shirtless and only wore a pair of low hung pajama pants. In the light of the kitchen and without his clothes on she was able to take in how hulking he really was. What the hell did this vampire gene do to them? She thought. Sebastian had always been a bit built but now he was just pure muscle. His torso and arms were still speckled with the freckles she had grown used to. His broad chest sported a patch of brown hair. She stared at the trail that started just under his navel and descended down below his pants. She swallowed hard, Sebastian was glorious but looked like he could throttle her if he wanted to. She shook her head hard. No, she couldn't let herself get distracted by his handsomely devastating looks. She was only watching and observing him to gauge what he would do next.

"I will stab you. Just stay where you are! I fucking mean it!" She shouted but it fell on deaf ears as he just moved closer. He was backing her into a corner. She had nowhere to go and if she made a run for it he would just catch her.

"You have every right to be furious with us. I'm not going to hurt you, Vivian." He said calmly with his arms still outstretched.

"Hurt me? You already have! You both stalked me, played mind games with me, broke my fucking wand, you threatened my family, kidnapped me! I don't even recognize you anymore. You're not the Sebastian I knew, after everything that we have been through, he wouldn't want to harm me." She whimpered.

"I'm still me, Vi. I'm the same man, just because the turning changed what I am, it doesn't change who I am. Just put the knife down so we can talk, I just want to talk." He was in front of her now, reaching for the weapon in her hands and she lashed out. With as much force as she could muster, she plunged the blade into his stomach. He winced and growled through gritted teeth looking down at the handle sticking out of his torso. He scowled at her, breathing heavily as he yanked the blade out of his body.

"That wasn't nice, Vivian!" He said with a hiss. In an instant he was on her, pressing her into the kitchen counter. He gripped the back of her head forcing her to look up at him. In his other hand he held the butcher knife just inches from her face.

"Always choosing the hard way. I just wanted to talk but now, I want something else entirely. Lick it!" He glared at her, pure ferocity in his eyes.

"I beg your pardon!" She struggled against him but he held her firmly in place.

"Lick. The fucking. Knife." He said gravely.

"No! Are you insane?!" She tried to shake her head but he gripped her hair even tighter.

"You stabbed me. Now I need to punish you. Lick it or I'll fucking make you!" He snapped while holding the knife in front of her mouth. She hesitated but slowly stuck out her tongue. He took his time, delicately dragging the blade along her open mouth, making sure he didn't cut her. The taste of his blood was metallic and salty and she shut her eyes as he flipped the knife, making her lick the other side. He wedged his hips between her legs and grinned before tossing the knife across the room.

"Bloody hell that was so erotic!" He smiled and pressed his lips to hers in a shocking kiss. He wrapped his arms tightly around her body making sure she couldn't go anywhere. She felt the tip of his tongue lap at her lips, coaxing her to open her mouth and allow him to deepen the kiss. He moaned against her and lifted her up to sit on the counter. He pulled away only for a few seconds to stare into her eyes, his expression was pleading and for a moment, he looked like the man she knew. The man she shared so many wicked fantasies with well over a year ago. He set back in to kissing her, one hand reaching up to cup her face, the other grasping the back of her head with a handful of hair to pull her closer to him.

"Be angry, I understand you're upset, take it out on me. Bite me, smack me, pull my hair. I don't care, as long as you're close to me." He said breathlessly between her lips. Fine. She would take him up on his offer. She ran her fingers through his hair grabbing fistfuls of the brown waves. He groaned into her mouth as their tongues collided. He squeezed her even tighter as she bit his bottom lip drawing blood. She moved one hand to his back digging her nails into him, dragging them down his body, wanting to claw at him. She hoped it was painful, if they could hurt her, she would do the same. He chuckled and smiled up at the ceiling as she yanked his head back. She bit his neck as hard as she could, making him gasp and clutch her hips.

"Fuck, Viv!" He hissed in a breath as she bit him again. She was getting caught up in whatever this was but she didn't care at the moment. She was going to use him just like he told her to. She released his hair and he buried his face into her neck, kissing and sucking her sensitive skin. She couldn't help but moan from his actions. He pushed on her shoulders a bit making her lean back, holding herself up with her arms, her chest was right in front of his piercing gaze. He licked his lips as he undid the tie to her robe making it fall open exposing her breasts. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Your body is fucking perfect, Vivian." He said and he stepped back to drink in her flushed frame. He was clenching and unclenching his fists as his eyes roamed over her figure. They grew wide when they fell on her sex.

"You- you shave down there?" He asked in surprise. She nodded, not sure of what to say.

"I have- I have never seen that before." He said between ragged breaths.

"I learned about it through reading a book on Egyptian women." She suddenly felt overexposed and crossed her legs. He moved closer to her with a huff, forcing her to open them for him again.

"You are the most tantalizing woman I have ever laid my eyes on." He said as his lips met her collarbone and she sighed. She watched as he left a trail of kisses down her chest stopping just between her breasts. His dark eyes focused on the flesh of her cleavage and she stiffened. The hunger in his leer sent shivers up her spine. She knew his intent and it made her tremble with anticipation.

"I always loved how you had this glorious figure. So different from the usual girls at school. You have curves, larger breasts, flaring hips. Your body was made to please, Vivian. Give into temptation and please me." He whispered against her chest. His hand's landed on her hips again and he sighed against her body. When he looked up at her, his eyes were fully black and he slightly opened his mouth to bare his fangs. He reared his head back to sink them into the tissue of her bust and she instinctively cupped his head to her breast.

"Sebastian!" She cried out as she relished in the rapid burst of ecstasy that surged through her body. She felt her core clench and groaned loudly at the empty feeling. She desperately needed him and wanted him to be buried deep inside her. She could feel how soaked she was as her juices flowed down beneath her, pooling under her on the counter. He released his bite and watched as blood trickled from her breast down her stomach and dripped between her legs. His eyes were locked on her sex and he licked his lips, his chest was heaving with every breath. He lowered himself until he was kneeling on the floor, his head positioned between her thighs.

He ran his fingers up and down her legs, slowly and sensually, starting at her ankles and stopping near her entrance. He maneuvered her so her legs were now wrapped around his shoulders then began to plant gentle kisses on the inside of her thighs. Sebastian started to nibble and suck on her delicate skin, leaving small bruises in his wake. She gasped as his lips brushed between her quivering limbs. Was he going to?

Without stalling he settled between her legs, licking her folds frantically, his tongue lapping at her hungrily. He groaned against her, sending glorious vibrations through her core. Her head fell back as she ground her hips against his mouth, desperate for more friction. Sebastian knew exactly what he was doing as his tongue danced along her sensitive nub. She began to babble incoherently, moaning his name in between curses. He kept this up, picking up his pace and shaking his head back and forth, sending her into overdrive. He sucked at her clit and she cried out as he inserted one finger inside her. With his other hand, he reached up to knead the breast he just bit, causing more blood to run down to her heat. He growled and sucked with more ferocity like a man facing starvation. He inserted another finger and began to thrust them inside her.

She gripped his head and wrapped her legs even tighter around him. She was so close, throwing her head back, moaning wildly. There was something inside her though, fighting against the pleasure he was giving her. Her mind, heart, and body were at war with each other and she felt like she had no control over herself. No. She needed to stop this. She had to push through this sexual haze he had her under. She could not give in to him, she couldn't give him what he desperately wanted, she had to fight to take control of her life. This was all too much too soon and it needed to stop.

She was swiftly brought back down to earth, truly grasping what was happening in that very moment. She ran her fingers through his hair as he continued devouring between her legs. She gripped handfuls of his locks and placed her feet on his shoulders, shoving him away from her, sprawling him out on the floor. He looked at her with disbelief, completely baffled by her actions.

"No!" She shrieked as she wrapped the robe back around her body, tying it tightly in place. She climbed off the counter and moved as far away from him as possible. He stood up, his mouth covered in her blood and slick, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it pained him.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, making her flinch. "Fine! Have it your way. But know this, I will have you,” He said through gritted teeth, “Mark my words I will get what I want and when I do I assure you, you will be begging for fucking more, Vivian." He grabbed a towel off of a nearby rack and cleaned his face. He slammed both of his palms down on the island counter that was separating them as he was trying to calm down.

"Why?" She asked with a scratchy voice. She was trying to control her breathing and come down from the high he tried to create. The worst part was, he was probably right, and she hated that.

"Why? Why? Because I fucking love you, Vivian. What part of that are you not understanding?" He said as he jabbed two fingers into his chest over his heart. "I love you so damn much that it pains me. I've always loved you, ever since our seventh year at Hogwarts, I never stopped and I don't think I ever will." He sat down on a bench positioned in the corner of the kitchen and placed his head in his hands.

"What about Ember?" Vivian asked, feeling just a tinge of jealousy over the girl but she pushed it away.

Sebastian scoffed. "What about her?" He asked with a shrug.

"Don't you love her? You shared so much with her." She said as she crossed her arms over her chest, thankful that her wound stopped bleeding.

He let out a sarcastic laugh and shook his head. "No, I didn't. What Ember and I had was not love...it was infatuation," He ran his fingers through his hair. "My fifth year at school was an absolute nightmare. I latched onto Ember because she was the only one willing to help me find a cure for my sister. In the long run it just felt like we were using each other. I needed her aid and she used me to learn the dark arts. We were both fools and it became a vicious cycle of manipulation. If we weren't helping each other or just sleeping around together then we were arguing. We only got along when we were up to something or taking down evil goblins and wizards. I hated what I became, I despise myself for going as far as I did. I ruined everything, Vivian. Ember agreed with almost every path I took, she never tried to stop me, everything changed after I…" He paused and sighed heavily. "It changed after I killed my uncle. Once I taught her the Killing Curse, she looked at me differently, kept her distance from me. When I would try to touch her or spend time with her, she would pull away and come up with excuses to avoid me. I get it though, I turned into a monster. I became this horrible young man whose ambition got the best of him. I lost sight of what was really important. I almost lost everything that year but I didn't expect to lose her as well. My best friend, my family, they were all gone. When she decided to leave halfway through our sixth year, I knew where I stood with her, she even left Ominis and he was her friend too. She claimed she couldn't be around me anymore. That it was too much for her." He sighed leaning back and resting his head against the wall.

"Tell me something, if what I did was so horrible in her eyes, why didn't she turn me in? It wasn't too much for her, I knew that was a lie, she was just done with me and had no use for me anymore. She said that I would never change so it made me even more determined to prove everyone wrong. I gave up dark magic, never cast an unforgivable curse again, and became a better man. I fucking made sure of it. I was so thankful when Ominis gave me another chance, I've never seen someone so proud of me before. Not even my sister. It filled me with so much joy to see him happy, to be able to rebuild our relationship. I wouldn't break his trust again. Then we met you." He smiled to himself.

"I wasn't sure I would make any friends when I transferred in. Everyone had already formed close bonds with their groups, I just kind of felt like an outsider. Then I got paired up with Ominis for potions." She gave a slight smile as the memory crossed her mind.

"He was so thankful that he met you. Then he introduced you to me and things just happened from there. It honestly felt like you completed our friendship. You were sweet yet didn't hesitate to put me in my place. You cared for Ominis when his own family didn't. The guys at school would practically drool over you, me included," He blushed. "Besides me, you were the first person to try and help Ominis in his classes, we were so in awe of you. A slytherin girl with a heart of gold. I couldn't help but fall for you, Ominis as well. Then that one night in The Room of Requirement happened and it changed our lives forever. The three of us got drunk, things just spiraled, and then we slept together." He bit his bottom lip.

"That still doesn't explain why you both chose me. When we started to sleep with one another, we all said that it would just be for fun and to work through sexual frustrations, no one was supposed to develop feelings." She said as she stared down at her feet.

"With everything that happened, do you really think I wouldn't fall for you? I couldn't help it. You just...you turned my world upside down and I thought you were the most amazing girl I had ever met. I knew that I loved you the night I broke down to you and told you all my secrets and what happened in my fifth year. The look you gave me just made me fall even harder for you. You stared at me with so much sympathy in your eyes. You didn't look at me like I was a monster, you held me in your arms and I knew...I couldn't let you go. That night, it wasn't just sex to me, it was everything. We formed a bond that night and you can't say we didn't." His gaze was piercing through her.

"Why didn't you say anything, Sebastian?" She said softly, feeling an ache in her chest.

"Because of Ominis, he loves you just as much as I do. I also didn't know how you felt and I just kept thinking how we weren't supposed to develop feelings for one another. I thought that if I said anything, it could destroy it all. So I loved you in silence, only talking about it with Ominis, he kept my secret because his was the same. We stepped back once things became too intense because we didn't want to make you choose between us. It broke our hearts but we knew it's what we had to do. We found comfort and devotion between each other but it still felt like something was missing." He blushed.

"When we were turned, Ominis and I gained clarity, we love you so much. You were the part of us that was missing, the piece of the puzzle we needed so we could be whole again. Why should we make you choose? Why can't you have both of us and in turn we have the woman we absolutely adore? I'm sorry about how we just took you, bringing you here, but we can not live without you, Vivian. We just can't. I'm also apologizing for never asking you how you felt. I was afraid of your answer but I'm not anymore. Do you love us?" He asked with complete sincerity in his dark eyes.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and hugged her body even tighter. She couldn't lie to him. If she did, she would just be lying to herself as well.

"I—I do love you. I love Ominis as well. I fell in love with both of you but didn't want to ruin our friendship. I couldn't choose between you two. We all should have said something, maybe this whole mess could have been avoided." She sighed as he stood up and slowly walked over to her. He was hesitant but reached up, tilting her chin, making her look him in the eyes.

"I'm so sorry for how I behaved earlier, for everything we did to you. I hope that you can forgive me. That you can forgive us eventually. We love you beyond words, Vivian." He kissed her forehead and pulled her in to embrace her.

He began to pet her hair, smoothing it out for her as he hugged her. "I'll make breakfast for you. Maybe you should try and see if you can wake Ominis. The three of us need to talk, we can work through this." He said as he placed kisses on the top of her head. "Let me clean you up," He grabbed another rag from a drawer next to them and dabbed it against her bite wound then he ran it under water and asked permission with his eyes to clean down her stomach and between her legs.

She nodded but said nothing as he untied her robe and wiped her clean. She fixed the negligee and sighed. He was so gentle and caring with her just now. One moment he was all aggressive passion, the next he was sweet and tender. Her entire being was in turmoil as he stepped away from her and she made her way to the kitchen door. Hopefully she could find her way back to the bedroom. She gave him one final look and he smiled softly at her before she left the room.

Yes. Her mind, heart, and body were definitely battling each other and what terrified her the most was that she might actually fall for these two men all over again. Her mind was trying to convince her how wrong this was, her heart wanted to love them both and just be happy with them, her body wept at the thought of them making love to her like they used to. A part of her wanted nothing more than to leave this place, another desperately wanting her to stay. All she could think about as she made her way back to the bedroom was, should they all just give in to what they wanted, starting a new life with one another?

Tag list: @littletealight @somethingiswrongwithme @wynterjai @dangerousdreamkitty @myrachondria @connorsoddsock @hotcinnam0nspicy @localravenclaw @froggyinaspen @underthenightskydreamsneverdie @moongurl95 @that-supernatural-world @pity-those-who-live-without-love @sevprince-91 Thank you all & If you would like to be tagged, just let me know. If I have missed anyone in the tag list, please comment & let me know.🙏🏽❤️

🩸Chapter 4🩸

[zaebeecee]

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 13: Let’s Swing It!

Alternate Universe (pre-slash)

CWs: Alcohol and tobacco use, references to serial cannibalism/murder, ABO dynamics (background)

No one ever wanted to dance with the Radio Demon.

Word count: 1678

•••

Egyn’s Blue Notes called itself a jazz dive bar, but in reality, it was a dilapidated hole in the wall with a clear space it called a dance floor and a counter where an unenthusiastic imp stood, slinging alcohol to deeply inebriated patrons who definitely didn’t need the extra assistance. It was dark and smoky, usually far too warm, and almost always incredibly crowded at this time of night. The enthusiastic band played for hours on end, and the close quarters meant the music was usually so loud there was no chance of conversation.

Alastor made a point of coming to the bar at least once a month because, despite everything that made it what it was, he loved the atmosphere; maybe it was because it was dark and loud and crowded that he occasionally took the time to sit at a rickety table back in the corner and just exist.

Often, Alastor found himself watching the dancers with equal parts frustration and amusement. For many Sinners, swing dancing was long before their time, and for a fair number it was after, and watching both of these groups trying to grasp the intricacies of throwing each other around a packed dance floor while intoxicated was often nothing short of hilarious. The frustration came in because they were usually so bad at it and, well…

Alastor loved to dance, but no one ever wanted to dance with him.

That in itself wasn’t a huge surprise. Rosie would dance with him when the opportunity presented itself, of course, but that was quite different; she wasn’t afraid of him the way most of the Pride Ring was and, as a fellow Alpha, had little to worry about by way of his more esoteric proclivities. No, Alastor understood why no one wanted to get too close to a potent Alpha, the Sinner who was called the Omega Devourer as often as he was called the Radio Demon. When one had a reputation for ripping and tearing and consuming the flesh of conscious Omegas piece by bloody piece for nothing more than the crime of ‘being a horny Omega in his personal space’, one tended to be largely left alone by those who would be considered acceptable dance partners.

Even knowing that, it remained frustrating. Alastor loved to dance, but one couldn’t really swing without a partner, so the sidelines it would be.

It was an unusually cold night, Hell’s most recent Winter hitting the Ring hard with blizzards that could peel your skin off, when Alastor’s usual routine of sipping rye and smoking clove cigarettes while watching the dancers was disrupted. Typically, Alastor had a minimum of five feet of space between him and any other soul in any given direction, and after so many years, he had stopped paying quite as close attention as he usually would to his immediate surroundings. That was the only explanation for why the sound of the other chair at his table scraping across the floor made every part of him bristle in alarm.

His head swiveled to the side and he caught the scent of an unfamiliar Omega as a Sinner practically melted into the disrupted chair. He was clearly tall, even slumped over on folded arms the way he was, his body predominantly pure white that was only broken up by a series of pink markings. Bright magenta eyes, one against a deep black sclera, watched him with something between curiosity and boredom; it took Alastor a moment to realize the six markings under those eyes were actually six more, smaller eyes. Six arms were each independently occupying themselves: two folded on the table, one slung across the back of the chair, one draped across his lap and crossed legs, one holding a glass of some dark green concoction loosely by the rim, and one holding the stub of a well-smoked cigarette. His clothing was wholly inappropriate for the cold, and while Alastor knew little about the art of seduction, it wasn’t hard to surmise that this outfit was less about being sexy and more about being the only clothes the Sinner had. He looked exhausted, a bruise following the line of his cheekbone beneath his eye and a series of deep scratches disappearing beneath his clothing.

“…yes?” Alastor asked, one eyebrow raising. Now that his attention had sharpened, he was aware that people were watching them, likely waiting to see the inevitable bloodshed of someone like this six-armed stranger approaching the Devourer.

The Omega reached out to the middle of the table, grinding the barely-glowing embers of his spent cigarette into the glass that functioned as an ashtray. “Seen you here before,” he said in a surprisingly harsh, high tenor, heavily accented with something that reminded him of New York. “You never dance. You just sit here and drink and smoke. Seems borin’.”

Alastor felt himself smirk. “If it’s what I always do, whatever would give you the impression that I would find it full?”

“‘Cuz you’re always watchin’ the dance floor,” the Omega said.

“Is that so?” Alastor asked. The Omega nodded, lifting his glass. “You seem to believe your eyes see much.”

“My eyes are great, Smiles.” The Omega downed the rest of his drink and swallowed with a grimace, then shook his head roughly and set the glass down. “Wanna dance?”

Immediately, Alastor narrowed his eyes as his smile sharpened, searching for some sort of scheme or plot. “Do you even know who I am?”

“Nope.” The Omega reached out and actually plucked Alastor’s cigarette from his hand, raising it to take a drag himself before he spoke on a cloud of clove-scented smoke. “Don’t give a shit either. So you wanna dance or nah?”

Their eyes locked, staring each other down, and Alastor was struck by just how much challenge this Omega held in his eyes. There was no trace of subservience or fear, no indication of the desire to cower or flee… he didn’t even see or scent any hint of seduction, just a brazen challenge that seemed to be daring Alastor to attack.

Your blood would decorate this floor so very prettily, sha, he thought.

“I suppose we’ll see if you can keep up with me,” he said.

The crowd parted like a terrified Red Sea as the strange Omega showed zero hesitation in taking Alastor by the hand and pulling him onto the poor excuse for a dance floor. Even the band had gone silent, staring at them openly, until the Omega picked up an empty beer can from a nearby table and chucked it into the trumpet player’s forehead with alarming accuracy.

“Hey, chucklefucks, play some Duke Ellington before I fuckin’ shoot you.”

As the trumpeter whined and held his forehead, the bass player cackled and plucked one of her instrument’s deep, resonant strings. “Okay, Angel baby, it’s your funeral,” she said.

The music started up and Alastor immediately decided to put this overconfident Omega through his paces. He almost expected to dislocate the brat’s shoulder, but the stranger moved like water, twisting into a spin that brought him into Alastor’s hold. Then, they parted and they were off.

Though Alastor’s initial goal had been to make the Omega regret his decision, he quickly found himself recalling the steps of every single dance move he had ever learned, throwing the Omega around the dance floor only for him to match Alastor’s skill and energy every single time. He found himself astounded that this Sinner was somehow a starving streetwalker and not headlining a show at one of the more glamorous clubs in the richer parts of the Lust District, a feeling that only compounded with each bend and twist of his lithe and flexible form.

The song was over so quickly that Alastor was positive they must have cut it short, and both of them stilled, the Omega pressed to Alastor’s chest and Alastor’s hands on his waist. Both of them were breathing hard, and somehow, the Omega didn’t seem at all put off by Alastor’s legendarily foul breath.

“Good enough for you?” the Omega asked.

“Passable,” Alastor answered.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Omega laughed as he raised the clove cigarette that he had somehow kept between his fingers that whole time, taking another drag. He then moved it to Alastor’s mouth, and the Radio Demon caught a glimpse of the lipstick around the tip before the Omega slid it between his lips. “See you around, Smiles.”

As they parted and the Omega stepped out the door and into the cold, Alastor realized just how cold it was in the club. He hadn’t noticed as much earlier, and the dance should have warmed him up. Perhaps it had simply grown colder in the past few minutes.

He never saw the Omega in the club again.

Alastor was certain he would forget him the next day, or the next week, or the next month. Somehow, though, even after an entire year had passed, he would sometimes find his mind wandering back to that encounter that couldn’t have been longer than fifteen minutes… an encounter with an Omega whose name he didn’t even know. It was, in fact, almost a year later when he saw the first billboard.

Set high up in the Greed District, the billboard had the usual sleek style that everything VoxTek put out held. That was almost enough to turn Alastor away immediately, if not for the subject: all white and pink, six arms poised in what must have been an enticing pose, body draped in pink and white satin and eyes that somehow bored into Alastor’s without knowing he was there.

It was an announcement, it appeared; Vox’s little pet, Valentino, had acquired an Omega and was going to make him a porn star… an Omega by the name of Angel Dust.

For the first time in his existence, Alastor felt a new emotion that he had never even considered feeling before: hot, boiling, searing jealousy.

Perhaps it was time for him to see how his old pal’s business ventures were holding up.

•••

[swagmagussupreme]

@whiterose-fans-blog White Rose in Bloom, Day 3: Business life.

cw for drugs (weed lol it was the first kinda off-kilter thing my brain conjured for a business one of them would own)

Word count: 1521

“Could I check your ID real quick?”

Weiss jumped. “S-sorry, I've just… never done this before,” she admitted, reaching meekly into her purse. She also hadn't seen silver-colored eyes before, and that fact coupled with her unfamiliarity reduced her to a state she was wholly unused to: idiocy. Producing her ID, she asked, “A-and the card?”

The clerk, a college girl (from the Beacon Academy sweater) with red-highlighted black hair and a sweet face, smiled politely. “Yes please. And just so you know, we can only accept cash. There's an ATM in the corner.”

Weiss handed the two plastic cards over, shaking her head. “No thanks, I have cash.”

The girl gave the cards a mostly cursorial inspection before handing them back to Weiss. “Weiss, huh? Pretty name. Foreign?”

Weiss took her cards and blinked. “Uh… yes. Sure.” Did this girl not recognize the surname?

“Oh sweet,” the girl commented, holding out her hand. “My name's Ruby, I can help you out with anything you need. You said this is your first time?”

Weiss floundered, her mouth parting wordlessly before she accepted the handshake. “Yes. Thank you. I… could use some help.”

Ruby gave her hand a firm squeeze, one big shake, then separated to splay her hands over the glass-front counters beneath her. “Well, we've got all kinds'a stuff for all kinds’a needs. Whatcha need?”

“Well… I need…. I need to relax,” Weiss said, shuffling on her feet. “One of my… less couth coworkers said I need to ‘get slonked until I go blind,’ which I… well, this is as far as I got with deciphering that,” in a murmur, she added, “Can't believe it's not a sex thing.”

The clerk snorted. “You must be some kind of cartographer if you managed to decrypt that much on your own with no experience.”

“You mean a crypt-ographer?"

She snorted again, longer, more fervent, giving way to a goofy chuckle that seemed to rumble out of her throat. “Oh shoot, I'm uh… look, this is kinda…” her face reddened, cheeks splotching. “I'm slonked blind here, okay? So I guess ya picked the right place.”

Weiss reeled, then leaned in to stare into Ruby’s eyes. She confirmed the girl’s statement. “But you work here.”

“Well yeah!” the clerk dismissed, waving her hand. “I own the place!”

The shock of a girl this young owning her own business was severe against Weiss, who feebly grasped at some kind of counterpoint. “But… but… your own supply…”

The clerk— owner, somehow— leaned over the counter with a grin, her bulky canvas jacket wafting out a scent of heavy herbs and something sweet. She crossed her arms beneath herself confidently. “How else would I know my stuff’s any good?”

Weiss wavered. Ruby’s eyes were silver, which accentuated the redness of her sclera, which in turn further accentuated her shining irises. It was a devastating feedback loop, like staring into the sun. “Uh…”

Ruby whirled back around with a swoosh of her jacket and the heft clomp of a boot. She dramatically shimmied along the glass counter, pointing to the products inside. “You said relax, right?” she asked, sending a smile up at Weiss that made her gulp at its sincerity. “Generally speaking, these’ll relax ya. Like, a lot. A lot, a lot.” Her face scrunched up pensively. “Uh, maybe too much. First-timer, right?”

“Yes?” 

Ruby nodded, beckoning Weiss to follow her a bit further down the counter-space. Weiss stared at the contents there, flowery and exposed and named weirdly, and felt like she was committing a crime just by seeing. She looked over her shoulder, which Ruby caught. “It's okay,” she promised, her voice rough at its lower register. “No one’s coming to arrest you, dude.”

“W-why isn't there anyone else here?” Weiss found herself asking, feeling pathetic at her own voice.

“It's, like…” Ruby checked the analog clock on the wall, then seemed to grow genuinely confused. “Uh… twelve! It's twelve-fifteen on a Tuesday. Everyone’s at work or school.”

Weiss eyed her suspiciously. “Did… did you just struggle to read a clock?”

“Anyway!” Ruby diverted, ducking behind the counter to gesture at the contents from the other side. The glass did nothing to hide her growing blush of embarrassment. “These are all hybrids, so you won't get tipped too much in either direction, but these—” she motioned to a group of spindly green-and-purple bunches sealed in tubes. Some had bright orange sprigs sticking out from the green, some looked… frosty, and some had both qualities. Ruby pointed to them in succession. “These are the chill ones. ‘My Friend Sappho’ is a relaxing strain, great if you wanna crash on the couch and watch something stupid while still being able to get back up. ‘Mouthfeel’ is super fun, very giggly, conks out the body so you can chill in your own brain-soup. ‘Smart-shoes’ is really move-y, like it feels good to move, kinda has the opposite effect as ‘Mouthfeel,’ so your thoughts all get tucked away and you can just be in your bod. And ‘Moving Day’ here—”

“These all seem… targeted,” Weiss said tentatively, half-cringing at herself.

Thankfully, Ruby didn't seem to take offense. Instead, she barked out a laugh, and said with undisguised smugness: “Well, yeah. You saw the sign. You saw the flag.” Ruby rose back up to the counter and leaned over it, smirking. “You did your research, Weiss."

The girl who thought she was either being threatened or openly flirted with, flushed red at the sound of her name coming out that way. She had done her research, enough to pick The Crescent Bud— which was a godawful name— over all the other places in her area because its sign had a subtitle, ‘World’s Gayest Dispensary’, which she took to for… reasons. She coughed. Her voice came out tightly. “Yes. I did do… that. Research. This place had good prices. And reviews.”

The smirk showed no sign of faltering from Ruby’s lips, but she pointed into the counter without any further interrogation. “Anyway, ‘Moving Day’ is wonderful,” Ruby drawled, with an affect that slightly terrified Weiss. “It's super pretty. I mean, just look at it.”

Weiss looked at the transparent canister of buds, purple-green and frosted, abundant with little bits of orange. In her peripheral vision, she noted that Ruby was very much not looking at them. 

“It goes down really smooth,” Ruby continued. “Very fruity tones. It takes a moment to kick in, but once you've chilled out and you're ready for it, it gets you."

Weiss gulped. “Ah. That sounds… nice.”

“It's really nice. Captivating, even.”

Weiss stared at the sealed tube, her skin feeling tight. She did not look at Ruby.

When Ruby spoke again, her voice was a lot quieter, but a lot closer. “I've got a sofa and a TV in the back room. Could close up for lunch; going into this kinda thing can really suck if ya do it alone. I'll even roll you a free sample, my treat.”

Weiss’ neck felt like wood as she turned to Ruby, stiff and creaking and entirely unsure, but those lambent eyes were soft, and her smirk had tamed into an inviting grin.

No. A million times, no. Weiss was a department head. She couldn't let herself get lured into some stoner's backroom just because Coco said she needed to chill! This was stupid. This was wrong. She was better than this. She didn't need drugs to have fun, to relax, she was a grown woman! Weiss opened her mouth for a hundred protestations, a million damnations, a trillion justifications that roiled up her throat and—

Ruby passed the little cigarette-thing directly into Weiss’ lips, which would've made Weiss detonate if she wasn't already high as shit. 

“Subtle,” Weiss snarked, feeling emboldened by the lightness in her head. “Really subtle.”

Ruby settled back on the couch, remnants of pungent smoke trickling past her lips. “Dude, it’s ‘Moving Day’. You think I was trying to be subtle?”

Weiss took a cautious drag— Ruby had freaked out after her first hit had apparently been huge— and shifted her legs, adjusting herself so her knees and her shoulders brushed against Ruby’she. She passed it back. “I'm glad you weren't.”

Ruby took it blindly and let it dangle between her lips, her eyes fixated on whatever streaming platform she had. “Uh… shitty vampire movie or stupid docuseries that's vaguely racist in a funny way?”

Weiss didn't really parse the question. Her eyes were zoned out on Ruby’s mouth, on the streaming dance of smoke rising from the cigarette. “One of those, sure.”

Ruby didn't notice her staring. Or she did. Weiss couldn't tell, nor did she care to, because she was slonked halfway to blindness and it felt glorious. Worries and anxieties, usually invasive, couldn't penetrate the fog of her mind. She felt loose, her body felt stupid, but her brain felt mostly normal. It was like her corporeal form was little more than a meat-jacuzzi for her brain. 

Weiss jolted when the TV awoke with sound, which graciously caused Ruby to look over, grin, and throw an arm over Weiss’ shoulders. 

Coco had been right.

[mybadmutt]

Gorey confession — John Doe x Reader

Synopsis; He just wants you to love him

Cw; murder, blood/gore, mutilation, mentions of a knife and axe, accepting reader, light make out

It’d been a tiring day at work, customers snapping at you left and right. It was Monday after all, but you didn’t deserve this treatment, not one bit. You were a good employee, always nice, always on time, always cleaning up the shop even though the manager told you not to.

You mindlessly swept the isles, getting ready for the next employee to take over your shift, as you had already shooed most of the customers out. You head swiveled at the sound of the doors bell, a sign someone had come into the shop.

You sighed, clearing your throat harshly before speaking up. “Welcome in! I’ll be with you shortly,” you shouted, going to the storage room to put away the cleaning equipment.

You stalked up to the front counter, feeling a lump rise in your throat at the odd appearance of your new customer.

They were short, fizzy, unkempt hair flowing down to the middle of their back, yellow eyes wide and unblinking, and an unusually large, toothy grin with different kinds of teeth spreading long across their face.

“How may I—“

“Hello, You.”

You tensed, the sudden interruption of your sentence catching you off guard, mostly due to the mental state you’d been in. You cleared your throat again, willing the person to speak again if they were going to.

“What’s your name?” They rumbled, barely visible black pupils now expanded greatly, taking up most of their sclera.

“It’s, uhm, [name]. What’s yours..?” You tried to return their somewhat friendly gesture, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. A small pause was put in between everytime you two interacted, but they soon responded.

“^}£]!%^{!..*¥,” you tensed, again. Fear rising in your chest at a rapid pace. But before you had a chance to question, they quickly fixed the situation.

“But, you can call me, John Doe. Or maybe just Doe, for short.”

You nodded quietly, opening your mouth to speak before they asked another question, this one having shivers runs down your spine.

“Are you free after work?” They asked, leaning over the counter towards you, causing you to take a small, cautious step back.

“Uhm, maybe,” you rushed, your head whipping around to the front door when the next employee walked in, relieving you from your shift. You sighed in relief, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned back towards the customer.

“My shift is over. . . sir. The next employee will be with you shortly.”

You rushed out from behind the counter, having already packed your bag before cleaning and assisting Doe. Creepily, he watched your every movement, his grin faltering as he watched you leave, before returning to his usual, unnervingly, joyful self.

You wanted to ignore the feeling of eyes watching you as you stalked down to the bus stop, showing no signs of Doe anywhere, as if he’d never even been real in the first place.

. . .

You could’ve sworn you felt someone watching you as you stepped into the shower, flinching as the overly hot warm splashed against your skin.

I didn’t turn it up this high, you thought.

You shook it off as a mere mishap, and bringing the water back to a more comfortable temperature. You inched closer to the shower head until it water was washing over your entire body, running down you face and clouding your vision. You grabbed the nearby bottle of soap, sighing at the citrusy scent of it as you popped the cap open, pouring a generous amount onto you hand, and beginning to lather up you body.

You stopped for a second, turning your head slowly towards the door at the sound of another door creaking open. Everything in your body told you to get out, to run, to call someone. But what would that even do? You’re naked, wet, you left that damned towel in your room, and your phone’s charging on the bedside table.

You felt completely and utterly helpless, and it really did bother you, the thought of someone breaking into your house.

“Is it that creep from earlier?” You asked aloud, washing away the remaining soap that clung to your body, slowly, quietly, turning off the shower.

You took a cautious step out, trying your hardest to keep silent as you stalked into your nearby bedroom, covering yourself just incase. You rushed to get dry and get dressed, so distracted that you didn’t even notice to growing stench of blood.

It hit you, the dizzying scent finally coming prominent. Your eyes went wide, tears gathering and clouding your vision as you tossed a sweater over your head, reaching for axe that you always kept hidden underneath your mattress.

“Come out you motherfucker,” you whispered, mostly to yourself. You held the axe steadily, raising it just above your shoulder as you stalked the long, dark hallways, ready for anyone who dare jump out at you.

You made it to the kitchen, nearly dropping you weapon at the sight in front of you.

It was Doe, gleefully holding the severed head of two barely recognizable customers from earlier, showcasing them as trophies to you. He was shaking, hard. It’s either been from fear or excitement. Probably excitement. His grin grew wider, tiny bits of organs and fresher threaded between his many rows of jagged teeth.

His stubby fingers threaded into the deceaseds head’s hair, blood covering every inch of his body, staining your beautifully tiled floors. You wanted—needed to run, he posed no harm to you. Not that you knew, of course.

“Please, don’t run,” he requested, eyes growing wider as he backed you up towards the wall, his body uncomfortably close to yours. He discarded the heads, his attention now solely fixated on you and how you’d react.

You stayed still, not wanting to comply, but he’d already taken the axe from you hand, tossing it behind the kitchen counter with a deafening thud. You begrudgingly looked over the counter, a soft tear sliding down your cheek at what you witnessed.

The bodies, that the heads had been chopped off of, were just behind the counter, mutilated and discarded. Their stomachs had been ripped open, organs displayed and neatly set aside, the sight making you want to throw up.

“Don’t look,” he urged, reaching up with one bloody hand to make you look away from the gore, more and more tears sliding down your cheeks, and looking into his unusually large eyes sure made it worse.

“Why?” You whispered, fearing of what he’d do to you based on the actions you made, so, you chose to stay still, silently hoping for the best.

“For you, of course!” Doe exclaimed, reaching up to oh so gently wipe your tears away, making you question his intentions. He touch was soft, caring even, as if not wanting to scare you away anymore then he already had.

“I don’t mean to frighten you, darling. I just couldn’t stand those people who were bothering you.” You could very clearly see the red hearts forming in his eyes, with seemed to shake the more and more he stared at you.

“Those customers. . .”

You eyes lowered to his, a faint, and oddly, appreciative smile gracing your lips. His false heart started beating rapidly, a dark blush coloring his pasty cheeks.

“S-So, you’re okay with it? You’re not going to run away, right? I just love, love, love you! I couldn’t stand those customers, they just—“

“Hush.”

You silenced Doe gently, pressing your finger to his lips before giving them a quick peck, your cheeks flushing as well. He whimpered against your lips, trying to deepen the kiss to his best ability. He had no experience, and it showed, not that you minded. The mutilated bodies had been completely forgotten by now, both of you caught up in the heat of the moment.

Short of breath, you broke away from the kiss, leaving him wanting—needing more. His hands trembled as he gripped onto the hem of your shirt, drool dribbling down his chin.

“Guess this settles it, yeah?” You panted, giving his lips another soft, lingering kiss before completely pulling away, your chest heaving with each heavy breath you took.

“Guess you should go now. Police are on the way.”

[griefabyss69]

Illusion of Grace

written for ‘Charm’ wc: 548 | rated: T | cw: Vampire Eddie, Enthrallment, Scared & Horny

Prompt is from @steddiemicrofic <3

[ AO3 ]

(Title is from the band Ambrotype)

Steve's heart pounds, shakes his ribs as it screams at him to run. The adrenaline of this dangerous game they're playing, of having nowhere to hide, grasps him and tries to rattle an ounce of fucking sense into him.

Eddie's leaning in, eyes bright. Deep, blackened brown surrounded by luminescent red sclera.

His fangs are out, framing his bottom lip, making Steve's heart ache harder, his instincts terrified like a caged animal, and his not-so-latent homosexual tendencies begging him to kiss him.

"Who's charming now?" Eddie asks, black fingertips cupping his jaw.

Steve wants to antagonize him, goad him into another one of their little arguments so whoever wins can claim their stupid little prize, but he can't move.

Eddie told him about it, when he first came back. A vampiric thrall, like hypnotism.

He can only watch his face, breath the air that Eddie isn't exhaling into, and distantly catalogue the way his cock starts to get fuller.

"Those big puppy dog eyes of yours," Eddie says, their noses almost touching. "Look so good when you're scared."

If he could move, he'd be running, just from the chill that drips ice through him, the something is horribly wrong please run that isn't present when he usually needs it, but lights up his nerves now.

Eddie's not a threat, even if Steve thinks that if they kiss then whatever they have to face after will hurt. It would've hurt back when Eddie was still human, too.

He's in love with a dead guy, and he wants to give him his throat.

"Yes, give it to me," Eddie whispers, the sound ghosting over Steve's lips.

Steve obeys without thinking, able to move purely just to carry out the order, tilting his head only to bare his neck.

"Good, you're so pretty like this," Eddie says, closing in a few inches to press soft lips and hard teeth to his skin.

He doesn't feel anything sharp, but he knows it's there, and all he wants is Eddie to sink into him, to open him up, drink him down. If he does that, he thinks he'll have fulfilled his purpose for tonight.

Tomorrow night, Eddie could take him, stake his claim on him again.

Steve wants to be the only one, wants Eddie to be surviving off of his blood, nothing else. Wants to be so good for him that he doesn't dream of finding something better.

"You did so well," Eddie says, pulling back.

Steve can't make any noises, but there's a whine building in his chest, abject disappointment curling rancid around his heart.

Eddie's eyes track over his neck, he looks so hungry, and he wishes he could talk to encourage him to get in there. Take from him until he's sated and just as in love as Steve is.

But instead, Eddie blinks, looks away, and just like that;

Steve's standing in the basement, hard cock throbbing, panting for air as he tries to grapple with the sharp come down from supernaturally charmed devotion to… how he and Eddie are friends.

Sort of.

He'd just been in love with him, but now it's… not wrong, not gone, but a fresh bruise now. The enthrallment was the punch and now he has to deal with what it left behind.

[voidwritesstuff]

Distant Gunsmoke

Cw: grief,guilt, strife has complicated feelings towards Death.

Summary: Strife thought he would go about his night watch duty calmly,but it shows him just how much he needed a genuine act of kindness.

A/N1: my entry to strife september,hosted by the brilliant,talented @darkdemeter check her stuff out shes so cool yall. Also hi Dem this is Jer (in one of my many side blogs) I can finally show you one of the 2 (and soon to be 3) full fics i wrote. This one is ONE MONTH OLD. IVE WAITED SO LONG OH MY GOD.

A/N2: Hi new readers, I write character studies. X Readers are not really something im good at (for personal reasons i wont get into here),for X readers check out Dem and many other cool fic writers in this community (moodymisty,grandaughterogg,etc)

Beauty Is in the eye of the beholder ,or so humans say.

Well,Strife can't help but agree.

The gunslinger sits on one of the high branches of the Maker Tree,sunset casting golden light across the barren,sundered remains of The Kingdom of Man. He breathes in the crispy air of late afternoon and relaxes just a little as purple-ish blue shadows harshly blanket over the cityscape And his tall,imposing form.

He's well aware none of his siblings ever sat down and appreciated the Beauty within humanity's craftsmanship. From cozy,warm homes where bonds were formed and nurtured, to tall buildings reaching for the sky-Appropiately Named 'Sky Scrapers'-,Man could make things other beings would only dream of.

Not that all this surprises Him, he knew from day one that these frail beings were important and capable. He's seen it all in his travels across this wasteland and his stay as a 'refugee' here in Haven.

If only his siblings,specially Death,could see what he sees.

...If that were to be possible,he might get along better with his grump of an older sibling and the rest of his remaining bretheren.

The reaper would never admit it, but up until now hes seen humans as things. He May know that they are important,but the specifics are lost on his grief-addled mind. No matter how much the spirit of timeless unrest tried to explain, all his words are absorbed by the high walls of thick despair Death has built around him,his heart,his mind And,dare Strife say it, soul.

By now he doesn't bother,waste of breath and energy.

Yet a part of him still hopes the pale rider finally changes his view on things.

Family,though sometimes less than functioning,was still family. At least to Strife.

Sure,he had been raised alongside the old reaper,but when you're one of the four remaining nephilim....Well family acquires a whole new meaning. One the gunslinger still has to figure out.

He sighs loudly,wondering if any human within the trunk of the tree could advice him on how to get along better with his siblings. He doesn't doubt for a moment that one of those answers might just be "therapy"

Now he'd never admit it...But Creator,he'd like to go to therapy some day.

...Could human therapists even handle The ammount of trauma he's got?

Could he handle it if it ever came up?

Jokes and bravado was all fun and games until the chips are down and him opening up might just save him,his siblings, and mankind. He desperately wants Fury to shut up and listen to what he has to say,but he knows his sister well and she's not going to stop until she hits her head against the wall...repeatedly.

He just hoped she didn't have to go through all that pain to finally see things as they are.

But his sister's...his siblings actions are something he can't control,or make himself responsible for. And he's still yet to make his peace with it.

God,Why were bonds so...difficult?

Anxiously he taps on his helmet,now resting on his lap,as night falls. Here, under the starlet blackness above,is where danger begin to plot,scheme and -Creator forbid- strike.

The horseman rubs the exhaustion out of his yellow eyes. As he does so,he remembers young War couldn't discern Strife's yellow sclera from his actual ochre colored eyes.

It makes him chuckle with endearment, tiredness dissipating for a few seconds before returning with full force.

He's so tired...

He's tired of being lied to,he's tired of him and his siblings being in their head instead of focusing on the now.

Grief stuck to them all like Spiderwebs on corners,leaving them two options: face their past and move on,or wither away in bitterness. 

For now,he can guess that three out of the four that they are Will make it out of that web.

And still,he worries for the one less capable of doing so.

Upwards does his gaze go, noticing the smallest,dying star struggling to light up the darkness. No other of its bretheren help, so its left to agonize into an uncertain future.

The image makes his eyes burn,he feels his chest tighten and....

--You've spent a long time up there...--Comes the voice of Ulthane from a small balcony/platform underneath the branch he's sitting atop.

Strife leads his thumbs to wipe the corners of his eyes--Right...right...--he winces at how his voice breaks. He sniffs loudly and grabs his helm

--Y'alright?

Like he's done a thousand,million times,he puts on his helmet over his chiseled,handsome features,effectively shutting off his emotions--Jus' peachy-- He replied--Jus' peachy...

With a gesture of his hand,the disguise of Jones comes up,and he pushes away the memory of Death teaching him illusion magic. The tenderness of the moment is too much for him to bear right now,the smile of his child self all too bright against the monster he is now.

And the smoldering warmth in his oldest brothers eyes...

Heavy boots clatter on the balcony. Strife...Jones, looks up at the maker and he hates how in this form he's the small one.

--Y'dont seem right t'me...--Ulthane said with something akin to a fatherly concern.

But the rider shrugs and finds his bravado that he pulls over his face like curtains behind a Window.--Doesn' matter,the scenery really jus' stole my attention.

And he leaves for the entrance to Haven to begin his nightly watch as he usually volunteers to do.

Ulthane watches Strife go,eyes narrowing with a glint of pity. He still remembers the hard time he gave to the gunslinger when he first sneaked into the tree, posing as a human.

Old as he is,the Black Hammer could smell his nephilim nature a mile away. But after a brief-albeit agressive- chat,his antagonism of the rider lessened over time and quite quickly.

Tender heart Strife's got.

Well,his siblings do call him the 'delicate one'

Isn't it concerning how much his siblings haunt his mind?.

Behind his hood,feeling like a cheap imitation of his youngest of kin, Strife walks to the entrance with one of the makers that wait with him for this routine. She also knows who-what he is.

--Hey! Evening!--Comes the voice of the female maker,blonde hair and carrying a gigantic battle axe. He feels a little guilty he doesn't remember her name.

--Howdy!--He drawls, a big grin on his face.

--Took you a bit...--She pointed out,a bit concerned--Y'usually 'ere before nightfall..

With lips a little pursed,he shrugs and adds--I...fell asleep.

--But you dont need sleep?

--It's uh...pleseant --Which wasn't a complete lie,he liked to sleep...but he wasn't sleeping up in that branch.

More like....wallowing?

Thankfully the maker drops it, knowing all beings were quirky like that. Makers most of all,but Strife wouldn't be surprised if Nephilim won in that regard- They're a mix of Angel and Demon,surely something in their internal wiring has to be a little janky.

Like that one time he got stuck in his Anarchy form. He was a little too crazed with bloodlust, and then he thoroughly freaked out when he realized he couldn't get back to his normal self.

Fury and War were a little worried,if not amused.

But it was Death who sat down with him and actually helped him calm down and return to normal. Bitter,old and grumpy reaper sat infront of him and in his sardonic way guided him to a point where he was calm.

To this day,he wonders if the pale rider was talking from experience-He'd give anything to hear the story if that was the case.

Yet the sentiment is not lost on him,the implicit,crushing worry in the actions of the eldest nephilim. He really tries to hate him,he really does try...

His pondering takes up most of the night,he's silent and thumbing his guns reflectively. If the maker beside him noticed,she didn't say anything.

But he is taken out of it when he hears a set of slow,Tiny steps behind him. He turns with his brows furrowed,its a bit past midnight- all kids should be asleep by now,and adults too.

Yet he sighs in recognition at the child. Matted,messy and long light blonde hair,grey eyes and pale skin. He can see the lines of the sheets and pillows pressed into her features,curling around her eyebrows,forehead And the beggining of her nosebridge.

--Angie...--Chided Strife,slowly walking up to the kid and kneeling infront of her--Whats the matter,Kiddo? What're ya doin' up so late?

The girl leaned into his touch when his hand went to push away her thin and almost platinum hair. --Uhm...I...I couldn't sleep.

He held back a sigh,he hopes she doesn't wander off--D'you know why?

--I..i worry..--Angie whispered,looking at the ground--Mama says we'll be fine but..--She sighs and rubbs the exhaustion out of her eyes--When..when I worry I get nightmares, i don't...i don't want nightmares

--You can stay for a bit--He resolved, patting her shoulder gently--Calm down,and then back to bed, young Lady

The girl smiled a little and nodded,waddling over to the spot at the edge of the balcony/entrance of the tree had. Both sit and watch the barren world shadowed in darkness with little Glimmers of moonlight-Like how hope feels when it finally begins to peek through the black clouds.

Strife feels the kid lean on him,looking at the world that once was her home. His brown eyes look down at the messy head of hair and he sighs. With a gentleness thats so unbecoming for a horseman, he begins to untangle the strands that gleam with white highlights.

--You remind me of someone...--He murmured--His hair always gets messy,even as a full grown adult.

Angie giggled--Well,uhm..I Like playing in the mud, and Rolling around...mom says thats why Its always like that

He let out an amused scoff--Yep,that'll do it. --He grinned--Rowdy thing arentcha?.--The kid shrugged. --I can't say you'll grow out of it, my brother sure as hell didn't.--Heavenly are the giggles that the kid lets out, he wonders how the world can be so cruel to spoil such a pure thing. Fills him with rage.

Eventually he finished with his task of untangling her hair,now it curls and falls past her gentle face. Her eyelids begin to fall closed and her body rests against his, he sighs and Gently he begins to softly sing a lullaby.

Its old,older than mankind, older than him.

How old it is? Strife isn't sure. All he knows is that Death sung it to him,and the gunslinger sung it to war,and Now he sings it to this human. Who is unaware of the milenia old culture being imparted upon her right now.

But it does the trick,working like a charm as Angie falls asleep not soon after. He sighs in relief and returns to watch the cityscape for a little.

--Angela...!--Came the voice of the kid's mother,soft as to not wake anyone but loud enough for him to hear. She pushes back her own bed-head, messy blond hair and her green eyes narrow with motherly disdain.

He chuckled and said--Took care of it already,Gabriella.

The older human woman Gently picked up her sleeping kid and sighed--She scared me to the death just now,I woke up and couldn't find her...Thank you,Jones.

Strife shrugged--Jus' doin ma job.

Gabriella nodded with a tired,small smile--Do you want some tea? It's getting cold.

Really? He hasn't noticed.

Well...he does run naturally warm so...no surprise there.

--Sure--He answered,to Keep up appereances mostly but he did enjoy a good cup of tea. --Hey uh- there's probably more supplies now after our last run so...--His request dies on his tongue as shame creeps into his throat.

But the woman's eyes widen with recognition,which confuses him a little--Ah,yeah I'll Check that. First I'm putting this trouble maker to bed and I'll get to your tea

He nodded--Alright

Gabriella walks out,murmuring something about how she "Hopes the tea she makes tastes exactly how he described it". He pays it no mind,Specially as the female maker he had as a companion chuckled and joked--Your big brother instincts came out on that one...

The rider scoffed and rolled his eyes,dismissing her words with a hand gesture. But it's clear from his silence that he's giving her the reason.

And his silence lingers even after he hears the human woman walk into the main chamber of the Maker Tree, her soft steps barely echo even in the graveyard like silence of the world she finds herself in.

--Here...--She said softly,handing Him a mug of brick red,handmade. He can see the small handprints that denote that a human made it.

--Since when do we have mugs?

Gabriella chuckled--I made them

His brows raised with pleaseant surprise--That's really awesome! Where'd you find the clay though?

--Last supply run before the one you did the other day. Ulthane helped me Cook It and glaze it.--She laughed softly--Angie wanted to come with and...

--Let me guess,she toussled 'round in the dirt and mud?--he asked with a Snicker.

--Yup...--Smirked the human.

--Sound's a hell lot like my youngest sibling

He holds the warm cup between his hands,rough and a little scarred. This disguise only reflected his true self,this human visage was covered in scars from battles. And even if nobody could tell what he was in this magic ruse he's concocted, his story still told itself through the little things.

As humans say,the devil's in the details.

--You've never talked about your siblings--Gabrielle noted, a little worried--or you,for that matter. You only mentioned that one anecdote about the tea and--She stopped herself as if she had a spoiled a surprise-- Doesn't matter. Your siblings...Are they okay?

He nodded--Just peachy,trust me. They're hard to kill--He half joked,but then he made a brief and pensive pause. He can see the humans brows arch and her lips purse,so unlike Him to go quiet mid-sentence-- Maybe I'll tel you an' lil' Angie about them some other time,Gabi.

--Of course--the woman smiled with warmth,motherly warmth--I have no doubt they're as resilient,and good, as you are

Within his disguise,he winces.-- we...We aren't good.

--I'm sure you've done your fair share of bad things in these trying times..but your actions now show how far you've come.

He sighed--You know? My youngest brother had said something like that once. --He smirked as he remembered the wild goose chase him and War had been sent on back when they were still chasing Lucifer-- He sat me down at this beautiful, beautiful cliff. We...we had some bad memories attached but we couldnt really leave...

Strife had inherited Death's talent as a storyteller,and hes not surprised to see Gabrielle sit and listen attentively.

--We...we were on a job,we had done a thing there..something I'm not proud of. That we aren't proud of,no matter how much some of us lie to ourselves--He scratched the bridge of his nose anxiously. Unconciously including himself in the fact that he also lied to himself quite a lot-- I had said something bitter about how that place was a testament to our failures

Gabi put a hand on his wrist and squeezed it fondly--D'aw,Jones...

He shook his head--Dont worry,My lil' brother Wa--He stopped himself mid sentence,biting his tongue--Wah- William looked at me in the eye and said "Let this be a reminder of how far we've come, and how much we yet have to achieve" an' lemme tell ya,for a guy built like a brick shit house...well he can be quite insightful

The human woman scoffed--Often the youngest tend to see things in a way us old farts don't-- she half joked,throwing a conspiratorial wink his way as both begin to hear a set of small steps--And speaking of...

Both turn to see Angela run at Jones to give him a tight,loving hug--Goodnight Mr.Jones! Thank you for protecting Us--Then she faced her mother--I know you said I had to sleep but...I didn't want to go to bed without saying goodnight!! He stays up all night to watch over us and...

--Okay,Wee one,y'said yer goodnights,C'mon--The female maker picks up the kid and gestures to the older human woman--You too,Gabi.

Gabriella nodded at her "fellow" human and wished him a calm evening,then she follows the maker into the tree. He's rendered alone,with himself and his thoughts.

Strife scoffs out a chuckle,wind pushing the leaves to rustle Gently and making his ears twitch. Even now,he's alert.

Then he returns to face the sundered city and he tries to push down the wave of feelings that threatens to break on him and drown him in foam. To help combat this,he drinks from the tea that hasn't gone cold given his furnace temperature that he carried.

But it turns out that it only helps to finish forming the tide that was looming over him.

First comes the taste,earthy,spicy,a bit rudimentary. Then,the smell of manually grounded spices and herbs...

His mind flashes to happier times,how he traveled with Death,Back when they were both young and the masacre was ways away in time. It was cold, neither felt it but the gunslinger could see his breath fog in the air.

Death was a complete different person before the erradication,still sharp and deadly but with a soft side reserved to his siblings.

At that time,both took shelter within a cave. He made a little Fire and brewed a batch of tea for both of them, he taught his brother how to make it.

Tasted just like it does now,the flavor swirling in his tongue with pleaseant nostalgia. Didn't he make that same tea for Fury and War when they got back?

Didn't Death ruffle his hair and gave him one of his half-assed compliments?.

It's all so vivid. Those clawy fingers that messed with his locks,that raspy,endeared and endlessly, purely warm tone as he said "For a rascal like you,that's quite a good tea." His gaze was melted honey behind those firey eyes that look so much like the gunslinger's, the slight quirk in his lips back when his face wasn't always covered.

He misses seeing his brother's face,the face he always seeked when he had a bad dream,the face that offered comfort and safety and un-ending love for him and his siblings.

He misses his family.

And finally,the tide breaks to swallow him whole.

Strife,Spirit of timeless unrest,the white rider,horseman, cries.