#feedback is appreciated!!

[turnabout-cats]

hello, i'd like to ask some pretty important questions!

so, i usually put IDs for all the klav cat posts in alt, but is there a difference between putting IDs within the alt section attached to the image and writing it in the post itself? which one is more accessible? would it be better to do both?

[shawtuzi]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: oral f receiving, multiple orgasms, praise ….oh and you have two bfs in this!!

“i-i can’t do it! s’too much i’m too sensitive,” you tugged at suguru’s bun, making it more disarrayed than it already was. your toes curled when you felt eren leave wet kisses on your neck, his tatted hands moving from your hips to your chest, now tweaking at your nipples.

eren licked from your jaw to the lobe of your ear, nibbling ever so softly on it. “maybe you should give her a break sugu, poor thing said she’s sensitive,” now eren wasn’t serious of course—the sadist in him wanted to see you ruined just as much as suguru. suguru hummed against your pussy, his tongue flicking at your clit one last time before coming up for air.

“you say that yet…. you’re holding her legs back even more. ‘oughta be ashamed of yourself…ain’t that right sweet thing,” suguru asked, kissing the fat of your thigh before biting the soft skin, making you jolt. sugu had pulled two orgasms out of you so far and normally you’d be able to handle at least three maybe even four! but unfortunately you spent the day with eren and that man is as insatiable as they come.

“y-you’re both fuckin’ terrible,” you sniffled, pussy clenching around nothing when you felt suguru nudge your swollen clit with his nose. eren pinched your nipples, grunting a soft ‘watch your mouth’. suguru was quick to latch onto your left nipple, the metal ball from his tongue piercing making you mewel.

between the two men surprisingly suguru the softest one for you. even when he had to punish you at times for being a brat he’d make up for it with sweet kisses to your trembling lips while three of his fingers stuffed your soaked pussy. eren on the other hand….lets just say you’ve never acted up in front of him since the first time he reprimanded you, but that’s a story for another time.

suguru trailed his tongue from your chest to your neck, nipping at the sweet smelling skin. “lemme make you cum one more time sweetness then i’ll be done, i promise,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear, reveling in the way your body shivered at his words. eren craned his neck to speak to you in your other ear, now whispering words of encouragement. “you can do it baby, i know how tired that lil pussy is from me wearing her out but you can give sugu another one right? he didn’t have you all to himself today the way i did”

“c’mon sweetness i know you got another one in you.”

“you’re such a good girl, i know you’ll say yes and make your boyfriends proud right?”

oh you were in a treacherously long night.

[elephantshoetoo]

You know when you get one of those readers who comments on every chapter of your fic, pointing out their favorite parts and quoting lines that really resonated with them?

Yeah, as a writer, this is an absolute gift. ❤️

[akajustmerry]

"... While most of these films don’t bring up Israel’s occupation of Palestine directly, many of them normalise and even lionise Israel’s existence and Israeli identity. Others, like Dune Part Two and September 5 perpetuate anti-Arab racism and “terrorist” stereotyping. All of this lays an ideological groundwork in the mind of the viewer that justifies Israel’s so-called “right to exist”, and that Palestinian and Arab resistance to genocidal Israeli expansionism is, if not evil, then futile.

...On the same day that the Academy celebrated its big night, the Israeli Occupation Forces cut off aid to Gaza after the Zionist Israeli government refused to honour its end of the ceasefire agreement. As the media justice advocacy group Slow Factory pointed out on Instagram, Israel has a long history of timing escalated attacks with major US cultural events — like the Oscars — to limit media coverage of their actions. The Oscars don’t just normalise and lionise Zionism, but provide cultural cover for its violence.

It is not about when, how, or why these films were made or even who they were made by, but what these films say about Zionism, and how that benefits the West’s support of Israel. Even if zero of these films had won an Oscar, it doesn’t matter. Many still saw them, internalised them, and enjoyed them. The damage is done, and the brunt of it will be bared, as it always is, by Palestinians."

And The Oscar Goes To... Zionism! // by Merryana Salem via The Offcut.

[wandaverse]

meet me in the pale moonlight.

vampire countess!wanda x human painter!reader

summary: In the early 1870s, the young and renowned Y/N arrives in the bustling New York City looking for a new start. Little does she know that a creature of the night lurks in the shadows and that there’s something sinister about the woman she’s become enamoured of, the elusive Countess Maximoff.

warnings/tags: dom!wanda, fem sub!reader, smut, oral, cunniIingus, fingering, mas0chism, blood klnk, hints of humiliation and praise klnk, thigh and foot riding, age gap if you squint, wanda calls r pet, 18+ / MINORS DNI

word count: 10,284

moodboard

Clipping your bag safely back onto your belt, you bid the kind dressmaker farewell and motion to leave her Madison Avenue boutique.

Several days ago and after a rather lengthy trip aboard a steamship across the Atlantic, you finally arrived in the hustling and bustling New York City, the city of dreams in the land of opportunity.

Over the years, you have developed quite a respectable reputation as a commissioned portrait artist for the wealthy with an admired talent that both boosts their egos as well as your own wealth. After a lifetime of travelling across the European continent, you decided to migrate to the Americas in search of a new opportunity, or rather a muse to reignite your inspiration and maybe for a little fun on the side too.

The dressmaker quickly assures you that she’ll have your clothes ready by the end of the week, a welcome relief since you’re still waiting for your remaining belongings to arrive by sea.

On your way out of the boutique, you thank her one last time, not paying attention to your surroundings and distractedly bumping into another woman with a fright.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! Are you quite alright?” the esteemed lady apologises profusely.

You swiftly regain your bearings and brush her off. “It is no problem at all. I apologise as well for not watching where I was going,” you say guiltily.

The instant you both glance up though, she seemingly forgets about the entire ordeal. You recognise immediately the starstruck look on her face that can only mean that she somehow knows who you are, that word of your talents has already travelled across the seas through migrated aristocrats and the like.

“My word! You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you?” she asks breathlessly.

With a smirk that you try your best to mask as humble, you can’t deny the pride of being so quickly recognised in this new city.

“Indeed I am, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms…?”

“Agatha Harkness, dear, but my friends call me Agnes. It’s lovely to meet you,” she introduces with a shake of your extended hand. “Say, I don’t believe I heard word that you were in our fine city. And I assure you, I would have if it were known. No news gets past me. If anything, I’m always the first to know.”

You bet she is, you nod overwhelmed, quietly taking in the words of someone who is clearly a gossip.

There’s an odd and rather manic intensity about her, you notice. You brush it off as the typical artificial friendliness of the elite and especially of the nouveau riche, which you suspect Agnes is.

And yet, it still feels like something is off about her, like she’s not quite herself, a peculiar strain in her smile and an emptiness behind her eyes. How odd.

“I only arrived a few days ago, is why. All my luggage hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“I see… if that’s the case, why I don’t suppose I could commission you then? Be the first American to have their very own Y/L/N painting?” she requests giddily.

Her excitement rubs off on you, no matter how eerie, and you can’t deny her. “Well, I don’t see why not. I’ll have my people be in contact with you to sort out the details soon.”

“My, I can’t believe my luck!” she celebrates. “Oh! You must attend my gala tonight. Please, be my guest of the evening. Let me have the honour of being the one to introduce you to our society here.”

Once again, you’re charmed by her fierce enthusiasm. “Of course, the honour shall be mine.”

Frankly, you don’t really think it’ll be any different from the circles you traversed in Europe, but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone intriguing.

—

Later that evening, long after the sun has already set, you step out of your personal carriage at Harkness Hall, located in the newer district of the Upper East Side.

Politely being escorted through the manor, you finally arrive at the ballroom and when the grand doors open, all eyes instantly land on you as you are faced with similar expressions of recognition as Agnes’. Said woman speedily and yet somehow elegantly races up the steps, rushing to your side.

Delicately tapping a fork against the side of her champagne glass, she easily silences the commotion in the crowd below. “Might I have your attention, my friends, to introduce you to my esteemed guest of the evening, the wonderfully talented Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

As soon as she finishes, a rush of wealthy men and women alike gasp and rush to the foot of the stairs. Agnes proudly links her arm around yours, as if you were childhood friends instead of mere acquaintances, and leads you down the stairs into the pit that awaits you. For a second, and only a second, a rush of anxiety ambushes you but you mask it with some well-practiced charm.

For the next while, Agnes personally introduces you to all the socialites interested in portraits of their own, showing off the fact that she is your first client.

You quickly tire of their suffocating attention and it’s only when you peer past the crowd that you notice that one lone woman hasn’t so much as flinched at your presence, instead remaining in the shadows along the walls and gracing you with only a mere glance.

As the night rages on, you curiously observe the intriguing woman from across the ballroom. With a keen eye, you take note of her every detail. Of her deep burgundy gown so dark it almost resembles blood when illuminated in the light, of her thin black birdcage veil that covers her eyes behind the intricate lace, and committing it all to memory.

She moves with a certain refined grace you’ve only seen few nobles possess and despite primarily keeping to herself, exudes an intimidating and rather domineering aura felt throughout the hall. Only a few dare to approach her, some men who don’t know any better and a few attendants who don’t have any other choice. Every so often, she catches your gaze and you almost feel the air leave your lungs.

When the crowd eventually disperses, you pull at the link between your and Agnes’ arms and inquire about your newest interest. “Agnes, might I ask, that woman over there standing alone by the fireplace, who is she?”

“Ahh, why that would be the elusive Countess Maximoff. Our Lady Wanda hails from a distant European kingdom, or so she says. Frankly, she could be anyone from anywhere in the world considering how little we all know about her,” she briefly explains.

Countess Wanda Maximoff, you recite in your mind. A fascinating yet beautiful name for an equally as alluring woman.

“She’s a well-known and respected socialite in this city. In fact, she might even be the richest of all of us, but no one knows for sure, just as no one knows exactly what she is a Countess of,” Agnes continues, unprompted. Internally, you thank her for being so nosy.

“I must apologise, unfortunately that is really all I know about her. She was already residing in New York when I arrived from Salem many months ago,” she admits. “I do know, however, that she has no husband or family of her own. The rumours are that she had a husband once and that he either died or simply disappeared. Either way, she isn’t a typical woman of our society.”

Lost in thought, you take in her words, all serving to only interest you more and more in the stunning yet seemingly solitary woman.

“Miss Y/N,” Agnes calls, breaking you out of your intense trance as you stare at the mysterious woman. “I must tell you, Lady Maximoff is actually currently staying as a guest at Harkness Hall. For a few days now actually, and for the next while when you complete my portrait.”

Oh?

Why doesn’t that make things all the more interesting…

“Y/N, it’s best that you stay away from her. Trust me, there’s something unusual about her that one must not associate themselves with,” Agnes warns you seriously, a stark contrast from the enthusiastic and bubbly person you’ve become familiar with today.

You turn to her and look in her eyes again. For the first time today, you detect a clarity in them, a genuineness that only confuses you more.

“Agnes, may I ask, why did you accept her as a guest if you dislike her so?” you question.

“No one says no to Wanda Maximoff,” Agnes replies ominously. “Every so often, she requests to stay with one of her ‘friends’ for a short while. It turns out that this time I drew the short straw. She always has some sort of excuse, she told me that her estate is undergoing works, but I’m certain she has other properties. All I know is you don’t disobey a woman like her.”

You give some thought to Agnes’ words, to her warnings and the seeping fear that comes through. And yet, the idea of such a strange woman, defiant to the strict norms of high society, who you don’t disobey, only intrigues you more and more.

You regard the woman in red and decide in the moment that no matter what, you’re going to solve the mystery of the elusive Wanda Maximoff, even if it kills you.

Dismissing Agnes’ warnings and brushing off her arm that attempts to pull you back, you waltz across the room and beeline toward Wanda. In the corner of your eye, you spot horrified looks from the other socialites around the room, but ignore them all the same and focus only on the woman in front of you watching you approach her with an amused yet impressed eye.

And you’re glad you do because up close, the Lady Maximoff is absolutely and entirely striking, breathtaking and enchanting and every other word you would use if you were a poet instead of an artist staring at her new muse.

Her milky skin is notably pale and perfectly contrasts against her chocolate brown hair, so soft you almost want to run your hands through the layered strands. Studying her bone structure, you note that it’s incredibly sharp and accentuated by the shadows, making her resemble a sculpture carved from marble come to life. Even under the lace veil, her eyes are enchanting, a clear sage green that complements her dark maroon dress.

For the first second or two, you find yourself rather speechless, the entire English language suddenly disappearing from your vocabulary as you take in her beauty.

In the same second, you notice offhandedly that she too rakes her eyes up and down your form. Feeling a shiver run down your spine under the weight of her gaze, you hope she appreciates the sight as much as you appreciate yours.

“Hello, Y/N Y/L/N, my lady,” you manage to say and extend your hand towards her.

“I know,” she replies with a smirk, seemingly entertained by your courage (or stupidity). “You’ve been quite popular tonight, among the ladies especially. The woman of the evening I hear.”

A part of you is secretly delighted. That means she’s noticed you just as much as you’ve noticed her. The other part is dazedly captivated by the deep lilt in her accent, hinting at whichever secretive European land she originates from, a part of the mystery you seek to soon unravel.

“And whose company do I have the pleasure of being graced with, might I ask?” you tease.

In response, she simply smirks at your charming attempts and finally accepts your hand. “Countess Wanda Maximoff,” she formally introduces, “but I’m sure you already knew that too.”

Delicately, you clasp her gloved hand in yours and place an innocent kiss below the back of her silk-covered knuckles. Proudly, you earn another smile from her at the endearing impropriety of a young girl pressing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand.

“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?” she remarks with a cock of her head.

“Artists love beautiful things,” you smirk. “It just so happens I’ve found the most beautiful of all.”

She scrunches her nose as she cringes at your flirtatious attempt. You don’t regret your words though when you mean it so sincerely.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Y/L/N?” she asks, skipping the pretenses. “I’m sure you’ve already heard all the things they say about me.”

“I don’t care about them and what they have to say. I’d rather hear it all from you instead,” you profess.

Peering down at her wine glass, she smiles again at your attempts to charm her. This one seems a little more genuine though, a sign that your persistence (and perhaps, foolishness) is slowly piercing through her walls.

She looks back up at you and seemingly ponders your unsaid request as she pensively sips her wine. At last, she says, “Alright then, what would you like to know?”

You grin cheekily at having so easily won her favour. “Well for starters, pray tell me, which land do you come from?”

“Europe,” she answers simply.

You both know that you already knew that, both because Agnes already told you as well as the evident hints of Slavic you identify in her accent.

“Where might one find your county of ownership though, my Countess?” you attempt to press.

“I’m sure you’d like to know,” she teases with another smirk, just as mysterious and secretive as Agnes described.

You’ve spent your entire life travelling through Europe’s High Societies, from the Parisian aristocracy to Florence’s art scene, and yet you’ve never heard of or seen her before this night. And you’d certainly remember if you did, she’s not a face one forgets.

“So, we’re playing this game, are we?”

“You started it, Miss Y/L/N,” she matches your teasing tone.

You’ve noticed that she only calls you by your name formally, keeping a distance between the two of you despite having let you in more than anyone else tonight.

You’re even more aware of all the eyes on you, watching like hawks as your interaction plays out. How odd of a pair you must be, a sight to behold you’re sure. You’re keenly aware of how you’re likely equally as intriguing and alien as she is. How your existence defies the rigid social norms; a girl of your standing able to dance through high society while working to accumulate your own wealth and remaining single at a less than conventional age. You wonder if perchance, in this way, you interest her as much as she interests you.

Clearing your throat, you decide to accept that this is as much as you’ll learn about her tonight. “Agnes tells me you’re staying as a guest at Harkness Hall,” you segue instead.

Tilting her head once again, she lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. “That would be correct.”

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, I have been commissioned to paint a portrait for Ms Harkness.” Gently, you once again place a kiss on the back of her resting hand. “I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other then,” you quietly bid farewell before walking away, not turning back although you know she’s following you with a curious eye.

Later throughout the night, the other cautious elites approach you one by one, all warning you to stay away from Wanda. There’s a certain look in their eyes that you can’t quite decipher yet, resembling that of Agnes’ expression if you really think about it. Something akin to fear or intimidation or something in between and like they’re trying to tell you something they can’t say with words. Their warnings only serve to further interest you in the Countess and the mystery that surrounds her though.

Returning your gaze to the woman before you depart for the evening, you find her already staring fervently at you with a smile you can only describe as devilish. Her pearly white teeth seem to sparkle under the chandelier’s light and you swear that from this side of the ballroom, you spot a glimmer of red in her eyes under the veil.

But, when you remember her beautiful green eyes, you suppose it’s simply a trick of the light.

—

The day after the next, you return to Harkness Hall for your first session with Agnes.

The moment you step foot through the doors, you instantly search for Wanda but are dismayed to fail in your pursuit, not even hearing word of her throughout the entire day. From morning to night, while you’re painting in Agnes’ drawing room or enjoying lunch with her in the garden, you never see Wanda even once.

You suppose it’s a large estate so it’s not hard to believe that your paths wouldn’t cross, but the thought does nothing to dispel the persistent pout on your face.

You honestly try your very hardest to focus on the woman posing in front of you, but the task is near impossible. You almost want to ask Agnes about Wanda, where she is and what she’s doing, but you suppose that would be highly improper. Not that you would typically care, you’d just rather not let it be known how taken you’ve become with her.

It’s only later that evening when you walk through the estate to take your leave, around the eleventh hour after the sun has already set and the hustle and bustle of Harkness Hall has come to a standstill, that your eyes once again find the Countess’ solitary form.

Bathed in the moonlight, the Lady sits by herself in the courtyard facing away from you. You’re once again struck by her beauty. In this pure light and under the night sky, her ivory skin almost glows. You briefly ponder the idea that she could be an angel descended from the heavens above.

Seemingly sensing your presence, despite how stealthily you’d hidden yourself behind the doorway, she spins around faster than you can blink and catches you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she remarks with a drawl and that sinisterness that makes you think that more accurately, she must be a fallen angel sent to this world by the devil himself.

Matching your intense gaze, she simply says, “Come,” beckoning you to her side.

And you obey without a single objection, padding across the courtyard and placing yourself in the seat beside her obediently.

“I heard you were here painting Agnes today,” she brings up cordially.

Your eyes drop down and you notice her drinking something in her glass that oddly looks a little too dark and thick to be wine, that leaves a deep cherry stain on her lips that would otherwise be an unusual lipstick shade. You equally notice that despite her attempts at pleasant small talk, she doesn’t make any attempts to offer you a glass of whatever it is she’s drinking.

“I was,” you affirm. “I was….” hoping to see you, you trail off and keep to yourself, not wanting to seem desperate in her eyes despite how desperate for her attention you truly are.

She smiles to herself, seemingly hearing your confession all the same. She has a way of reading you without you saying a word.

“And how are you finding it so far?”

“It’s going as well as it can. Agnes is a wonderful subject,” you share, hiding the fact that the only woman you wanted to paint today was her.

A beat of silence passes, only the soft breeze of winter heard in the space you share.

“Have you ever sat for a portrait before?” you ask.

Shaking her head thoughtfully, she answers “No, never.”

“Why, might I ask? Your beauty is one I’m sure hundreds would flock to capture on canvas and stone.”

Inwardly, she smirks at your unrelenting boldness. “Yes… be that as it may, it’s not one I’m happy to share with the world for all to see,” she answers just as cryptically as everything else she’s told you thus far.

You suspect there’s a deeper and very real reason to it, but don’t question further. You’re happy to take as much as she gives you, as little as it is.

“Would you let me paint you one day?” you ask honestly.

Wistfully, she turns to glance up at the scattered stars in the clear sky, musing on your offer. “Perhaps,” she finally turns to look at you again, “if you’re a good girl.”

A fierce blush rushes to your cheeks as she gets up and caresses your chin with her gloved hand before leaning down and placing a fleeting kiss on the very cheek reddened by her teasing. As she saunters away from you, you watch her go and dazedly wonder if whatever she was drinking left its own stain on your skin.

Only when she walks past a statement mirror in the hallway are you pulled out of your trance. You can’t see her reflection, you remark.

Confused, you give it little thought before reasoning that it must be your tired eyes playing a trick on you.

—

Over the coming days, you return to Harkness Hall for your work with Agnes and continue seeking Wanda’s company.

Every time though, you only ever locate her after the sun’s gone down or alone in some secluded space like the library or tea room with the windows shut.

This time, you lose the fight and ask Agnes about her peculiar behaviour. She tells you that the Countess typically goes out at night and only returns in the early hours of the morning. Otherwise, during the day she either slumbers until the early afternoon or rests indoors.

Agnes doesn’t quite understand it either, but she’s neither questioning it nor complaining when it makes it a little easier for her to avoid the Lady. You thank her for her explanation (gossip), but it only piques your curiosity more and more, as does everything else you learn about Wanda.

Every time you do cross her path though, she always invites you to sit with her. Most of the time, she nurses a glass of the too-dark-and-too-thick wine. You never ask for a glass of your own or a taste and she never offers.

And every time, you find yourself entranced by her beauty for at least a minute or two or typically, much more. At times, you think she must be from another world, one so delicate and divine that man cannot and must not touch it lest it be corrupted. Other times you think her beauty is simply not human and must be a form of corruption of its own. But maybe that’s just the dramatic artist in you.

You’re saddened to say that after all this time though, you still don’t know much more about her, the mystery still largely unsolved. You know that she’s rich, she’s alone, and she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on, which is essentially everything you already knew from the first night you met her.

She does occasionally share some stories with you though, of her life when she was younger in the foreign Slavic land you still haven’t identified. She tells you of growing up in a castle at the top of a mountain, of being bathed in the riches of love. “I’ve lost all the family I’ve ever known,” she confesses the next evening after you share stories of your own rough upbringing.

As always, she remains cryptically vague with every word she offers you, never giving you details and always leaving you wanting more.

Sometimes, she even reveals glimpses of her other facets like her interests and apparent appreciation for the theatre. “There’s a new musical on Broadway that I believe you’d enjoy,” she remarks offhandedly. Despite your attempts to suppress it, you feel a fluttering sensation within you at the prospect of seeing the Countess outside the walls of Harkness Hall, of even courting her if she allowed.

You’d like to think that you’re the only one honoured to hear these words from her, that you’re someone special to her as she is to you.

Other times when you come upon wherever she’s hiding and she doesn’t instantly detect you, you watch her quietly from the shadows, hiding away and observing her peaceful form. You fetch your pocket pad from the bag on your waist and roughly sketch her reading, birdwatching, embroidering or simply gazing at the night sky.

Then, you return home and paint her as accurately from memory as you can, attempting to capture her beauty with oil paints and canvas.

One day, you hope you’ll have a chance to show her how she’s become your muse and how you see her unlike anyone else.

—

Almost a week has passed since you started painting Agnes and you only know because you’ve been committing every encounter with the Lady Maximoff to memory.

Over the days, you’ve become comfortable and developed a routine of sorts for yourself. Around mid-morning, you arrive at Agnes’ manor and recommence work right away. Once noon comes, you have lunch with her in her expansive garden and enjoy tea with Wanda in the mid-afternoon if you can locate her, otherwise you greet her on your departure in the evening.

For the short while, you develop a new normal, which makes it all the weirder when a sense of unease overcomes the city and its inhabitants. From your own maids and coachmen to Agnes and the other elites you come across, everyone all of a sudden seems on edge. Almost like a blanket of doom and gloom has been laid over the city.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s only Wanda who seems normal and unperturbed when you find her in her usual lounge chair in the courtyard under the moonlit sky. Once again, you obediently take the seat beside her.

Tonight, you can’t help but notice that she’s not nursing her favoured drink and if it were possible, she appears more pale than ever. You want to ask if she is well, but instead of overstepping, you decide to ask why everyone seems so off.

Pensively, she oddly smiles at your question and peer up at the sky. You follow her line of sight and see that the moon tonight is full and bright.

“Be careful, Miss Y/L/N,” is all she says as you turn to her again. There’s an unsettling look in her eye, like she knows something you don’t.

“You never know what’s hiding in the shadows, what creatures of the night lurk in the dark,” she warns ominously before turning to you and flashing a blinding smile. “One wouldn’t want something to happen to a pretty young thing like you.”

You gulp at her forbidding words and sudden predatory appearance, left only more confused and unnerved than ever. Flustered, you avert your gaze and miss the flash of crimson in her eyes.

—

The following evening, you’re half asleep in your carriage home when you abruptly realise you forgot a broken easel that you wanted to have fixed at Harkness Hall. Having requested your coachman retrieve it for you, you now patiently wait in your carriage in front of the estate.

Leaning your cheek on the window with a pout, you’re a little saddened since you didn’t see Wanda at all today, the first time it’s happened all week.

When you asked one of Agnes’ maids where the Lady was, she said she hadn’t seen Wanda all day either which meant she must’ve still been asleep since she didn’t hear her return until just before dawn. But then even on your way out a few moments ago, you still couldn’t find her in any of her usual hiding spots to your dismay. 

Staring out solemnly at the Upper East Side streets, you notice that it’s a lot quieter than usual. This district is typically much busier, even at this late hour with the wealthy enjoying their night on the town. 

However, it seems everyone is as on edge as they were the previous day. Most people have opted to stay inside with the windows shut, leaving the streets mostly empty barring a few passersby and dimly lit lamp posts. Even your coachman seemed a little less willing than usual to fulfil your request, as if he just wanted to rush the both of you home to safety. From what, you’re not too sure.

Sleepily, you lift your gaze and stare at the moon, slightly fuller and even brighter than it was the night before, having just reached the peak of its cycle. 

You admire its alluring beauty for a brief second until something in the alley across the road from your carriage catches your eye; a lone man and woman hidden in the shadows. You think they must be one of the only people who don’t fear what everyone else does to be lingering in the darkness like this. 

Intrigued, you study the pair when something strikes you. The woman throws her head back laughing and you catch a glimpse of her canines, so pearly and sharp you’re almost sure they look like fangs.

It’s only when you narrow your eyes and the woman leans forward out of the shadows into the light that you realise with a start, it’s Wanda.

—

When the sun rises and morning comes, you wake up safe in your bed but just as shaken.

With the calming of your heart, you reason that the events of the night before must have been a dream or even a hallucination of your tired mind. But you’ve been making the same excuse a lot lately and the image is etched so realistically in your memory it must be real.

In a daze, you ready yourself for the day and go to the dining room for the breakfast awaiting you. Perhaps some food in your stomach will wake you up from whatever this is, you think.

You’re distractedly munching on some berries when your handmaiden enters the room with a boiled kettle for your morning tea. It seems that the water isn’t the only thing bubbling this morning though.

“Miss! Have you heard the news?” she asks worriedly.

“I can’t say I have,” you answer, shaking your head. “What appears to have happened?”

“My, there’s been a murder! In an alley near Harkness Hall!”

Your blood instantly runs cold and you freeze like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on you.

“W-what?”

“A young man in his early 20s, foolish enough to stay out late on a full moon. They say his body was otherwise unmarked except for two puncture wounds in his neck. The sheriffs think it’s the Moonlit Killer again!” she frantically explains, every word striking your shaky bones.

“The Moonlit Killer?” you whisper to yourself in thought. “Who is that?”

“The city, no the state’s, very own serial killer, miss! No one knows who it is and they haven’t been caught yet, but for over a year now there have been murders across New York every full moon,” she tells you, the kettle completely forgotten as well as your breakfast which you know for certain you can no longer stomach with the tightening of your throat.

“The victims always match each other too, always young men taken in dark alleys and left with only two punctures in their necks.”

Like fangs…, you piece together.

It all makes sense now, why everyone was so on edge with the arrival of the full moon.

Quietly, you think back to what you witnessed last night. You’re sure it was Wanda. You would recognise her anywhere, in a crowded ballroom or even a… dark alleyway.

An image forms in your mind and you quickly race to your studio, ignoring the concerned calls of your handmaiden. You pull out a fresh canvas and your brushes and you paint and paint and paint.

You paint Wanda’s unusually pale ivory skin. You paint her red irises that you’ve seen on occasion. And lastly, you paint the sharp fangs you saw last night that lie where any other person’s canines would.

Once you’ve finished, you step back to take in your rough portrait and drop your brush in shock.

It can’t be…

You’ve only heard tales of them during your travels when instances similar to last night’s rocked the cities you visited. You’ve only seen frightening drawings of them in books that told farfetched legends of the undead.

Creatures of the night, skin as pale as the moon, pearly white fangs as sharp as blades, and most of all, eyes the colour of scarlet.

Everything suddenly makes sense now, pieces fall into place as the mystery is finally solved.

The glasses she’s always drinking of some liquid that looks too dark and thick to be wine must have been blood all this time and her main source of sustenance since you’ve never seen her eat a single crumb.

The way she oddly sleeps during the day and always shies away from sunlight, because if she didn’t she would quite literally be burned.

How you’re sure you’ve never seen her reflection in mirrors or water or windows because she doesn’t in fact have a soul to reflect.

Why no matter how much you asked around or researched about the elusive Countess, you could never obtain any information dating back earlier than over a year ago, precisely when the Moonlit Killer started taking their victims.

And how you’re certain that if you matched the homes of the other aristocrats she stayed with to the locations of the killings, it would all line up perfectly.

Countess Maximoff is… a vampire.

With the realisation, you’re filled with frightening clarity, both proudly smug at having unearthed her secret and slightly fearful at the true nature of the woman you’ve become enamoured of. Foolishly, you thought it was your eyes playing tricks or simple coincidences, but it’s too much to be.

For a second, you even think you must be going crazy to be entertaining this thought. Wanda… the beautiful, alluring, and bewitching woman… is a vampire. A monster? How could someone so enchanting be so horrific, though? So cruel…

But then you remember the old wives’ tales about sirens and succubi and creatures of sin that seduce and corrupt with their otherworldly beauty and frankly, now you’re only more sure of your discovery.

And that’s when it hits you… there’s only one way to test your theory.

—

That evening, you put your plan into motion. You haven’t much time. You figure in a few days she’ll announce her departure from Harkness Hall and return to her estate until she has to hunt for the next full moon, so why wait to confirm something you’re already so sure of.

In the dead of night, you pad through her designated wing and sneak into her bedchambers, awaiting her eventual return in the early morning. Earlier, you sent your carriage home with a feigned excuse and listened carefully to confirm that Agnes had retired for the evening.

Making yourself comfortable on Wanda’s loveseat, you patiently survey the door and await her arrival, alone in the dark room lit only by a few ruby candles and the bright moonlight.

In the Winter night, you feel the cool breeze on your exposed skin and shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you. Beneath it, you wear nothing but a lace blood red nightgown that leaves your neck bare in hopes of enticing her.

As expected, she’s absent for most of the evening, you assume too preoccupied with hunting her prey. Tonight, the moon is at the absolute peak of its cycle. Her lust for blood must be uncontrollable, but the thought only excites you more.

You almost fall asleep against your hand propped up on the armrest when finally, sometime between the second and third hour, you hear a shuffle outside the door that instantly wakes you.

Creaking, the door opens to reveal the Countess you’ve been waiting for, clad in a black hooded cloak and dark burgundy dress. Dark enough to conceal any bloodstains, you realise.

You suspect the city will awake to news of another victim at the hand of the Moonlit Killer, but that’s for whatever awaits you after the sun rises. Right now, you have your mystery standing in front of you, surprised to say the least to see you in her bedchambers and especially at this hour.

In the dimly lit room, you can barely see her if it weren’t for her skin that seemingly glows under the moonlight and the fleeting glint of red in her eyes that show themselves when she lifts off her hood and removes her cloak.

She’s as beautiful to you now as she was before you knew what kind of creature she really is. The thought leaves you as breathless as the sight of her. You think you would have fallen for her no matter who, or rather what, she is.

Fully facing your standing figure now, she smirks, knowing that there is something different about you tonight and this encounter. A sense of pride fills you at her sinister expression.

“Miss Y/L/N, what a surprise to find you here. Have you gotten lost in the middle of the night, sweet thing? Sleepwalked from the other side of the city, perchance?” she asks playfully. There’s a hint of something new in her tone, something a little demeaning. You can’t say you hate it. No… not at all.

“No, my lady. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

She simply lifts an eyebrow in response, signalling you to continue while she hangs up her cloak and only offers you part of her attention. You almost want to beg to have all of it.

“I’ve been watching you,” you admit.

“I know you have. And what have you so skillfully unearthed, Miss Y/L/N?”

With a nervous gulp, you confess, “I know your secret, what you hide from the others.” Her ears seem to perk up with interest at your admission, but she’s still unsettlingly calm about the revelation.

“I know why you sleep during the day and what you do during the night. I know why you avoid sunlight at all costs and why no one seems to know anything about you. I know what you are.”

At last, she turns to you and gives you her full and complete attention. As much as you previously desired it, you quickly find yourself wilting under the weight of her stare.

Crossing the room in three strides, she stands face-to-face before you. “Oh? And pray tell, what exactly am I?” she teases and finally unveils the true scarlet hue of her eyes with a tilt of her head, equally as stunning as the green if not more bewitching.

It leaves you in a state of vulnerable immobility like prey trapped in the clutch of its predator and you pull at the sleeves of your coat in an attempt to regain your courage. Distantly, you wonder if perhaps there’s more to her species that the myths don’t yet know about, that perhaps she wields sinister abilities to influence the mind which would explain the eerie nature of Agnes’ facade.

“You’re… you’re a…”

Intimidatingly, she stalks to you in a few weightless steps almost like a bat. Delicately pulling her satin gloves off and haphazardly tossing them to the wooden floor, she reveals her long sharp nails, claws really.

Getting closer in your space now, she takes your chin between her thumb and index finger and tilts your head up to face her, the chilled skin of a soulless body sends shivers through your bones.

Menacingly, she grins, no leers, at you and detracts her fangs, glistening in the moonlight and bared for you to see. Up close, it strikes you with an immediate fear, but also something equally as exciting that leaves a tightening sensation deep in your belly.

“Say it,” she whispers, her cool breath against your lips and sending a chill down your spine.

With a gulp, you finally bring yourself to say out loud, “You’re a vampire.”

If it were somehow possible, her grin grows even wider and more sinister and you briefly think that she might just eat you alive.

“Good girl, I knew you were a smart one the second I laid my eyes on you.” The term of praise, as proud as you are to have received it, only intensifies that feeling in your belly and for the first time this evening, you question if you’re actually capable of surviving a night with the vampire Countess.

Patting your cheek with her other hand and cocking her head amusedly, Wanda continues. “Although, you were foolish enough to have come here alone and approached me like this.”

Maybe she’s right…

“No one would know if I killed you right here and now. No one would even hear you scream before I sank my teeth in your neck.”

Or maybe, that’s exactly what you want from her.

In a heartbeat, you instantly regain all your confidence. You know her secret and you came here for a reason. It’s time to claim what you’re owed, what you came to this city searching for.

Hastily, you untie your coat and drop it to the floor, revealing your barely clothed body to her stunned eyes. A rush of excitement goes through your veins at the sight of her dilated pupils, a telling sign that she just might desire you as much as you desire her.

Placing your own hands atop the ones she still rests on your face, you confess, “I want to be yours.” She lifts her eyebrow in curiosity at your proposition. “You don’t need to feed on other people, or hunt when you’re desperate anymore… You can just feed on me.”

For the first time ever, you hear her laugh, throwing her head back with her imposing fangs on full display. A deep and maniacal sound that’s degrading and humiliating as you stand there before her exposed and yet, you decide you’d do anything to hear it again.

It takes a second or two for her to regain her composure and you think you spot tears in her eyes, only further reddening your blushing cheeks.

“You know,” she says in between huffed laughter. “I typically only drink animal blood, as I’m sure you’ve seen on occasion. It’s a lot more… convenient and certainly a lot less messy. But the real reason,” she confesses, whispering almost secretively as her ruby coloured irises stare into your blown out pupils, “is that blood from a human source is dangerously addictive. That’s why I only feed on humans on days like this when the moon’s pull is too strong. Because everyone I drink from ends up dead and somehow, I just know that if I drank yours… well I’d be addicted for eternity.”

But what if that’s exactly what you want?

Blindly reaching towards a nearby table, you grab what feels like a glass and smash it against the surface, successfully slicing your left palm and sending drops of blood rolling down your skin.

In the same heartbeat, Wanda instantly freezes, her enhanced sense of smell immediately picking up the intoxicating scent of your blood. Tightly closing her eyes and letting go of her hold on you, she takes two steps back from you, seemingly struggling to restrain herself.

Fearlessly, you take two steps towards her, crowding her space just as she crowded yours.

“Let go,” you tempt, lifting your bleeding hand in an attempt to flood her senses and lure her further into your trap. “Let me be yours,” you whisper teasingly into her ear.

In a second, her eyes burst open, now blazing scarlet and burning into you. Roughly, she wraps her hand around your throat and pushes you against the nearest wall, uncaring of how you wince at the strength with which she slams you.

Just as harshly, she finally kisses you, her icy lips meeting yours and moving against each other as one as she almost devours you in her eagerness. And just as eagerly, you let her, drowning in the rush of losing yourself in something so wrong that feels so right.

The cautiousness with which she treated you before has completely disappeared as she dangerously tightens her grip around your throat, claiming your lips over and over again.

In her lust-clouded haste, her sharp fangs faintly slice your bottom lip and you quickly start bleeding with a wince that’s promptly muffled by her soft lips. Her greedy tongue licks it all up and you’re blessed with her deep moans at the rich and teasing taste.

To your dismay, she pulls away and releases her grip on your throat. But when you look in her bloodshot eyes, pupils blown and glittering in the moonlight, you’re thrilled to see a complete lack of resistance, a surrender to the offer you’ve presented.

And yet, there’s a hidden question in them, if you’re really willing to cross this line with her. In the back of your mind, you wonder that perhaps you're the first person who’s ever shared this secret of hers, who's ever willingly given themselves to her.

You hope to be the only.

Without saying a word, you simply crane your awaiting neck towards her, offering the expanse of it to her on a golden platter.

“I’m yours,” you whisper into the night for only her to hear.

In the blink of an eye, she becomes a predator before you. Still trapped between her body and the wall, you watch in equal amounts of fear and lust as she bares her fangs and sinks them into your naked neck.

You scream in pain and tightly scrunch a hand in her hair until, almost like you're hearing yourself outside of your body, you realise that your screams have become moans, the pain in your neck abruptly replaced by pleasure racing through your bloodstream.

“Mine,” you hear her snarl in between your moans and you only barely manage to yell, “Yours”, back.

Wanda is equally disarmed as she buries her face in your neck. She drinks and drinks and drinks, and as predicted, loses herself in you. It’s a criminal understatement to say that your blood is the best she’s ever tasted in her centuries-long life and endless list of victims. It’s rich and thick and if you hadn’t already offered to become her pet for eternity, she would have stolen you away anyway.

She revels even more in the sounds of your very evident pleasure, which when mixed with her instant addiction to your taste leaves a tight sensation in her core.

As she continues feasting on you, she slots a knee between your open legs and tightly grips your waist in her hands, harshly thrusting you down on her leg and surely leaving bruises in her wake. Eagerly, you grind against her firm thigh, head lolling back and hitting the wall with a resounding thud.

Somehow, your unabashed moans get even louder as you feel your blood starting to drip across your chest. Distantly, you consider that maybe you should quieten yourself lest someone hear of your tryst, but that thought swiftly disappears when Wanda presses her knee against your core while pushing you down to grind against it and deepening her fangs in your neck.

She’s everywhere. Pressed against you, piercing you with her teeth, becoming one with you. Suddenly, the overwhelming sensations become too much and you come undone in her arms, climaxing unexpectedly from the equally consuming mix of pleasure and pain.

In a lust- and blood-drunk daze, Wanda takes little notice of your state and attempts to keep drinking every ounce of the red liquid left in your body. She feels you start to loosen your hold on her hair and slacken against her thigh though, so she reluctantly stops lest she loses her pet as quickly as she got her.

Regrettably, she pulls away from you but you’re glad she keeps her knee between your legs because you immediately slump against her from an exhaustive combination of the severe blood loss and intense climax.

Surprisingly tenderly, she captures you in her arms and holds you up against her and the wall. You take a second to regain your breath as your heart races to pump more blood through your veins.

“That was…” you trail off, dazed and half struggling to hold on to consciousness.

“Delicious,” she finishes for you.

You eventually manage to open your eyes and watch her sadly remove a hand from your waist to wipe your blood from her mouth with the pad of her thumb, serving to only spread it across her face even more.

The sight is more arousing than it should be and as you stare at her, you discover that with her porcelain moonlit skin, scarlet coloured eyes, snow white fangs, and mouth covered in your dark blood, she’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

In the haze of the afterglow, your gaze lowers to her bloody lips and you briefly wonder how you taste. Somehow reading your thoughts as she always does, she places a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips and you’re equally surprised by the taste of your blood on her lips. It’s different from what you expected, not as jarringly metallic as when you bite the inside of your cheek but rather smooth and rich like a well-aged wine.

As you deepen the kiss searching for more, she returns the eagerness by tracing the surface of your lips with her tongue, easily parting them and entering your mouth. Distracting you with the feel of your tongues swirling against each other, she sneakily reaches behind your back and unties the fragile bow tying your nightgown together.

Pulling away, she lets the sheer fabric fall in a heap to the floor and leaves you chasing her lips like a lovesick fool. You feel even more foolish when you look up and find her staring intensely at your entirely exposed body while she remains fully clothed, almost moving to wrap your arms around your bare chest in an attempt to hide yourself from her scrutiny.

Just as quickly though, she captures your wrists and traps them beside you against the wall. “Don’t hide from me. You’re mine now, pet,” she whispers in her criminally deep voice.

Not to mention her apparent assignment of a new title for you, a stark contrast from the formal way with which she has been regarding you until now. A fierce blush rises to your cheeks at her choice and when combined with the sound of her voice, you think you could come from the short sentence alone.

Softly and slowly with all the time in the world, or at least the few hours left before the sun awakes, she places delicate kisses across your shaking body. Her icy cold touch cools every inch of your burning skin that it contacts, along the curve of your jawline up to the space below your ear, down your neck and especially taking care to lick your puncture wounds clean before travelling across your chest and licking up any blood that previously escaped her.

Taking your left nipple in her awaiting mouth, she latches on and sucks greedily before switching to the right. You squirm and try to free your hands wanting to touch her, but her bruising grip around your wrists unrelenting keeps you trapped. If she notices you continue to painfully twist yourself in her grasp anyway in an attempt to amass more marks as proof of her ownership of you, she doesn’t utter a single word.

A second later, she withdraws from your body and sighs against your wet skin, which when coupled with her chilled touch and the cool winter night leaves you shuddering with goosebumps.

Stepping back from you entirely now, she reaches behind herself and undoes her own dress. When it falls to the floor, so does your jaw as you shamelessly stare at the pale expanse of her skin, almost completely unblemished and illuminated by the moonlight.

You carefully place your hands on the curves of her waist, hidden beneath her burgundy corset. For a brief moment, she lets you admire her body like an artist admires their muse before she gets impatient and turns around in your arms.

Pulling her hair to her front, she demands, “Won’t you lend me a hand, pet?”

Wordlessly and obediently, you unlace her corset while leaving delicate kisses behind her ear and along her neck. She buries her hand in your hair and you almost let out a moan from the way she tugs at it. Under your breath, you curse the corset for being so intricate as your shaking hands struggle against the detailed binds.

Luckily for you though, it finally becomes undone and drops to the floor with the rest of your clothes. With your hands returning to her waist again, now soft and bare, you turn her around to face you and almost collapse.

You’re not sure how it’s possible, but she continues to take your breath away. She’s more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in your lifelong travels. More than any of the marble Grecian sculptures or oil paintings of Aphrodite.

Just as she did, you take your time peppering kisses over her ivory and cool skin. You gently kiss every inch from right under her jawline to the dips of her collarbones and down along her chest to the mole of her left breast, from the curve of her shoulder down to the edge of her fingers and even lightly sucking your blood off her thumb.

Delicately, you devote yourself to kissing her perfect skin marked only by a few moles littered across her body, mapping them like constellations, and licking away any of your blood that stains the porcelain surface of her chin and neck.

Here and there, when you get to a particularly sensitive spot like the space under her jawline, she writhes in your arms and lets out a breathless gasp. You continue sucking on the same spot lightly, proudly drawing pleasure out of her as she did with you, but only lightly and not harsh enough to mark her flawless skin.

Internally, you think you could spend an eternity worshipping her body if she let you. You wouldn’t mind all the pain if you had the pleasure of being hers.

As you take your time exploring her body, her thin patience finally runs out and she roughly wraps your hair around her hand, pushing you down to exactly where she needs you.

“On your knees, pet,” she demands breathlessly and you instantly obey, falling to your knees with a thud and ignoring the bruising pain, proudly collecting more evidence of your tryst.

Diligently, you continue trailing your kisses down between the centre of her chest and her taut stomach until you reach her core, which you brazenly pass in favour of nibbling her inner thigh.

Roughly yanking your hair though, Wanda makes her annoyance known. “Oh, don’t be like that now, sweetheart. I thought it was clear who’s in charge here,” she bends down and sneers in your face.

“‘Mm sorry…” you frantically nod and apologise while keeping the enticing idea of disobeying and testing her patience in the back of your mind for another time. Right now, though, you desperately want to taste her.

Lifting her leg over your shoulder, she increases your accessibility or rather traps you and pushes your head back towards her centre.

“Be a good pet now won’t you, darling?”

You don’t need to be told twice, swiftly diving in between her thighs. You’re pleasantly delighted to feel how wet for you she already is, probably since the moment she sank her teeth in your neck.

Burying yourself against her core, you greedily part her folds with your tongue and lap up all her juices. Immediately drunk on her taste, you moan against her and the resounding vibrations apparently stimulate her even more as she whimpers above you and tightens her grip on your hair.

As you eagerly stroke your tongue against her pussy and brush your nose against her clit, you decide that between her legs must be the best place on Earth. And if anything, you so quickly become addicted to her sweet essence just as she was with your rich blood.

Almost crazed, you both want her everywhere and to be all over her, meticulously switching between placing kitty licks between her folds and latching onto her bulb.

Losing herself in you, Wanda somehow pushes the back of your head even deeper against her and bucks against your face. “Good girl… just like that,” she murmurs.

If your mouth wasn’t so preoccupied, you would’ve begged her to pull your hair harder.

Glancing up as you devour her, you realise that she truly is a fallen angel sent from the depths of hell to corrupt you. As you stare at her lust hazed eyes and domineering form stalked over you, you find yourself getting pleasure just from her pleasure alone.

You think that whether she suffocated you between her thighs or sucked out all your blood with her fangs in your neck, you’d be honoured to die by her hand.

With her moans getting louder and her body writhing above you, you catch on to her rapidly increasing need for more and raise your right hand to rub her clit with the pads of two fingers.

Catching her off guard, you swiftly thrust the same two fingers between her folds and earn a blissed out scream. You fit perfectly inside her as she clenches around you, sending a tightening sensation to your own core.

Latching onto her clit with your mouth again while your fingers slide in and out of her, you proudly smile against her at the tightening grip on your hair.

“Faster,” she manages to demand and you once again obey, pistoning your fingers in and out of her even faster and setting a ruthless rhythm. Soon after, your fingertips locate her g-spot so you curl the ends of your two fingers, hitting the spot with every thrust.

As you watch her, you notice that her hands are preoccupied with gripping the back of your head in pleasure and her bedpost in an attempt to stay standing.

With so much of her immaculate body shamefully left unattended, you reach your sliced hand back up her still cool body and cup her breast. As you massage the supple mound, the pain of the fresh cut stings your skin but you hear yourself whimper in time with her own moans.

You’re everywhere and the stimulation of your touch starts to make Wanda go crazy. Releasing her hold on your hair, she glides it down your back and scratches the skin below your shoulders with her claws in an attempt to pull you even closer.

Shuddering against her, you wince at the pain but proudly add the scratches to your long list of scars from tonight.

With her hand on your back, she feels you pathetically grind down against nothing and decides to take pity on you, placing her foot below your core. Finally getting some much needed friction, you rub yourself against her in a frenzy and practically ride her foot.

In a daze, she peers down at you and is entranced by the sight of you on your knees for her, looking up obediently at her with doe-like eyes, your face covered in her juices and skin covered in bite marks and hickeys she placed haphazardly, all while servicing her every demand and devoting yourself to her every need.

Unable to hold herself back anymore, she climaxes. Feeling her clench around your fingers and hearing her scream, you quickly follow and come against her foot. Bewitched, you see her arch her back in satisfaction and let her ride out her high against your face.

Once she calms down, you greedily lick up all her cum and clean up her centre just as you did with your blood on her skin. When your mission is complete and she pushes you away, overstimulated by your persistent touch, you stare into her eyes as you slide the same two fingers that were just inside her mere second ago into your own mouth, sucking them clean and taking care to not leave even a single drop.

If it were possible, her already blown out pupils dilate even more as she watches the show you put on for her. Pulling you up with a strength that’s probably owed to her inhumane cells, she tugs you into a kiss once again, tasting her essence on your tongue just as you did with your blood on hers.

Fitting your waist in her hands again, she hastily throws you on her bed before straddling your hips and pressing you against the mattress. She wastes no time and leans down to reclaim your lips, carelessly letting her fangs nick your lips again.

In the corner of your sleepy eyes, you see the glowing moonlight illuminate the stars in the night sky outside, the sun still a lifetime away. For this next little while, all that matters is the cool feel of her touch against your scorched skin and the pleasure of the pain she brings.

For under the full moon, you are completely and irrevocably hers; a vampire’s pet for better or worse.

[marsarchy]

I am practicing. Can't let gang know I don't know what I'm doing

[whimstories]

I colored it! 🥹🥳 I'm learning color! 😭🥳

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

[aquilaofarkham]

There Are No Innocents: An Analysis on Villainy in Castlevania

This essay aims to analyze each of Castlevania’s primary villains, what exactly they represent in their roles as antagonistic forces, and explore the thesis that their capacity to embrace evil and also reject it is what makes the characters inherently human despite their inhuman origins. Each section will also compare and contrast both depictions from the animated universe as well as their video game counterparts.

☽ Read the full piece here or click here for the text only version ☽

[acrosstobear]

i don’t care if these bitches don’t like me

LANDO NORRIS — Nov 13, 1999 —

[Insp.]

[gundawifey-inactive]

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖! 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕥 ℙ𝕪𝕣𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕

Pyramid Head x Gn! Reader !18+! !MDNI! Syn. Yandere Pyramid Head Headcanons. Tags. !dark content! yandere, non-con, dub-con, violence, kidnapping/captivity, size-difference, monsterfucking, rough sex, blood-mentions, death/murder, (sfw & smut) Inspired by these templates. click & clack

✧ Affection How do they show affection, how intense would it get?

Physical affection, extremely physical. Since he doesn't communicate verbally and also is a monster rather than a man there isn't any intellectual thought that goes behind his way of displaying affection. He just grabs you, holding you against him when he's docile. And when he's horny moves you into whatever position he wants and just goes at it. Either way, man handles you with no thought, he just has an extreme and intense need to have you felt against him.

✧ Blood How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Oh he's so messy... Pyramid Head exists as one of the many demons of Silent Hill whose sole reason exists to punish, to cause tarnish and thus Pyramid Head gets very bloody. On his own his existence is to torture and cause bloodshed, it's wired into him. But when it comes to you? Think everything Pyramid Head has and can do, but tenfold. He'll have every inch of Silent Hill covered in the guts and blood of whichever unfortunate soul tried to come between you and him.

✧ Cruelty How cruel would they treat their darling once abducted?

He's unknowingly cruel. See, Pyramid Head knows nothing but cruelty, he causes dismay and bloodshed to anyone who enters Silent Hill that finds themselves near him. Which reflects on the way he treats you when he has you in his grasp.   But his infatuation and need for you are also very real, the cruelty is unintentional in a way. When you try and run, he'll throw you back where he left you. He'll cradle you to hug you and feel you close, but might end up snapping something due to his lack of conscience mind of your bones. Same goes for sex, he doesn't want to cause you pain, but he's huge and rough, it'll hurt.

✧ Delusion How delusional are they?

Everything in Silent Hill is a delusion, Pyramid Head himself, is partly a delusion. He doesn't have to be delusional, sane, or logical when it comes to you. He wants you, and you're stuck here in this town whether you like it or not, you're his. That much isn't a delusion. Once you're in his grasp you belong to him, and that's as simple as it is.

✧ Exposed How vulnerable are they with their darling?

In a sense, Pyramid Head is extremely exposed to you. He's a beast, primal in nature. He simply does, and so whatever he wants or feels you will see the entirety of it with no bars. This goes not just from his bloodlust but to the more sensitive needs.   Of course, he technically doesn't need anything like assurance or care. He isn't mortal. But similarly, he doesn't understand the concept of bottling emotions up or feelings. You know when he's down, and he never shies from showing it, even in less-than-savoury ways.

✧ Fight How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Fighting back doesn't bother Pyramid Head in the slightest, like at all. You can bite, scratch, punch, kick, none of it bothers him. He exists to cause that kind of reaction, to punish and push people into frantic fight or flight. Not like you can hurt him anyway, it's impossible to physically hurt him. And unlike any other poor soul trapped in Silent Hill whom he feels complete indifference to and only kills, he likes you, no loves you, wants you. So try and hurt him, beat him till your fists turn blue, he doesn't react nor care.

✧ Guilt Do they have a conscience, would they feel guilty for the things they do?

Nope. He feels nothing, no guilt at all. Pyramid Head's purpose is to slaughter, why would he feel guilt?   The same goes for your injuries or the damage he causes you. It's unintentional and ultimately he doesn't want you dead, but also he sees guts and torture on a daily so it doesn't hurt his mutated heart to see you suffer at his hands either.

✧ Hell What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Every day spent in Silent Hill is hell. Silent Hill itself is hell in a way, malevolent to anyone who enters. The fact you've caught Pyramid Head's desire doesn't thwart the misery you suffer stuck in there.  The worst of every equally hellish day though would be the day Pyramid Head found you. Stranded, horrified having barely survived the horrors of the other demons, then came one of the worst ones wielding a blade. Perhaps you had hoped to survive, to find an escape before. But after finding yourself in his clutches, all hope was lost, thus the day your spirit died.

✧ Ideals What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Pyramid Head doesn't have a mind. He's a creature, truly the only desire he has for you is to have you by his side, till Silent Hill perishes. But it never will, it'll always be an endless limbo, you are his and that'll never change.  He'll have the instinct that is similar to a predator, to take its prey. The other goers of Silent Hill whom he hunts and kills. All except you, another victim no difference, but you will be forced to stay trapped forever with him. 

✧ Jealousy Do they get jealous, how does their jealousy look like?

Pyramid Head doesn't get jealous, per se. He does get possessive though, because you are ultimately his possession. He is a being malevolent and high in power and you belong to him. As such, if something or someone, more specifically, gets in between you and him, he lashes out. Makes sure to make their death extra visceral and makes sure you watch the whole thing, to remind you that you are his. 

✧ Kinks What kind of kinks do they have, do they make their darling participate?

Not kinky at all, because he just wouldn't understand it. For Pyramid Head, he's a creature, when he fucks you it's instinctive. Always has you glued to his side either way so he fucks you wherever however as long as he's inside of you, he doesn't care. Now, he doesn't have any kinks specifically he indulges or desires. But he does a preferred way to fuck, and it's rough. He sticks it in ruthlessly and will cum over and over filling you up to the brim with relentless thrusts, he goes animalistic rearranging your guts. And you just have to lay there and take it, there is no control in him when he's rutting in you.

✧ Love letters How would they go about courting their darling?

Courting is non-existent. Pyramid Head takes, and you are left with little to no voice in it. He desires you, unfortunately, and thus you must accept that. He won't approach, he will not gingerly win you over, he nabs you and you're his. This doesn't mean he doesn't care for your affection either. It's just the fact that affection for Pyramid Head is physical in nature, and he can force you into that, just hold you flush against him 24/7 or fuck you silly whenever. That's how he shows love, whether you return it or not isn't important.

✧ Manipulate How manipulative are they and how do they do it?

He lacks the intelligence to make any genuine forms of manipulation, however, this isn't to say he doesn't attempt to coax you into acceptance. Though it's clumsy and mostly futile. Whilst he doesn't care at the end of the day if you accept him or not since he holds all power over you regardless, he still has an insatiable obsession for you. When he holds you and drags you around with him and keeps you pressed to him it's in hope you grow to reciprocate it. Generally though, not manipulative at all. 

✧ Naughty How would they punish their darling?

You'd never be the one getting punished, because there is no way you can attempt anything worth punishment. Pyramid Head has already deemed you free of his punishment and thus you will not be slaughtered.   This isn't to say he doesn't hurt you, he does. Again not intentionally but often, if he's been aggravated will squeeze you too hard or rampage, but it's never to punish you, it's just a visceral thing. In truth, you are the only thing Pyramid Head does not punish an exception to it. 

�� Oppression How many rights would they take away from their darling?

The second you've entered the grasp of Pyramid Head, you've lost any will of your own. There is no such thing as having a right to anything under him. You exist solely as his, that is all you are meant for to Pyramid Head. The choice or right of freedom is gone. Pyramid Head will hold you as his captive same as Silent Hill holds you captive. When he tears your clothes off to ravish you, he doesn't care if you wish to cover again, if he wants to drag you with him as he roams, you have no choice but to cling to him as he holds you close.

✧ Patience How patient are they with their darling?

How patient Pyramid Head is entirely depends on what his patience is for. If it's patience for any kind of intellectual love or affection he can go centuries awaiting you to show any responsive form of it, that doesn't matter at all to him. But his patience for you to be there, with him, for him, physically? None. From the first encounter you'll have with Pyramid Head to every single following one under him he has no time to care for your reluctance to follow along. You're sat on his cock the minute he wants to put it in you and cuddled against him the second he finds you.

✧ Quit what happens if their darling dies or successfully escapes?

The only way to escape Pyramid Head successfully would include escaping the wrath of Silent Hill. And Pyramid Head is tethered to Silent Hill, for the fog to release you and you find a way out would mean Pyramid Head follows in your release. It isn't an escape because, like Silent Hill, Pyramid Head will simply accept it and accept your triumph. If you died in his clutches though? That's a whole other story, carnage doesn't even begin to cover the way Pyramid Head mourns. It's instinctive, he roars and destroys like a wolf whose mate has been taken. You were��his, and now he'll never have what he carnally desired most ever again. Rage will seep into all his executions following your death.

✧ Risks How compliant are they with their darling?

No compliance, at all. There's also absolutely no risk in his treatment of you or any attempts you may use to utilize to escape. There's truly no winning with Pyramid Head if you want something that doesn't align with his needs. Now, it's a completely separate story if the compliance or risk you ask of him doesn't go outside of his desires for you. If you, for instance, beg him to let go of another victim, he will, there are other monsters who can implement their punishment. If you wish to see a specific area in Silent Hill, with him taking and holding you the whole time, he will without hesitation.

✧ Stigma What childhood event brought about this side of theirs?

(He didn't have a childhood there's nothing to add here sorry)

✧ Tears How does seeing their darling cry make them feel?

It bothers him. Whilst your feeble attempts to fight back or of defiance do nothing to him since ultimately you cannot hurt him, it's another thing to see you experience mental anguish as his. He desires you in a form of love, not in a form of punishment that he inflicts on others. When you cry out, he's seen it all too many times with his victims, but those were people he was sent to make suffer. You are his, not to suffer but to be his. And when you weep, it makes him flare uncomfortably, he'll hug you and hope it soothes you to understand his desires.

✧ Unique Do they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Everything, because Pyramid Head's form of yandere is also very different from the classic concept. For Pyramid Head, he isn't human, or sentient in a way, so his obsessive love for you is primal in nature. The feelings he has for you, are in the most basic way have no actual thoughts behind them. Pyramid Head doesn't dream about you or desire you as a lover to chat with or marry. You are literally like a mate to him, a thing he's found infatuation with and that he needs on him constantly.

✧ Vice What weakness can their darling exploit to escape?

The fact that Pyramid Head only exists within Silent Hill, for Silent Hill as an entity. He is tied to Silent Hill, so if you can break your way out of Silent Hill, through whatever means, you've also broken yourself free of Pyramid Head.  Though his fixation of you is entirely his own, his loyalty still lies in the fog that created him. If you've deemed yourself worthy by Silent Hill, able to escape the demons there, Pyramid Head won't follow you. And will simply hold you as a memory once you've left. 

✧ Wild card Random headcanon of the character.

He has an extremely high libido, it's endless also. He doesn't have a refractory period because his whole structure is impenetrable, he doesn't weaken and neither does his dick. So with you? It's absolutely rabid. Once you're in the picture he gets it ignited from you. You're the object of his every single urge, all of which he fucks out into you. Sometimes just takes you while roaming about, other mortals trapped in Silent Hill may see, but he doesn't care.

✧ Xoanon Would they worship their darling?

Absolutely, but you wouldn't understand it, neither does he really. There's nothing outright to showcase his sheer devotion to you, but it's there and with Pyramid Head it's heavy. With the many occultish things and benevolently malevolent spirits of Silent Hill, Pyramid Head is spiritual by nature.  And you, a soul he's found obsession to, truly you are god-like to him. You are the closest Pyramid Head can come to the feeling of salvation. A thing he leans on without realizing because he absolutely needs you with him at all costs. To cling to and worship by touch.

✧ Yearn How long do they pine for their darling before they snap?

He doesn't yearn for anything. The second he sees you and has been overtaken with the feelings he harbours for your existence, he'll take you. Brutally of course. As previously stated, how you feel or react to it doesn't matter the first time he takes you, and that's your first meeting with him as well, because Pyramid Head responds to his baser instincts. He sees, he likes, he wants? He's getting. And what he's getting is you.

✧ Zenith Would they ever break their darling?

Pyramid Head does not intend to break you. He's gotten you to be his and the specifics don't matter outside of that. However, you will break, regardless. Be it your bones or heart or mind. Pyramid Head will love you whole till you've accepted the fate you have, to be his. Melded with him at all times, left to live as his for eternity because Silent Hill is an eternity. There is no other choice truly, but to accept your life as Pyramid Head's darling, his possession. Forever deep in the Silent Hills, his...

[moonyswoony]

Lost and found

Pairing: Five hargreeves x reader

Summary: You an Five discover more than just plants and strawberries in the greenhouse

Warning(s): kissing, fluff, nothing really

“What the hell is this place?” Five muttered, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“Beats me,” you replied, stepping further inside. “But it’s not like we’ve stumbled upon a better place than this one so far.”

The two of you had been on the run for what felt like an eternity. Your attempt to figure out the subway had gone sideways—again—and now you were stuck in this strange, green timeline with no clear path back.

Five stayed close as you ventured deeper into the greenhouse, his sharp eyes scanning every inch. “This doesn’t make sense. None of this should be here.”

You brushed your fingers against a nearby vine, feeling the life pulsing through it. “Maybe this is just a small piece of the world that refused to die.”

Five huffed, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “That, or we’ve stumbled into some kind of twisted fairytale.”

“Great. Does that make you the grumpy old troll under the bridge?” you teased.

“If I’m the troll, that makes you the annoying adventurer who won’t stop asking questions,” he shot back, though his tone was more fond than bitter.

As you explored, you found yourself drawn to a patch of strawberries growing along the far wall. They were perfectly ripe, a vibrant red that stood out against the greens and browns around them. Without thinking, you plucked one and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweetness.

Five watched with raised eyebrows. “You sure that’s safe?”

“If it’s not, at least I’ll go out with a decent meal,” you replied, plucking another and offering it to him.

He hesitated, then took it, biting into the fruit with a thoughtful expression. “Not bad.”

“High praise from you,” you quipped.

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you both absorbed the strange beauty of this place. The tension that had been winding tighter and tighter over the past few days—or even years—slowly began to ease, the peacefulness of this place working its way into your entire being.

As you wandered deeper, you came across a patch of wildflowers bathed in golden sunlight. You knelt to touch them, their delicate petals soft under your fingers. “This feels like a dream,” you murmured.

“Or a trap,” Five countered, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

You looked up at him, catching an unguarded expression in his eyes,something softer, more vulnerable than you were used to seeing. “Five?”

He stepped closer, the sunlight casting a warm glow across his features. “You’ve always been fearless,” he chuckled,though his voice was quieter than usual.

You blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about? I’m not fearless, I’m—”

“You are,” he insisted. “And I should have told you sooner.”

“Five…”

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix everything, trying to keep us all alive, that I forgot there are things I want, too,” he said, his gaze pined on you.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut as you realised what he was implying—not in a painful way, but in a way that left you breathless. You had always known there was something between you, a connection that went deeper than partnership or friendship, but his words still had that affect on you.

Without giving yourself time to overthink it, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, but slow and deliberate, a promise in every brush of your lips against his. Five responded in kind, one hand slipping around your waist while the other cupped the back of your neck, holding you close.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing your lower lip before slipping into your mouth. You felt your knees weaken as a wave of heat washed over you, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if to support yourself. His hand slid down your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew more intense, more desperate.

It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had both been holding back,years of unspoken feelings, of missed opportunities, all coming to the surface in this one, perfect moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” he said, his voice rough but certain.

You smiled, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “I love you too.”

For a moment, you both stood there in silence, the reality of what you had just confessed settling over you like a warm blanket. The world around you didn’t feel as interesting anymore, not when he was in front of you.

Five glanced around at the greenery, his expression contemplative. “You know, we don’t have to leave right away.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want to stay?”

“Just for a little while,” he admitted, surprising you with the softness in his voice. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a moment of peace. We could use the rest and some proper food.”

You looked around at the lush greenery, the golden sunlight filtering through the broken skylight, and felt a sense of calm settle over you. “Yeah,” you agreed, smiling up at him. “Let’s stay.”

With that decision made, the tension that had been a constant companion began to melt away. You found a spot to sit, leaning against a wall covered in ivy, and Five joined you, his hand finding yours and holding it tightly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax. No missions, no timelines, no disasters—just the two of you, in a place that felt almost unreal.

Five squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “if we’re staying here, we might as well make the most of it.”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring every second. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Reunion

Part 12

I am geniunely really frustrated with how...anticlimactic this part feels to me. I wish I had drawn it better and had been more careful when doing my finishing steps :/ I didn't spend as much time on lining/coloring this part this week as I would have liked, so I'm really sorry it kinda falls flat ;-; I hope you all enjoy it regardless <33

NEXT TIME ON KID LEO...OH...

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next

[abyssalzones]

is that a sense of impending doom, or just the summer pollen? probably just the pollen.

anyway, i don't plan on posting full chapters like this too often but take this as a reminder to go check out Ad Astra Per Aspera on its neocities page, where it updates every Friday! In case you’re into comics about things that already exist.

[littlecrittereli]

Wanted to doodle some comfort bros to balance out the angst of my recent posts lol

Hey pookies! Just wanted to say I really appreciate all the love and support I've been receiving lately for Decoded! I always love your comments/asks/fanart/memes, it genuinely has been bringing me so much joy and I'm so grateful for it <3

I know I said I had a lot of art to post (and then proceeded to post none of it LOL) I'm just a little overwhelmed rn with some life stuff so sorry for the wait! I also have a lot asks that I haven't gotten to and I apologize for that as well!

Trying my best to keep up, but I haven't had a lot of time recently. Art's gonna be a little delayed, but don't worry Chapter 8 is still gonna come out this Saturday as scheduled!

[midnight-wood]

PLEASE

here goes nothing - minors/ageless blogs DNI. you will be blocked

zayne x reader (if you wanna be MC, be MC)

wc: 2k (just a quick drabble, im a filthy liar)

AO3

warnings: fem!reader, fingering, nipple play, penetrative (p in v) sex (be smarter than me and my tho(ugh)ts, use protection), ovulation, breeding kink, pet names (love, momma), established relationship, lmk if I missed something but I tried

BIG IMPORTANT EDIT: I will be posting this in a new post to my LADS blog @/li-qin-xia-shen-qi. No need to report for plagiarism, it’s just me.

swollen.

tender.

hot.

you woke up feeling swollen and uncomfortable, a little too warm for your liking too.

you knew it was on the way. you counted your days, took your tests, hell, you even kept track of your internal temperature at night. this day was known. didn’t make it any easier, though.

one outstretched hand made contact with your lover’s chest and that was enough for you to drag yourself over to him and make this his problem.

you hauled yourself onto zayne’s chest and immediately nuzzled into the crook of his neck, enjoying the coolness of his skin against yours. thank goodness he ran a little warm and usually slept only half covered.

“where does it hurt?” he managed to rasp out, arms circling around your figure, hands moving with practiced ease, waiting for a pain response.

you placed a few kisses down his collarbone, chaste for now, but the slightest hint of teeth at the base of his throat told him what was wrong.

“oh” even half a sleep his clinician’s mind was working, doing the math, checking his mental notes about you. “let me help you, love”

zayne took his hands off your skin for the briefest moment. you whined at the loss of contact, never mind that you were pressed chest to chest, legs intertwined below the covers.

his cold hands returned to your feverish skin, eliciting a shiver from you. “so cold” you whispered out, relishing how his hands felt on the base of your breasts. he never liked to use his evol directly on you, but being your personal ice pack had its advantages. namely, the sounds you’d make as your pain resolved and the feeling of your skin under his hands.

“a little sensitive this morning?” he placed a kiss to the crown of your head.

you nodded back at him, “hurts there” it was nothing more than a whine at this point. part of your swelling problem was your breasts, bras had slowly become more uncomfortable over the last few days. but now, you were starting to melt under his ministrations, the ache in your chest settling down.

zayne rolled the pair of you onto your sides. able to reach more of you this way, his skilled hands quickly cupped your breasts and his fingers started to toy with your nipples.

“ohhhhhh” whatever thought you thought you’d had was gone, replaced with zayne.

he couldn’t help the smile that graced his features as he started to scoot down the bed, putting his face level with your chest. just a quick kiss to the top of your sternum, then the left, the right, and finally he nuzzled between them, a contented hum rumbling from his chest.

zayne looked up at you, sparkling green eyes meeting your own, hazy from just his touch, “how are you feeling?”

“g-good” it was barely more than a breath, but you were still managing to get words out. he took that as a good sign and kept going.

with his eyes still locked on yours, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, applying just enough pressure for you to feel tingles run down your abdomen, his fingers still toying with the other. you couldn’t stop the involuntary buck of your hips, your discomfort not quite subsiding, but starting to burn as something new, something more.

“zayne, please” his eyes shut as you said his name, the quietest moan of his own leaking out against your skin.

“please what?” he didn’t even fully take his lips off your skin, choosing to keep the corner of his mouth anchored to you, the words scattered over your chest.

he switched nipples, eyes locking back on yours, waiting to hear your request. “i can’t help you, if i don’t know what you want” he continued to suck on your chest, alternating between leaving love bites and bathing your nipples with attention. zayne is a patient man, he could wait for your brain to come up with something.

“please” this one left as a gasp, his sucks becoming harder, focused on pulling noises from you, distracting you “need you, lower”

“lower?” he let his hands trail down to your hips, lips never leaving your chest.

your hips bucked again, his fingertips tickling your sides, his mouth making every train of thought you had derail. “please” you urged him one more time.

oh, he could stand to hear that a thousand more times, your sweet voice, hoarse with want for him. but instead of making you beg for it, he took mercy on you and moved one of his hands to where you needed him most.

although he was no longer using his evol, zayne’s fingers were still cool against your heated flesh. you couldn’t stop the hiss from leaving your mouth if you wanted.

“so wet” he murmured into your skin, fingers stroking you and gathering wetness to rub ever so lightly against your clit “my poor little love, no wonder you’re so uncomfortable.”

you had thrown your head back as his fingers continued to brush against you, not even sure you’d actually heard what he’d said. “zayne, please, please” he’d timed his circles, fingers and mouth, together to tease you “need you, inside, please”

“there we go” he slowly slid his hand toward your entrance, fingers trailing along your flesh “that’s what you’ve really wanted since you woke up, huh?”

slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed his middle finger inside you “mmm, so warm” he kept pushing until you could feel the cold of his ring press against you, a startling contrast to how warm his hand had finally become “so wet” his voice had picked up the slightest edge, like you weren’t the only one affected this morning.

he started up a slow but steady rhythm, pausing his ministrations on your chest to watch your face for just a moment. watching for any discomfort, any signs of anything other than pleasure.

when you opened your eyes, he decided to add another finger, his thumb brushing against your clit again. your eyes closed against your will. “eyes on me” zayne had pillowed his chin against your chest, watching you closely.

you opened your eyes to take the sight of him in. his usually neat hair rumpled from sleep, his eyes glassy with want, lips swollen from his attack on your breasts. the sight alone had you clenching around his fingers, zayne looking wrecked, for you.

“i think that’s enough of that” he pulled his hand from you and brought it to his mouth, quickly cleaning his fingers.

“no” zayne chuckled at you whining at the sensation of loss.

“i’ve got something better, don’t fret” zayne pushed you onto your back, your legs immediately starting to lock around him, not wanting to lose contact.

he pushed himself up to lean over you, eyes looking into yours. you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, a drop of precum wiping against your skin.

your lips met, the taste of yourself faint on his tongue. a hum of satisfaction started in your chest and ended in his, the two of you just enjoying being close to each other and unhurried.

“need you, zayne” you brushed your thumb across his lips, hand cupping his face. he nuzzled into the touch, his knees starting to spread your legs so he could slot his hips against yours.

“please” it was like a plea, a prayer, and an admission all in one syllable. 

he leaned in for another quick kiss “as you wish, my love”

slowly, slower even than we he pushed his finger into you, he eased himself inside, moaning into your mouth.

"ohhhh so perfect" he stilled for just a second, enjoying feeling you around him. "so perfect, been waiting for this day all week."

he started to thrust into you, your hands going to his shoulders, nails digging in to those perfectly sculpted muscles.

"fuck" zayne never really swore or had too filthy of a mouth, until he was inside you. then he couldn't stop.

"been waiting all. week." he made sure to punctuate the last two words with his hips, letting you feel him start to graze your most sensitive spot.

you just looked at him, a little dumbfounded and unsure if you were hearing what he was really saying. you knew he kept track of your cycles, knew he was almost too familiar with your personal calendar. the two of you had had the conversation, but you almost didn't believe it when you heard the words fall from his lips and onto yours.

"gonna make you such-" he paused for a moan as you clenched around him, excited to hear the words from him "such a pretty momma"

he continued to roll his hips into you, each thrust causing his tip to kiss that soft spongy spot inside of you that made you see and feel stars. "the prettiest - fuck"

you could no longer sit still, you had to meet his thrusts with your own, had to feel him deeper, needed it. "zayne, please, please, please"

"can't wait to see you, glowing" he paused this time for your moans, not letting his own words interrupt them gracing his ears. "growing round, with my child - mmm, fuck - our child"

he pressed into you like a man possessed "your chest is going to be so swollen" he was relentless, hips never faltering. "gonna have to take good care of such a pretty, pretty momma"

you could only nod in agreement, nails leaving little crescents on his skin. finally you found your voice, "yes, yes, zayne. want it, want you" he pulled another moan from you as his fingers started to draw quick circles on your clit.

"so close, my love" he'd adjusted to a new angle, hitting not just your sweet spot, but another spot within you that felt so good it almost hurt.

"don't stop" came out in one quick breath. you were teetering on that edge, waiting for him to push you over.

"never" you swore he'd be the death of you one day. "cum for me, my love. cum all over my cock. milk me for all i'm worth, make a mess" he was babbling, close to his end. but it was more than enough to push you to yours.

you came with a strangled moan, pulsing around zayne, your hips never ceasing to meet his, pulling him down with you.

by the time you had both recovered enough mental capacity to move again, you were a tangle of sweat sheened skin, chests still heaving from your bout of cardio. zayne had collapsed onto you slightly, the majority of his weight on his knees and elbows, but his forehead pressed to your skin.

"can't pull out just yet" he shivered as you clenched around him again, both of you starting to verge into overstimulation "have to give it time to stick"

you let out a small laugh. unbeknownst to you, once you had agreed that you want children, zayne started reading every academic article he could about conception. if it would even raise the chances by 1%, he was willing to try it.

he finally raised his head, and started to ease back onto his knees, slowly, carefully pulling out of you. he was quick to lift your hips, giving gravity a chance to help by placing a pillow underneath you. he was quicker still to use his fingers to start pushing your combined releases back into you.

"can't let it go to waste, my love" he pressed a chaste kiss to your temple, a dirty contrast to the lewd sounds he was causing at your entrance.

you moaned from the contact "no, no, can't waste it" you could feel your knees shaking with each brush of his thumb against your clit, each pass of his fingers into your heat.

"feeling better now, love?" zayne's hand finally stilled and he looked at you, a far too pleased smile on his face, like you'd let him eat every available macaron in the house and he'd skipped the toothache.

"much, so much better" and you actually did, there was nothing the rush of endorphins couldn't overcome.

"excellent, how about a shower and round 2?"

you gasped as zayne pulled you off the bed and to your feet. yes, please, that did sound excellent.

a/n: yayyyyyyy, you made it! sorry about all that. i, uh, got dreams/problems and if zayne has the same ones, we're not gonna talk about it. feedback appreciated! again, minors/ageless blogs DNI. here and AO3 are the only places this will be posted. please do not repost. 🖤