#for a vampire he sure is cheery

[m0thisonfire]

My darling darling man

He's an elegant goof and I adore him

SELFSHIPPERS PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST WITH YOUR FAVORITE GIF OR PICTURE OR CLIP OF YOUR F/O!! OR YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF MERCH WHETHER YOU OWN IT OR NOT!! ANY FAVORITES!!

i want to see all of your beloveds!!!

[yaekiss]

crawling like a zombie out of a grave with heavy brainROT thinking of that vampire bat thing… i KNOW that freak of a man childe would absolutely be into that, even biting his lips to add on more blood and get you hooked on and used to his instead of some lousy human… but also thing of cuties like kaveh who shiver at the taste, and you’re sure he’d be blushing if he could, whimpers flowing out from his lips so easily. a high class diluc having a glass pressed against his lips held from you, filled with exquisite blood that fills his mouth before you kiss him filthily, knowing full well how he loves how perverted it makes him feel, how his hands shake and grip tightens on you with every swirl of your tongue against his.

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Sub! Tartaglia, Sub! Kaveh, Sub! Diluc (separate), no gendered terms for reader, vampire! AU, blood and biting, mentions of violence in Tartaglia's part, lightly implied top!reader in Kaveh's part, footjob and cumming in pants in Diluc's part, lmk if I missed anything! ꩜ A/N: I didn't mean for this to get so long... pulpie what did u do to me...... 2.2k of vampire brainrot orz,,, anyways hope you enjoy the difference in dynamics !! PLEASE FILL IN THE FORM HERE AFTER READING THANK YOU!!!!

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟕𝟐𝟎: 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒂 ꒷꒦ Vampire!Reader x Human!Tartaglia ꒦꒷

Someone as battle-hungry as Childe never backs down from a challenge, even if it means trying to tame a literal creature of the night. (Although, reading through countless dusty tomes regarding vampire courtship isn’t really part of the taming process.)

A plus side to having a bloodthirsty harbinger as your partner is that you haven’t known hunger ever since he started trying to woo you! Dragging to you the, still warm, bodies of enemies he had to dispose of with a cheery grin, he watches, enraptured, as you partake in the meal he so graciously gifts you.

His eyes are trained on your form as you lap up the blood from the existing wounds he inflicted on the body during the fight, coating your lips in a sickening glisten. Childe squirms in his place, feeling a heat rising within. Tearing his gaze away from you, he looks down.

Fuck. He’s hard.

Shakily, he palms himself through his pants, looking for some relief. He tries to muffle his moans but he’s never really known to be quiet. His mind fills itself with images of you, appetite voracious as you drink from the body, bloodied fangs piercing through skin, and before it even registers, he’s whining for you.

Your shoes come into view and as he looks back up, he knows he’s been caught.

“Help me, please?” At that moment, Childe sounds too delectable, and coupled with the pleading way he’s looking at you, it seems that you crave something other than blood tonight too.

Your hands move to grab at his jawline, the sudden chill of your fingers against his skin makes his breath hitch and the way your sharpened nails graze him makes him all the more harder. Childe keens when your lips smash onto his, parting his mouth as you deepen the kiss, making him taste the lingering metallic tang of blood. 

His brain is a traitorous thing when it inserts himself into the place of the body. The visage of your arms cradling him as your fangs trace over the exposed skin of his neck, teasing before they sink in, when he could be all you think of, the visage burns behind his eyelids. Pulling away to allow Childe to catch his breath, his mind betrays him a third time when he doesn’t think and bites down hard on his own bottom lip before he captures yours again.

Instantly, his taste fills your mouth. It’s not often you manage to savour the blood of someone touched by the abyss. The flavour is intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more. As if by instinct, your hand supports the back of his head and he moans into your mouth as you kiss harder. 

Childe doesn’t know if he’s spurred on by the fact that you’re so taken by the taste of him other than that other lousy human or if it’s the hunger shining in your eyes. There’s a part of him that sings when the thought registers. The thought that he, his blood, has such an effect on you, amplifying your bloodlust a hundredfold, that he is addictive to you. That you want him.

Moving forward, he doesn’t bring you any more bodies. Instead, he just brings himself, and hopefully, he’d get a little lucky too.

Childe never backed down from a challenge, even if it meant being tamed by a literal creature of the night ♡

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟕𝟎𝟗: 𝑲𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒉 ꒷꒦ Vampire!Reader x Vampire!Kaveh ꒦꒷

A vampire Kaveh would be… a little pitiful. The thought of harming someone else goes against everything he stands for, let alone drinking someone else’s blood (even if the blood was obtained through honest, human-vampire-law-abiding, means.)

He resorts to drinking animal blood instead. It’s not the most satiating or nourishing but it’ll have to do. At least he doesn’t have to imagine a human face with a family tied to the bloody beverage he’s gulping down. However, it leaves him weak and prone to feeling faint at the most inopportune of times.

Times such as now, when Kaveh can’t find his keys again and he’s locked out of Alhaitham’s house and he desperately needs to drink but his blood stash is in the house and he can’t find Alhaitham anywhere. It’s not hard to see that your poor fellow vampire is spiralling when you open the door to your home that he’s been frantically pounding on.

You lead him inside, carefully setting him down on the couch since he was dangerously swaying back and forth while he walked. Kaveh and you go way back, so it’s not surprising that he seeks you out when he’s in need. You’re just so understanding, nothing like Alhaitham, and you’ve always looked out for him unceasingly all this time. His eyes catch how your hand is still supporting his arm from earlier and if his heart could beat, it would be fluttering right now.

“How long has it been since your last meal?” Shit, you’re grilling him and he’ll be dead twice over if you find out he hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself. He deflates pathetically in his seat before he mutters out his answer.

“A week and a half… maybe two…” His answer trails off and he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He quickly tacks on an explanation for good measure when the silence drags on for too long and he can feel himself being simmered alive (undead?) in your gaze.

“M-my commissions haven’t been coming in and- and money is a little tight-” he sighs, “-before I even realised it, the amount of blood I have left was already running low…”

Your hand leaves his arm and the action has his head snapping back to look at you. He feels you rise from your seat next to him on the sofa and alarms blare in his mind. Did he say something wrong? He knows he should look after himself more, fuck, you don’t hate him now, right? He’s brought out of his thoughts when you push a cup into his twiddling hands.

“Drink up.” Kaveh looks up at you, expecting to see a disapproving frown. However, when all he can see is worry and concern on your face, he’s a little caught off guard.

“But isn’t it… human blood?” He’s sheepish when he asks this, brows knitted together.

“I’m sorry, but it’s all I have currently and you look like you’d faint if you don’t get something in your system right now.”

Even so, he doesn't budge, just holding the cup in his hands. Usually, the scent alone is enough to send hungry vampires into a frenzy. Judging by how hard he’s clenching it and how he’s definitely starving by now, you can tell he’s holding himself back. You don’t want to risk anything bad happening to Kaveh if you go out to buy a bag of animal blood right now so you press on.

“Is there any way I can convince you to drink it?”

Maybe it’s the spiralling state of mind he has, or the loopiness from the hunger, or that determined gleam you have in your eyes, but something weakens inside of him as he blurts out.

“Can you feed it to me? I don’ wanna think ‘bout who the blood came fr’m.”

His vision spins as you gently take the cup out of his hands. Why is the room spinning? Why are you getting closer?? 

Your lips meet his and suddenly his slurred words click in his mind. Eyes widening, he looks at you but he makes no move to push you away. He just leans into your touch when your hands cup his cheeks and as you part his lips, the taste of the blood hits him.

It’s been ages since he’s savoured this flavour, and with you kissing him too? He can’t stop a shiver from rocking through his body when your tongue enters his mouth, pressing his thighs together as he lets out a loud whimper. Your hand cards through his hair, messing up the blonde locks but he can’t find it in himself to complain, not when he’s practically melting in your arms. Now, it’s become less of trying to feed Kaveh before he dies, and more of making out with the closest companion you’ve loved all this time.

Filthy whines escape him as the initial exquisite flavour of blood mellows out, giving way to the taste of you. Did his fang accidentally pierce your tongue? He doesn’t have the power to think about it when all he can comprehend is you, the taste of your blood, the touch of your skin, your tongue down his throat. You override his every thought and he’s left craving. 

The intimate moment lasts for a bit more before you break apart. (To Kaveh, it felt like something between a split-second and his ever-eternal lifespan.) 

He’s still a little shaky, it’s obvious that that little mouthful of blood isn’t enough nourishment for him.

“Will you drink if you can only think of me while you do?”

Kaveh leaves your home glowing the next day. (He’s limping too but let’s not talk about that.)

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟒𝟑𝟎: 𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒄 𝑹. ꒷꒦ Human!Reader x Vampire!Diluc ꒦꒷

It’s awfully gratifying to have the Diluc Ragnvindr, a noble of high vampire society, knelt at your feet, his hands held behind his back. You don't even need to bind his hands. Frankly, it wouldn't really do anything because of his supernatural strength. But, oh. There's something so delicious about him willing to keep his hands behind him just because you asked. The way you have him utterly wrapped around your finger... tantalising. 

You hold the wineglass of your blood above him and he instinctively shuffles in closer, a low whine leaving him before he even realises. As you tilt the cup towards him, his plush lips close on the rim, fervently lapping up what he can. He's terribly messy though. Tsk, and to think he's supposed to be high class.

The frenzied way he's drinking up your oblation, watching the crimson trickle past his lips, staining his pale skin such a dazzling red as it drips further down to his bobbing throat, he really is mesmerising. And what’s this? 

Your dear Diluc is rutting against your shoe, trying to get off while you’re so graciously feeding him. Greedy.

He’s panting in between gulps, his eyes unfocused as the lust building in him drives him mad. There’s a conscious part of his brain saying that he shouldn’t be trying to cum right now, you’re being so nice to him, but fuck, it feels sosososo good!

You think he’ll forgive you when you cruelly pull the cup away from him.

Immediately, a pitched whine rips from his throat, and he chases after your blood, eyes begging for you to return his sweet salvation. But Diluc thinks otherwise about opening his mouth to try to reason with you when he feels your foot against his crotch.

“I’ll let you drink again after you cum, hmm? It’s not good to be distracted while you eat.” 

His brain kicks into overdrive when the tip of your shoes presses down onto his dick, the pain bleeding into sinful pleasure. Diluc lets out a sharp hiss as you move your foot, teasing his length that’s straining behind his pants. He’s grinding his hard cock against the bottom of your shoe, the darkened patch of fabric growing and lewd moans slipping from his lips as he does so.

You can tell when he’s about to cum, his eyes are screwed shut and his moans become louder and more clipped, focusing more on the tempting heat rather than getting proper words out. Quickly, you take a mouthful of blood before you lean in and pull him in by the collar of his shirt.

The kiss is nothing shy of filthy, smearing blood on your lips and cheeks as he drinks desperately. He’s addicted to the heat of your mouth, your blood, on his skin, and the ravenous way you’re kissing him makes him feel like he’s the one being devoured instead. His neck is straining from being tilted upwards but there’s no other way he’d have you, as if it was only natural to have a powerful being like him on his knees at your side.

A hard press against the tip of his cock is what sends him off the edge. Cumming with a shout, he leans into your kiss, the hands he held behind his back all this time shooting forward to grasp at your thighs. Diluc shakes as he rides out his orgasm, groaning every time he ruts against your shoe.

Pulling away from him, his tongue lolls out of his mouth with a dazed expression on his face, as if he’s been fucked dumb. You drink in his appearance. He’s dishevelled, his usual tidy ponytail all tangled and messy, a wet patch at the front of his pants where he came in his pants. Diluc suppresses a shiver when he notices the swirling hunger in the gaze you regard him with, the roles of vampire and human so easily reversed and perverted by you.

Your lips shine with a saccharine sheen under the dim lighting as they part to ask him.

“And what do you say, Diluc?”

“Thank you.”

 It's safe to say that, unlike Diluc, your hunger isn't getting abated anytime soon.

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[aspiringtrashpanda]

Not @shootingstarrfish and I trying to come up with some sort of timeline for when Solomon first meets Diavolo like "It was before the fall, and the fall would be roughly around 1700 BCE as that's what Google refers to as "biblical times" and we know humans already existed because of the Lilith of it all, so it wasn't before the creation of Adam and Eve. We can assume Sol is going to be where it's bumpin', so if we look at Babylon in 1800-1700 BCE, we can get an idea of his outfit and what's going on in the world." ...And then we remember that this a fictional game about romancing immortal beings. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 31 Prompt: Diavolo 1.5k Solomon first meets the future King of the Devildom FEATURING ART BY @shootingstarrfish

Solomon took a deep breath, gazing up at the spectacle that was the Demon King’s castle. The marble steps were particularly elegant, a unique crimson color that Solomon assumed to be native to the Devildom. The Fountain of Knowledge promised an increased use of marble to demonstrate wealth and power, but he knew it would be a number of years before Egypt began to utilize the material in places of worship.  

Solomon himself had planted the seed in Thebes, but his current home of Babylon relied primarily on brickl. Even the most impressive temples paled in comparison to the castle looming before him, three stories high and surrounded by deep green flora. Where the Babylonians compensated for detail with size, the demons contracted to erect the King’s abode had outdid themselves with the careful carvings on every visible surface, the elbarotate veins of gold inlaid on the columns and arches. 

Despite the cool midnight breeze of the Devildom, a welcome relief from the scorching sun of the Mediterranean, Solomon felt his skin burn hot on the back of his hands, at the nape of his neck. Anticipation gnawed at his ankles, rendered his knuckles stiff and tight. 

Did he knock? Did he summon Barbatos and…

The lacquered wooden door swung open, the Demon Prince’s newly appointed steward waiting in the doorway. Solomon offered him a cheery smile. Barbatos simply spun on his heel and marched into the building without a word, leaving Solomon to assume that his presence was welcome before the young lord. 

His steps clapping through the ornate hall, all obsidian pillars leading to what had to be some sort of gathering chamber, Solomon rehearsed his greeting to the esteemed Demon Prince. The nerves that pricked his veins were uncommon, Solomon long-versed in meeting with various beings of note, reputation and power. He had shared demonus with the Demon King, had helped slay vampires on the shores of Mesopotamia, had walked through Cocytus to return to the human world. He was the guardian of the Fountain of Knowledge, the Witty Sorcerer! 

And yet, his kneecaps rattled the closer he got to facing the demon who had–someway, somehow–convinced Barbatos to pledge his allegiance. Such a feat spoke of a powerful authority the likes Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever experienced. 

The door at the end of the hall had been left ajar. The sliver of firelight seeping from the room beyond, casting dancing lights upon the ground, was the only invite Solomon supposed he was going to get from Barbatos. Why his old friend was so upset with him, he wasn’t sure, but he figured it would pass eventually. 

Sure enough, he found Barbatos inside the large chamber, steeping tea by a roaring fireplace. A fresh loaf of his signature bread sat on a stone slab by two horns of demonus, and Solomon’s stomach gurgled in anticipation. He was hungrier than he thought, for the noise received a rather judgemental glare from the new Royal Butler. 

Partially in an attempt to avoid the passive ire, Solomon glanced past Barbatos’s busy hands, his attention drawn towards the two large chairs in the center of the room. Ah, he had been correct to assume that he was being summoned to the throne room. 

“Welcome, Solomon.” A large figure stood upon the dias, muscular arms outstretched as if to remind Solomon that he was impeding on the demons’ territory, that this room belonged to the young lord. If it was meant to be a threat, it was extremely successful, for the strength and power emanating from the demon before him was unrefined and wild. Dangerous, even. 

Fangs glinting in the firelight, Diavolo smirked, “Or should I call you The Witty Sorcerer?” 

Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever felt so small. Squaring his shoulders as subtly as possible, Solomon met the Prince of the Devildom’s piercing gold stare. Never once breaking eye contact, he bowed, insisting, “There is no need for formalities. It is an honor to be in your presence, Prince Diavolo. Barbatos has spoken–”

“I was under the impression that he hasn’t spoken to you recently at all,” Diavolo cut him off, his eyebrow lifted towards his hair, as bold as blood oozing around heavy horns decorated in gold. 

“Ah, well…” Solomon cleared his throat, the tremble of his fingers threatening to disrupt his confident facade. “It is true that our relationship has been strained as of late.”

He could hear the slither of Barbatos’s tail lashing from the other side of the room. 

“Indeed,” Diavolo cocked his head, and tapped long, black nails on the bare skin of his bicep as he crossed his arms over his chest. His aura demanded respect, exuding a heavy anticipation that had Solomon on the tips of his toes. The demon prince stepped from the dias, his size even more intimidating in close proximity. “Tell me, Solomon. I require the truth. Please, answer me this…”

“Is it true that you built a wooden boat and filled it with two of each animal?”

Just like that, the demon before him lit up like a child gifted a new toy. Clutching his hands to his chest, Diavolo looked at Solomon with stars in his eyes, gold depths glittering like the sun reflected on the sea. He rocked back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, any sort of composed image that he had been trying to maintain shattered by the excessive enthusiasm pulling at his lips. “One male, and one female, right? To survive the Great Flood!”

Solomon blinked, glanced at Barbatos for any sort of guidance. All he received in response was a squinted glare, adding further pressure to the situation. 

He settled for grimacing, “That was said to be Ziusudra.”

“Though, the grapevine refers to a man with silver hair,” Diavolo winked.

Solomon’s brain was lagging, struggling to comprehend that the oh, so scary future king of the demons just winked at him. It was quite the contrast to Diavolo’s mouth, which moved a mile a minute, launching question after question towards his guest. At some point, he had marched over to the table by the fire, had plopped down on a stool and beckoned for Solomon to join him in between inquiries on the available materials for such a large boat, to the best way to clean up after living with so many creatures.

Dazed, Solomon took a seat, chancing a glance at Barbatos. The butler’s face was stonier than the very slab at which they sat. 

Next thing he knew, a horn of demonus was thrust into Solomon’s hand, Diavolo beaming at him with such sincerity, it managed to snuff out any lingering fear. “So, which animals were the hardest to wrangle? Do you have dragons? I would imagine they’d put up quite the fight.”

“Ah, no, we don’t have dragons,” Solomon frowned, though the way Diavolo deflated had him adding, “But the hippopotamuses were surprisingly violent. I nearly lost my arm to that old girl.” 

“Oh?” The prince’s enthusiasm returned tenfold, “Is it that easy for a human to lose an arm?”

For the next hour, Solomon sipped at his demonus, savoring the taste in between bites of fresh bread and answers to Diavolo’s endless barrage of questions. The initial threat that Solomon had felt upon entering the room melted into an easy atmosphere of laughter and genuine curiosity. There was something about the way that Diavolo yearned to understand humans that spoke to Solomon. It humanized the demon in a way that he hadn’t expected, the deep loneliness that shined through the desperation to connect a feeling that Solomon knew far too well. 

By the time their meeting had come to a close, Solomon’s confidence had found itself once more. He was sure he had made a powerful ally that he could work with to ensure future protection of the human world.  

“Do you have any questions for me?” Diavolo lowered his horn of demonus, golden eyes peering curiously into Solomon’s soul. Perhaps there was the briefest flash of guilt across his face, though Solomon felt it unwarranted. “Surely there must be knowledge of the Devildom not yet privy to you through the Fountain of Knowledge.”

And Solomon was certain there was, though it pained him to admit that the young prince could not give him what he sought. Quick on his feet, he thought up an alternative. “Hmmm, perhaps not the question you seek, but a question nonetheless.”

He brandished a scroll from thin air, summoned with magic from his home in Babylon. The long roll of papyrus nearly nudged his feet, the list plenty long and only growing. With a grin, Solomon pointed to Diavolo’s name, shining in bolded ink towards the top. “Could I interest you in a pact?” 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I think it's safe to assume that the Demon Lord's castle has had facelifts throughout the years. Also did you know the first version of the Great Flood is actually in the Sumerian Eridu Genesis?

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

HUGE THANKS TO @shootingstarrfish FOR THE ART FOR THIS <3 <3 <3

[greyhound-with-a-mega-wizard-hat]

Benbaro so funny to me. Probably my fav ship from TGAA

But imagine being one of Albert's German friends. He tells you his 'best friend' (code for boyfriend, I'm not sure how accepting early 1900s Germany was), is coming to visit. You know Albert well, so you assume his friend will be like him: a small, cheery, nerdy guy.

You are not expecting 6'5 (idk how tall Barok is. Stupid tall.) british beef cake vampire-wannabe prosecutor Van Zieks. He just looks so grumpy and miserable. Albert is a small guy and doesn't even come up to his shoulder. How did they even become friends?

But the affection and softness between them, it's undeniable. You think 'what an odd couple', and then you notice Van Zieks' secret nerdiness as soon as you offer him a glass of wine.

Then it makes sense

[omgrachwrites]

The Night We Met (Chapter Three)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Potter!Reader

Summary: Over the summer you connected with the boy who is quite literally your twin’s mortal enemy. Things start to fall apart in the darkness of the autumn.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, everyone lives au, takes place in 6th year

A/N: Soooo, this is up a lot later than intended so I have made it a lil longer to thank you guys for your patience. Alsoooo thank you so much for all your support on this series, it truly means the world to me! Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know if you would like to be tagged. I love you all very much! xxx

Chapter Three

The Great Hall was especially rowdy one blustery Thursday morning as you went to meet your friends for breakfast, opting to sleep in for an extra ten minutes. The cause of the noise was coming from the first years panicking about their timetables and the older students who were practising their spells for class. Hermione grinned at you when she noticed you, her curly hair in a braid down her back.

“You look especially lovely this morning, Y/N,” she smiled as you sat down.

You flushed at her words, “why, thank you. My mum would say it’s the fresh air, does wonders for the complexion she says.”

Ron, who had been listening to the conversation looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “and, what would you say?” he asked.

You shrugged, “I would say it’s a happy accident.”

Ron snorted into his breakfast at your reply while Hermione shook her head fondly as she poured some milk into your tea, “you are completely ridiculous.”

You laughed, taking the milk from her and pouring it into your bowl of cereal as you looked up at your twin who looked as though he was trying not to fall asleep in his cornflakes.

“What’s up with Harry?” you asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “probably too busy poring over that stupid potions book all night instead of sleeping.”

It was in the first potions lesson of the year that Harry had found the mysterious book that had transformed him into a potions expert. Hermione regarded the book as a form of cheating and you weren’t inclined to agree with her until he won the tiny bottle of liquid luck. The former owner of the book called themselves the Half-Blood Prince, and none of you had any clue who it was. Though, you were sure that you had heard the name somewhere but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Harry seemed to wake up halfway through breakfast, “what have we got first?” he asked, concealing a yawn behind his hand.

“It’s Thursday so it’s Defence Against the Dark Arts,” you replied and Harry’s face fell.

Defence Against the Dark Arts used to be Harry’s favourite lesson but now with Snape teaching the class it was quickly becoming his idea of hell, “great,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, “I wonder what fun we’ll have today,” you rolled your eyes, he was so dramatic.

“Just don’t piss him off,” Ron laughed but that was almost impossible because Harry’s mere presence seemed to piss Snape off.

Finally, the bell went and you all traipsed to your lesson, it was pitch black in the classroom, as usual. Snape preferred to teach with all the blinds down on the windows, once again fuelling the rumour that he was a vampire.

“Everyone get in and sit down,” he hissed, there was no time or room for any pleasantries in Snape’s lessons.

When everyone had found their seats in silence Snape started the lesson and you quickly learned it wasn’t exactly a cheery topic that he would be teaching today, “we’ll be covering the cruciatus curse today. You will be required to explain each unforgivable curse in detail along with their characteristics for your NEWT exams next year.”

Your NEWT exams was the focus of all professors this year it seemed. You fidgeted nervously as you tried not to look at the very graphic photograph of a wizard being tortured that was hung on the wall. You missed Remus. Everyone had tried to convince Remus to come back to Hogwarts but he didn’t seem to be interested.

“Now,” Snape continued in a dangerously quiet voice, “what are the characteristics of the cruciatus curse and what is it used for?”

The room was silent, even Hermione didn’t raise her hand although you knew that she knew the answer. She was staring very hard at the blackboard, hardly blinking. A soft voice made everyone jump and you were surprised at who it was that spoke.

“The curse is used to inflict excruciating pain on the victim, though it leaves no physical mark and you have to mean it for the curse to work. It’s like your nerve endings are on fire,” Mattheo stared at his piece of parchment as he spoke before he finally looked up and cleared his throat, “or, that’s what I’ve read anyway.”

Snape nodded at him before turning to write it up on the blackboard, “5 points to Slytherin, Riddle.”

You looked at Mattheo, horror rising in your chest. What he had said didn’t seem to come from someone who had merely read about the curse. Snape lectured for about twenty more minutes before he made you all start an essay on the cruciatus curse in silence. It made for a very depressing lesson.

As soon as the bell rang, signalling the next lesson, Mattheo practically flew from the room without waiting for his friends, and you followed behind him. The hallway was practically empty due to how quick you both left the classroom and you called his name. You had expected him to keep walking but he didn’t. He turned to look at you.

“How did you know all that stuff about the cruciatus curse?”

He laughed humourlessly as he walked closer to you with an anguished look on his handsome face, “how do you think I know it?” the look on his face wasn’t the look of someone who had cast it, but someone who had been on the receiving end of it.

You forced back the gasp that threatened to spill from your mouth, you knew that he wouldn’t exactly appreciate that form of sympathy, “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, “why the hell do you even care? We agreed to carry on like we don’t know each other.”

“I know that’s what we agreed but Theo, I can’t pretend like I don’t know you. It’s not like I can turn my feelings for you off just like that. Can you?”

Mattheo swallowed as he looked at the floor before he looked back at your face, “it was never that deep for me, Y/N.”

His words hurt you, they were so cold and calculating but before you could muster a reply, you felt someone wrap an arm around your shoulders, “is he bothering you, Y/N?” Harry asked.

Mattheo never took his eyes from yours as he raised an eyebrow. You tore your eyes away from his as you looked at your brother, “no, he’s not. C’mon, Harry, let’s get to potions.”

Harry glared at Theo as he shoved past him, hissing beneath his breath, “stay the fuck away from my sister, Riddle.”

As you joined Ron and Hermione outside the dungeons, Ron narrowed his eyes, “and where were you two?”

“Nowhere, doesn’t matter,” you said quickly before Harry could say anything.

As far as you were concerned your dad was the only one who knew about you and Mattheo, and you weren’t going to start broadcasting it now. Thankfully, Slughorn came out and greeted the class, letting them inside before Harry could contradict your words.

When you walked into the dungeons, you were immediately hit with the smell of fancy French cologne. You knew it was coming from the steaming cauldron on Slughorn’s desk. For the past couple of lessons, you had been learning the theory of Amortentia – the world’s strongest love potion – you didn’t pay too much attention to the scent of the cologne.

Your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Mattheo, you really wished you could just get over him. Maybe you should start dating, though unfortunately you knew that most of the male population at Hogwarts were complete idiots.

Slughorn grinned at everyone as he ushered them all inside, “welcome, welcome. Please take your seats,” it was a vast difference from Snape.

Slughorn started the lesson about five minutes late as he waited for everyone to make it down to the dungeons from their previous lessons. When everyone had taken their seats, Slughorn clapped his pudgy hands together, “right, as you all know for the past couple of days we have been learning about Amortentia. Some of you may have realised that this,” he tapped the cauldron with his wand, “is full of Amortentia. Now, who would like to tell the class what they smell?”

When nobody volunteered, Slughorn looked at you with a smile on his face, “how about you, Miss Potter?”

A couple of your classmates snickered while Mattheo looked at you, the expression on his face was very guarded. You bit your lip as you looked back at Slughorn, shaking your head, “I’d rather not if that’s okay, Professor.”

“Of course, I know it’s no small thing that I ask,” he said kindly and your body flooded with relief. Slughorn turned his attention to Mattheo, “how about you, Mr Riddle?”

To your surprise, Mattheo nodded, “yes, Sir,” he walked to the front of the classroom and took a deep breath as he drank in the scent of the steaming potion. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he did so, “I don’t smell anything, Sir.”

Slughorn looked hugely disappointed, “nothing at all?”

“No, Sir.”

Although Slughorn looked disappointed he didn’t look surprised, “very well, please take your seat, Mr Riddle.”

Mattheo found his seat and he looked up, his eyes meeting yours. There was nothing in his eyes, they were stone cold and the realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t lying, he really couldn’t smell anything. But what did that mean? The lesson passed in a blur and you didn’t exactly listen as your mind was elsewhere, you did feel bad but you knew that you could easily catch up with the notes at a later date.

At dinner that evening the thought was still bothering you so you decided to ask Hermione, “why couldn’t Riddle smell anything in the Amortentia?”

Hermione looked at you in surprise, “have you not heard the rumour?”

“What rumour?”

“There’s a rumour that Voldemort was conceived because of a love potion,” Harry replied, butting into the conversation.

“So?” you asked wondering what his point was.

“People who are conceived because of love potions are incapable of feeling love, and if it runs through Voldemort’s veins then it runs in Riddle’s too,” Hermione explained.

You looked up at the handsome boy who was laughing with his friends on the other side of The Great Hall. You didn’t know who his mother was but you knew that he wasn’t conceived from love, presumably Voldemort was desperate from an heir.

“So, he can’t love either,” you said to yourself.

It was like some sort of Greek tragedy, having feelings for someone who was incapable of returning them.

“Why are you so bothered?” Ron asked.

“I’m not,” you lied, missing the way Hermione looked at you with suspicion.

A couple of days later, Hermione cornered you in the changing rooms when you had showered after Quidditch practice. She was slightly breathless and her cheeks were pink, it looked as though she had practically ran to get to you.

“What are you doing here?”

She shook her head, “I was racking my brain, trying to figure out why you were so bothered that Riddle couldn’t smell anything in potions. Then it came to me, he’s the boy you met over the summer isn’t he? Please don’t lie to me.”

You sighed, “yes,” you whispered, waiting for the judgemental look or the burst of outrage but she simply took your hand and waited for you to continue, “we got to know each other over the summer and I thought he was a dick at first, but when I really got to know him, I realised he’s different than the front he puts up at school.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, looking hurt.

“I didn’t want you judging me.”

“Y/N! I wouldn’t have judged you, I would have been there for you through it all, through the break-up. In fact, I will be there for you, it’s clear that you still have feelings for him.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Theo’s dad was the cruellest wizard that had ever lived, he’d been especially cruel to people like Hermione. She should hate you, but she didn’t.

“Because you’re my best friend, silly girl,” she laughed as she pulled you into a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “please don’t tell anyone, especially not Harry.”

Hermione laughed into your hair, “I don’t want you to get murdered, of course I won’t tell Harry,” you smiled at her response, relieved that at least someone knew your secret.

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

Taglist: @primscat @thelifeofsecretpenguins @ehwhatever26 @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @nevillescomslut @hannahnikohl @5-seconds-of-animals @sanjanapm @abbiesxox @kaverichauhan @cat-loves-music @elijahslover @torresbarnes @ikyourwonderingwhyinameditthis @scream4melove @kingofsante01 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @manyafandom-fangirl @onlyangel-444 @itsamusical4lifee @team-flashh @its-astraea @iamkaku @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @reeseeverhart @themiya55 @skyslowalking @shyartisanvoidwagon

[kirain]

Astarion frowned as he and Tav entered the modest boutique. It was small, but clean; organised. It had an almost rustic charm to it, featuring large windows adorned with delicate lace curtains, which were tied back just enough to let the sun shine through. That was appreciated, as Astarion had grown weary of the dark.

He said nothing as his cheery companion scanned the outfits on the walls, cupping her chin as she considered and rejected each one. Carefully curated as they were, she seemed to be looking for something specific. The soft beams accentuated racks of unique frocks, hand-knitted sweaters, and artisanal jewelry, but she passed them all by.

Why did she bring me to this rundown shack?

Astarion huffed. Has she noticed how old my clothes are? No, she's not that perceptive.

His eyes widened as her finger suddenly pointed at some lingerie behind the shopkeeper's counter. His heart sank.

Of course ... she wants to dress me in something risqué. Expose my body. Why am I not surprised? There's nothing more "sexy" than a vampire, after all. He bit the tip of his thumb, feigning indifference. So in the end, she's just like all the others. A horny, selfish little—!

"No, no! Not that!" she laughed. "The one beside it."

Astarion flinched, trying to hide his shock as the shopkeeper passed her a plain ashmeadow outfit. It wasn't particularly bright or stylish, but the pattern was subtle, casually elegant, and paired with lightweight trousers, likely designed to ease movement.

"What do you think?" she asked, unfolding the pieces for a better view. "Doesn't it look nice and comfy?"

Astarion hesitated. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised every inch. Overall, the outfit was dull, at least compared to his usual garb, but pleasant in all the ways that mattered. It wouldn't grab attention, but it wasn't hideous. It wouldn't make a spectacle of his body, but it would complement his figure, his hair, his eyes. For one brief moment, he felt oddly respected, but he quickly recoiled in mistrust.

Is this a trick?

He quickly waved at the suggestion, bidding the shopkeeper to take the outfit away, but Tav clung to it, staying his hand.

"Wait, what's wrong with it? You don't like it?"

"I appreciate your confidence in me, darling, but I don't think even I could make that dreary ensemble look good. That's something you'd see a pig farmer wearing." He gave her a seductive grin. "Surely you'd like to see me in something more ... exotic."

Disgusting, but I need her protection. Just fuck me, already. Get it over with. Why the song and dance? Why the charade? Am I not being forward enough? Perhaps I should should try the 'lonely bachelor' angle. That tends to work on sensitive women like this.

Tav raised a brow, her confusion genuine, but Astarion didn't believe it. He couldn't.

"No, I just think this suits you," she said.

Astarion scoffed, thrown by her sincerity. There was no hint of sarcasm or trickery in her tone. No indication that she was fulfilling some mundane kink by picking such an outfit. But it didn't make sense. He hadn't been particularly kind to her, and he was only good for one thing: sex. Surely that's what she was after.

"Did you not hear what I said?" he snapped. "That's something a pig farmer—"

"What's wrong with being a pig farmer?" she argued. "They work hard, live free, and dress for comfort."

"And I'll have you know, that outfit is not for farming," the shopkeeper added, visibly offended. "I mean, I suppose you could. It's certainly durable, but it's more for ... sophisticated roving."

"There you go," Tav giggled, harmlessly. "Don't you want to be a 'sophisticated rover', Astarion?"

He pulled back defensively, pursing his lips to hide his fangs. They live free? Dress for comfort? As if I ever had such a choice. She has no idea! His fingers curled into a fist.

"Are you ... mocking me? Is that what this is?"

Am I just a toy to you?! A doll to be dressed up to your liking?!

The air around him felt charged, a palpable tension that made it difficult to breathe. A deep red flush spread across his neck, creeping up towards his pale face. The anger was sudden, but uncontrollable, and he didn't know why.

Calm down, you fool. This is nothing. You've been through worse. He screamed internally. So then, why does it hurt more than usual? Why is it worse when it's her?! I ... I don't want her to see me this way, but I know she does! Who wouldn't?!

"Mocking you?" Tav asked, breaking the silence.

She tilted her head, the simple act pulling Astarion from is raging stupor. Her eyes were innocent, unassuming. And of course they were—he hadn't yet told her the truth about Cazador. The details. The depravity.

Hold on. Is this ... real?

"What are you saying?" she peeped. "I brought you here because of how worn out your clothes are." She pointed at the seams of his waistcoat. "Thin with crooked replacement stitches. I always see you fiddling with them."

Astarion's throat tightened. So she did notice. He tried not to blush.

"I'm sorry if that came off the wrong way. I wasn't trying to insult your clothes, I just thought you might like something new."

"I ... see."

"If you don't like the black and white..." She smiled and gestured to the shopkeeper. "We can order something with colour. Do you take commissions? Can my friend here make alterations?"

Friend?

"He can. And we do indeed sew to order, but it might take a while. I'm down a seamstress this month."

Astarion paused, their voices fading. He looked down at the sleeved tunic and accompanying vest that Tav held close to her chest. It was thick, surprisingly well crafted, and more fashionable than he initially dared to admit. For a moment, he felt his unbeating heart flutter. New clothes. A whole outfit, just for him. He'd forgotten what that felt like. What shopping for anything other than a victim for Cazador felt like.

Against his better judgement, he reached out and rubbed the material between his fingers. Twill. Handcrafted. Warm. He felt a tingle as he realised Tav didn't choose that outfit at random. She'd put a lot of thought into it.

"I want this one."

"Sorry?" Tav said, glancing up at him.

"This outfit." He tugged at the sleeve, gently. "I want this one."

She smiled. "Are you sure? You didn't seem overly thrilled about it a second ago."

"Tch! Well, I changed my mind," he hissed. "What can I say?" His eyes softened. "It's grown on me. Just like your ... annoyingly infectious positivity."

"Alright, alright," she laughed, ignoring his jibe. "Can you ring this up, sir?"

Astarion's back stiffened as she reached for her coin purse. Money, right. That hadn't crossed his mind. As horrible as Cazador was, everything was provided. When allowed to sleep on a bed, it was there. When Cazador's guests wanted wine, it was there. Anything needed to rope in victims was given. He hadn't had to buy anything in nearly two hundred years.

"Wait, I—"

"It's no problem," Tav said, sensing his conflict. "I'm happy to do this."

"But..." He frowned, crossing his arms. "Well, don't expect anything back. If that's what you're after, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"I don't expect anything back, Astarion." She handed the shopkeeper a roll of gold coins, then turned to him with another tender smile. "I'm just glad to help out a friend."

Astarion stood in silence, his brow twitching. A thought occurred to him—two words he hadn't felt the desire to say in two centuries. Two words he'd almost forgotten. He shifted from side to side, looking anywhere but at her, desperate for an escape from the vulnerability pressing down on him.

But I think she truly means it.

"I..."

His mouth opened, then closed again. He cleared his throat, trying to speak, but the silence lingered. He could tell she expected nothing, but for once he wanted to give a part of himself, by choice. Just a few words. The feeling inside him grew, a swell of gratitude he couldn't quite contain. Finally, he sighed and met her eyes with a smile.

"Thank you."

[dethtallica]

heyy im requesting again cus i liked the work you did for me so much :) could you do one with Jason/Anyone based on @hexxeddorm’s drawing on a waitress Jason? (im pretty sure you’ve seen it) the rest is up to what you want to write, just need to have him dicked down in that uniform 👀

again, love your works so much and take your time if you need to :) ❤️

GAHH had to make this into a halloween fic! i love that fanart so much this ask made me SO happy :)

Prove It

1987 • James/Jason

CW - semi public sex, toxic yaoi lmao, cross dressing, dubious consent kind of i don’t know, use of the F slur, internalized homophobia

Jason always looked forward to Halloween.

He’d dress in a fun costume, drink, maybe play a Halloween show if he was lucky. The Flotsam guys were even bigger on Halloween than he was and dragged him to countless costume parties with hookers hanging around; they’d give him a look, that look, and one of his bandmates would push Jason to go talk to a prostitute with a smirk.

“Cmon man, she’s like, totally your type! Blonde hair, blue eyes, looks like she could kill ya… go get ‘er!”

Yeah. It’s his type.

The girls were almost always wearing a sexy outfit. Skimpy, cheap clothes that accentuated their curves. The costumes were predictable— Sometimes a nurse. Sometimes a slutty witch who wants to trade her potions for your semen. Maybe a particularly naughty angel who decided maybe a little defiance would be good.

Or, a waitress.

Jason stares at himself in the mirror, regretting everything about this. He was still the Newkid, had to do everything the band told him. What James told him. So, when he was ordered to embarrass himself by wearing a very feminine, very revealing Waitress costume for the upcoming Halloween party, he obliged. Jason shuffled to the side to check the rest of his costume. Remembered how these costumes were made to show off ass and curves. It’s not a nice memory. His thighs seemed too muscular for the thin fabric of the light pink skirt, his chest and shoulders too broad and thick for the revealing top. Trying on costumes had been enjoyable in the past; now wearing his costume is the last thing he wants to do.

Jason’s eyebrows furrow as he continues to check himself out in the mirror. Maybe, he thinks, if he was a chick, there was a chance he would look good. But he’s not. No, he’s a guy in a fucking waitress costume too small for him just because James would get a kick out of it. Everyone else had a normal costume— a vampire, a werewolf, an imp. And, fuck, here he is. In a women’s skirt and top. In a shitty halloween store’s changing room where plastic decorations hang from the ceiling and walls. The painted on smiles of the plastic spiders don’t help Jason’s mood.

Jason sighs. He really doesn’t wanna do this. Surely there’s a way he can convince James to have mercy on him, right? Maybe he’d offer his personal stash of weed or Heineken. Embarrassed, Jason stops staring at his masculine figure in the mirror and takes a deep breath. James is on the other side of the dressing room, impatiently tapping his foot, and Jason assumes it’s because he wants to hurry up and get back to the guys.

“James? You’re.. really serious ‘bout this? Don’t wanna like, take my hash instead? This is stupid. Really fuckin’ stupid.”

Jason hears the other man grunt from the other side.

“What, too pussy? If you can’t even dress up in a stupid costume, why should I even keep you around?”

Well. Fuck.

“I- Fine. Whatever. I’m ready.”

A pause, then James is opening the door from the outside, not realizing how tantalizingly slow he’s going. Why did he do this again? To be honest, he wasn’t really thinking when he asked Jason to wear the costume. He was drunk. And, yeah. He’s usually drunk. Caught him there. But it was different. Jason was the one who brought costumes up in that stupid cheery voice, and you couldn’t blame James for wanting to mess with him. Not when he’s waiting for Jason to snap.

Here’s how it happened; the two were sitting in Jason’s room together with the steady beat of Electric Eye. Jason and James left all alone because Kirk and Lars wouldn’t do a damn thing without the other and Lars was tasked with getting the band more beer. Jason eyed James. James eyed Jason. Jason spoke up, blurting out a stupid question about Halloween, earning a groan from James. Like he wanted to make Jason believe talking to him was a chore. The conversation went on— if you count Jason sheepishly blabbering in hopes of entertaining James a conversation. It was when Jason mentioned those parties with his old band, Flotsam, that the blonde got an idea.

That’s when he asked Jason just how far he would go. Jason looked confused at first. The guitarist enlightened him. James asks the brunette what his problem is first, because of course he does, and follows it with something that made Jason determined.

“You always just take everything. All the pranks, all the jokes. When are you gonna snap at us, huh? When are you gonna snap at me? How far can you really take it? Prove to me you’re good enough.”

That’s how they ended up here. Jason showed him how much humiliation he can take by allowing James to lay eyes on him when he’s dressed like this. Because Jason is strong, Jason can take it. He can take all the shit James and the guys give him. In fact, he has to. So the bassist doesn’t hide when the door is finally opened all the way, only looking to the side, his cheeks dusted a light pink.

It hits James like a truck. He feels absolutely winded after he first takes the first look. The waitress skirt perfectly hugs his hips like it was specially tailored and crafted for Jason to give the guitarist a boner. His mouth goes dry, scanning the bassist up and down. The boy in front of him wasn’t supposed to look so damn perfect, the whole thing was supposed to be a joke. A stab at Jason, to see how far he’ll take it. To see if he’s good enough to be in Metallica. He is a replacement, after all. However, James would be lying if he said that replacement wasn’t making him short circuit. And James was also a dirty fuckin’ liar, because the waitress gag was more than just a gag to him.

“You. You, uh. You look stupid.”

There’s silence for a few moments. Then, Jason starts laughing. It throws James off, and he scrunches his eyebrows. The bassist giggles for a few moments longer before shaking his head.

“Is that all you have to say?”

James shifts uncomfortably and looks to the side. Walks in, closes the door behind him, then scowls. Like he didn’t just invite himself into an occupied dressing room like a freak. And he wasn’t! He swore. He only shut the door so no one else would see Jason like this. Which, fuck, wasn’t a great reason either, considering that’s the whole reason he’s forcing Jason to buy this stupid costume anyways. So people can see. And laugh. The only one that’s laughing is Jason, though, because he realized he’s got the big James Hetfield’s panties in a twist ‘cause of what was supposed to be a prank on him. Ironic.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me. Be grateful I’m closing the door so only I can see you. I should be the one laughing at you.”

Jason rolls his eyes. He’s not dumb enough to not pick up on what the situation is, though it is much different from what he expected. He really did expect James to laugh at him, to think he looked stupid. Instead he got that look, yes, that look, and a couple stuttered words when James stared at him like a dog staring at a treat. Jason’s no virgin. Maybe surprised, but he won’t let that show. What he does plan to show is dominance over this perverted blonde who was slowly getting closer to him.

“You look conflicted. Got something to say?”

Jason asks quietly, watching James get closer like a cartoon character floating to a pie. Pathetic, he thinks. He’s supposed to be the intimidating one and Jason’s got him hardening in his jeans from a simple costume like a homo. If you asked him, James was not a homosexual. He only liked girls. That was his justification for quickly hardening in his jeans at the sight of Jason. He looked like a girl, okay? That’s it. That’s the only reason.

But it wasn’t. Because James was inches away from the bassist, staring down at him with a hard on.

“I’m not- I’m not conflicted. Fuck are you trying to say?”

“Well.. I can see your boner through your jeans, but you’re trying to make yourself look like you’re mad. How’s that for a conflict?”

The blonde snarls. That was it. James shoves Jason against the back wall, rattling the little decorations in the dressing room. Jason yells with surprise and slight panic as he’s tossed against the wall like a ragdoll. Really hot once the initial surprise wears off, but he keeps that to himself. Jason’s chin is yanked up to look up at James’ flushed face. They meet eyes, the waitress boys’ gaze teasing and hungry while the guitarist’s is angry and lustful.

“I am not a fucking fag. Okay? I’m not. You- you just look like a woman, that’s IT. I don’t like guys. I don’t like you. I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Instead of a reply, Jason forces his lips on James. Expecting resistance, he doesn’t go too hard— but, instead of being met with a punch to the gut, he feels the blonde hungrily reply by kissing him back like he’s been waiting for this moment for years. And, that’s not true. Because he’s only been waiting for months. Which is, like, significantly less gay. And this isn’t gay. Because right now Jason’s a just a slutty waitress. But, no matter how much James tells himself these things, they both know the truth. Thankfully, James’ worries melt away as they make out against the wall. Jason’s tongue finds its way into the blonde’s mouth and the taller boy whines, hands finding their way to Jason’s hips. It’s an ego boost feeling James fall apart in literal minutes all because of Jason. Jason did this to him. Made him straining against his jeans, begging to be inside the waitress boy. Made him shaky and whiny (to James’ dismay). He can’t think about that too long because everything’s happening so quickly—James’ hips start to rub against the bassists’ clothed dick as he nearly eats his face off with those sloppy kisses. It’s all teeth and spit as they dry hump each other, both sporting a full erection.

The kiss doesn’t last. James is pulling back, chest heaving, face red, and hard as a rock. His cock still rubs against the brunettes, and he can’t help but look at their strained cocks brushing against each other. Jason notices this and looks at the erotic scene too. He silently wonders if this costume will be ruined before he can even wear it for the party.

“If.. If you tell.. anyone about this.. I swear you’re a dead man..” James promises, trying to catch his breath and keep his desperate moans down at the same time.

“Won’t tell a soul.”

For some reason, that’s believable enough. ‘Cause James doesn’t miss a beat rubbing his length on Jason’s slightly shorter cock. Both are impressive. James thinks Jason’s is impressive. It’s got a pretty pink tip and girth that would make any girl drool— it’s too bad Jason’s using it on the Mighty Hetfield. Don’t ask James how he knows this. But, really, it is a beautiful cock, because all James can think about is how perfect and (probably) delicious it is as he ruts against Jason who is now leaning in to lick and suck at the blonde’s neck.

Shuddering, James’ grip on Jason becomes tighter as the tongue on his soft skin glides over him before picking a particularly sensitive spot and sucking. The bassist smirks against the taller boy’s neck as he sucks a hickey into the crook of James’ neck. Probably not a good look to have purplish marks all over your neck after you just walked out of a changing room with another man, but that was a worry for future James. He could always just say it was a vampire. And, ouch, Jason bites down on his flesh just like one, making James shiver and stutter. His hips trembled against the flushed cock below him and he bites his lip to hold back the moan that threatened to spill from his lips. It was already shameful enough he was doing this with another man, he doesn’t need the whole fucking store hearing it.

With a slick popping noise, Jason removes his tongue from his neck, leaving James dizzy. He stumbles back slightly, which he realizes is actually from Jason pushing him back to remove his skirt. The brunette’s fingers slowly push down that delicious pink skirt along with his boxers to reveal his weeping cock, and James swears he could’ve came right then.

“Don’t worry big boy, you can fuck me soon.”

Actually, he changes his mind. He could’ve cum to that. While he’s busy losing his goddamn mind, Jason’s fingers soak themselves in his wet mouth before dipping down to his hole, making sure James knows he’s teasing himself by circling his rim before dipping in. Jason makes a breathy noise as he works two fingers in and James can’t help but wonder if he’s starting with two because he’s done this before. His chest swells with jealously but he’s quickly distracted by realizing his hand made its way down to his cock to rub himself off while he watches his bandmate finger himself. He’s so goddamn horny his body’s doing shit on its own.

“‘S gonna feel so good, James. Just wait a- fuck- minute..”

James doesn’t respond. He can’t. His mouth feels like a desert. A third finger is added. When? It didn’t matter. James’ burning hot desire made everything feel like it was moving in both slow motion and high speed. Like he’s drunk, but really it’s just Jason making him feel like that. Because he can do that for some reason, which is really frustrating. It’s usually not very acceptable to fall for your bandmate, let alone fall for your male bandmate as a male.

But when Jason’s fucking himself on his fingers up against the wall, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat as he moans like a girl quietly in his very much girly costume, it’s different, okay? It’s different. Not, but Jason will have to get James to realize that a different time, because now he’s focused on getting James inside him and doesn’t really care if it’ll haunt both of them for the rest of their lives. James almost seems angry when Jason reaches to undo his jeans, like he’s trying to make himself angry so he’s not embarrassed. Typical James behavior. Typical James behavior is also fucking people till they break, which Jason is a little too excited for.

A position change and a few desperate kisses, and they’re back against the wall with James’ cock pressed against Jason’s hole. The guitarist twitches against the tight rim and he goes to bite his lip again, which does not go unnoticed. The bassist almost wants to laugh again at how badly James wants this.

“Desperate, huh?” Jason teases.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Jason smiles lopsidedly, and James wants nothing more than to wipe it off his stupid, pretty face. So he grips Jason, white knuckling, and forces his hole down on his swollen cock, making them both groan. Jason’s eyes are wide as he’s stretched out and his legs shake and tremble . Hurts like a motherfucker, but damn, he knows it’ll be the best he’s had so far.

James doesn’t wait to prove that. He’s immediately ramming in and out of Jason, trying so desperately to hold back his embarrassingly girlish moans. It’s cute to Jason. He knows the poor guy is in the tightest hole he’s been in to date, because Jason knows himself, and he doesn’t know how to handle it. James can only tremble and watch his masculinity fade away as he’s being pleasured so immensely by a man, no, not a waitress, not a woman, no matter how much James wants to tell himself. James can’t control how fast he’s shoving himself in and out of Jason’s hole and the smaller boy almost feels bad— he’s really falling apart like a virgin. It almost reminds Jason of the first time he touched himself to a man. Except teenager Jason was exploring hormonal wants and James is fucking the prettiest guy around.

The bassist brings his hand up to the blonde’s face to gently caress it, the juxtaposition between the gentle touch and the rough sex below almost hilarious. His grayish eyes look into James’ blue ones, and he sees how vulnerable the boy is. He may be the one in Jason, but Jason’s done this before. With the Flotsam guys. With groupies. It’s not new. This is new to James because he’s denied himself for so long, and despite how awful James has treated the brunette, he feels the need to make the best for him.

“You’re doin’ so good- mmghh-, so good for giving in for me. Good boy, good boy-“ The bassist praises, tightening around him.

“S-stop-“

Jason pants, being cut off by a particularly hard thrust to his prostate. He seizes up, panicking, realizing he’s gonna cum. He’s gonna cum all over this costume he hasn’t bought and, well, it’s gonna be hot as fuck. James must’ve realized he’s gonna cum too, because he speeds up and goes even harder if that was possible. Jason cries out softly, trying to grab on to James as he feels his climax approaching. The humping the fingering, the fuck— it’s all gonna come crashing down into a brain numbing orgasm.

And that’s what happens when James stutters his hips and spills into him with no warning. Jason tenses, legs shaking and eyes watering, cum spurting out of him in thick ropes. It’s almost embarrassing how much he cums, and, James didn’t even bother to touch his cock. So why is he coming like a bitch in heat? And, funnily enough, James still isn’t convinced he’s gay despite cumming in another man’s ass. And liking it.

The two ride out their orgasms and catch their breath, thoughts spinning in their head. Am I gay now? What does this make us? Can we do that again? Did I seriously just cum in 5 minutes? The various hickeys become forgotten.

Questions left unanswered, because all that really matters is that Jason proved himself.

“…I still hate you, Newkid.”

[heuningpie]

Interview with Felix, the Vampire.

So I watched the movie Interview with the Vampire (luv it so bad omg) and then watched a clip from a Felix live stream immediately after and whatever this is happened. Historical and vampire AU ahead. No warnings for now other than slightly slightly mature (no smut tho... yet)

This is my first time posting my writing on tumblr :) Please do not copy.

~~~

“Surely you jest, my lord.” 

A chuckle echoes throughout the church hall. 

‘God this is all so stereotypical’ Seungmin thought. But Han was always one for the dramatics. 

“Quite on the contrary, my dear friend. She desires it so.” 

And it’s true. You did. The minute you saw those alien eyes and elven features you were entranced. 

—-------------[3 Years Earlier]-----------------------------

Shouts and cheers of celebration rang out in the tavern. It was packed with raucous men on a night like this, the occasional paid prostitute at their sides taking their cut of their men’s gamble to a victory. The poor souls who lost were tossed aside to the dreariness of the dark night. ‘Pity,’ you thought, ‘To lose it all to an ace of spades. Mere ink on paper.’

Of course, you’ve seen it all. The poor get rich, the rich get poor, and everything in between. As a long time barmaid, you can predict a particular night’s outcome with rather frightening accuracy at this point, and something tells you tonight is a strange one. 

“Another round!” 

A hearty outburst interrupts your train of thought. 

“Served by my good luck charm herself!”

The cheery man smiles as he meets your eyes, and you fall into your usual routine for the hundredth time that night. As one of the few barmaids with time enough (and stubborn enough) to work on the nights of gambling, you had been coined as many a man’s good luck charm. Some were insufferable to deal with, while others were simply good men caught up in the moment. Either way, it has become a part of your job. 

“Another round for the gentlemen,” you sigh with a tired smile as you approach the card table, two mugs of ale in each hand. Usually you could maintain your air of pleasantness for the length of your shift, even on particularly wild nights, but tonight had been a struggle. It was your sixth nightly shift of the week, and the hours (and aches) were adding up. 

You bend to place the drinks on the table and pretend not to notice the men’s blatant lustful stares towards the silver necklace that rests on your bosom. The pendant that usually rests delicately on your chest now feels heavy. You grimace to yourself. 

‘You fucking wish, you rakes of men.’

However, there is one gaze that is not quite as lecherous, as its owner manages to catch your eye, exuding a particular air of intrigue. 

He did not reach to take a mug of the sweet drink of wheat. Instead, he sits still as he was, golden eyes burning into yours through hair the color of hay. In looks the man was practically sunshine personified. 

‘How peculiar of features,’ you ponder to yourself. ‘From what land does he journey?’

He does not play either, merely bets on who he supposes will win. 

“A good luck charm, you say?” he quirks an eyebrow at you as he tosses a single chip of a large sum of money in the betting pot like it’s a piece of lint. He speaks in an accent you have never heard and radiates an aura of confidence you have never seen in any town gambler. 

“Ah, such bold actions! Are you certain of your bet, good Felix?” A man you’ve come to know as Han asks the man, nudging him on the shoulder playfully. 

Felix. 

“Quite sure, my lord,” he says as he throws a side smile to Han and moves to lean forward and shake his head downward in an attempt to fluff his hair. Looking to the ground, he takes a moment to adjust the gold and obsidian ring on his middle finger— that to your surprise you did not notice until he rather calmly and indirectly brought it to your attention via his movements— and he breathes a calm sigh. 

Felix. 

His eyes pierce yours once more as he lifts his head and utters in a much lower tone than before. 

“Of nothing else have I been more certain.” 

—-------[Present Time]------------------------------------

“Felix!” Han commands the man to appear, and you feel his golden eyes land on you from a distance. 

“Are you as certain of your decision as the lady is of her’s?” 

Felix’s habit of fiddling with his rings is demonstrated once again before he speaks his words with conviction. 

“Of nothing else have I been more certain.” 

Oh how different of a sentiment that phrase held for the both of you at this moment. You clutch your now worn pendant and shiver. 

How euphoric. 

Seungmin sighs. “Then it is done,” he says after a moment of contemplative silence. He then turns to face you from the entrance of the church hall. 

“Just… do me a favor. Don’t despise me in the future for allowing this.” 

You present him with a warm smile. Underneath that imperturbable and seemingly cold exterior, he always was too kind for his own good. 

“I could never,” you reassure him as you reach to cup his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.  

“This decision is ours,” you speak. Felix now begins to approach you from his place next to Han at the front of the church hall. It seems as if those golden eyes of his will always have their hold on you, as you now stand practically in a trance due to the man before you. 

He speaks to finish your earlier sentiment. 

“And we will brave all that comes with it.” 

—---------------[3 Years Earlier]--------------------------

“All bets placed, gentlemen?” you ask. A chorus of cheers sounds from the riotous group. All you can manage is a small chuckle and a smile to a few of the men already asking for more ale as you grasp the betting pot and shake the coins contained in it for dramatic effect. 

“All bets are final, and good luck to you all,” you remark. 

As fast as your tired feet will carry you, you walk back to the bar and place the several empty mugs in the wash barrel and the betting bucket in the cabinet next to it (a practice done to ensure no cheating or last minute changing of bets ensues). If you could wash the mugs later and just take a minute to breathe now you would, but it seems the men like to get drunker and drunker by the minute, practically downing the entire 20oz mug in seconds. Once again, you fall into your usual routine. Wash the mugs, pour new drinks, keep the bar counter and tables wiped clean, attend to incoming guests, collect bets, distribute winnings and take losses, etc. At least time didn’t seem to inch by at a snail’s pace anymore. 

“Felix!” Han shouts again. “It seems your bravery in a gamble has paid off!” 

The victorious man then reveals his cards, causing the muscled man across from him to sigh and toss his cards in the air in exasperation. Mysterious man you’ve come to know as Felix simply smirks to himself, lowers his head, and closes his eyes in what seems to be… relaxation?

“You have bested me once again, Sir Han!” the loser mock-cries. Han chuckles at his actions before saying “Come now, Sir Seo, do not be dispirited so.” 

“And pray tell what could possibly lift my fallen spirits at this moment,” Sir Seo fake-wails, continuing to sob in a mocking manner. Han shakes his head, still giggling from the man’s antics. “Ah Changbin,” he says, “You’re almost as dramatic as me sometimes. Almost!” 

You begin to make your way over to the table with the betting pot and newly acquired collection pot as well. You also pray to any god that will listen that the men are done for the night, as the bar has almost completely emptied out at this point (save the occasional passed out stray drunkard with not their wits about them enough to find lodgings for the night). 

Once you approach the occupied gambling table, you thrust the empty collection pot in front of the man called Sir Seo… or Changbin… your tired brain is not really sure at this point. 

“Cough it up, Sir Seo.” 

At this point, you had adopted a bit of an attitude. You had grown exhausted of the rowdy men before you (except for the golden-eyed Felix, but that was neither here nor there). 

“Yah! How dare a mere waitress take on such a tone with a valued patron!” Changbin shrieks, though he sends a small wink your way to communicate he merely jests.

“Cute,” you deadpan, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Now hand it over.” 

The gamblers erupt in guffaws and hoots of laughter. 

“It seems your charms are not appreciated here, good sir!” Han teases Changbin.

They continue to howl in drunk elation and shove at each other, neither one of them handing over any losses to the collection pot. At this point you’re ready to whack them over the head with it. 

“Do as the woman says.” That deep voice emerges above the noise in an attempt to guide the unruly men, his golden eyes making piercing contact with your brown ones. 

“She tires of your boyish antics.” 

It wasn’t the most commanding tone he adopted, but he seemed more aware than others of your exhaustion. A sudden feeling of endearment, possibly fondness, washed over you for a fraction of a second. 

Retreating from your inner thought, everyone seems to be just as stunned as you are at Felix’s sudden order, but you’re better at concealing it. It wasn’t even necessarily his swiftness to defend you that caught you off guard, but rather his choice of title to you… Woman. You’d been called countless things by the countless men who come to drown their sorrows in alcohol and wealth wagering, some of the common ones being good luck charm, sweets, barmaid, waitress, and harlot, prude, and bitch by the particularly unsavory types, but never a woman. It was something about the way he said it; the shift in his tone, the casual flick of his ringed fingers, and the slight lingering of his eyes on you… To him, you were no trivial barmaid only there to fuel the night’s antics with ale. He saw you as something completely different and much more, and if it weren’t for the shiver that ran down your spine and the sudden goosebumps spreading down the back of your neck, you might have been able to hold his gaze for longer.   

~

To your relief, the night finally comes to a close, the obstreperous gamblers meandering their way back to their lives outside of this tiny tavern. There is one that lingers, though. 

Felix.

By now you’ve established that he is not the gambling type (or much of a drinker for that matter). As the sun slowly sank and gave way to a full moon, he merely sat in his seat next to Han and made the occasional bet, leaving his mug of ale full for most of the night and practically never straying his gaze away from yours. So he’s not a drunk, and he’s not a gambler, but he is one thing: confident. Maybe you would be too right now if it weren’t for the way he sits in his chair and observes you wiping counters and sweeping floors, his legs spread and hands resting on his knees in a casual and intimidating manner all at once. Those golden eyes of his almost burn holes in your apron. 

Felix… 

“Apologies for my rather wild companions, Miss,” he declares, now moving to stand. “Despite their noble upbringings, they revert to classless halfwits when venturing the ton of night.” He then approaches you cleaning the counter, a previously unseen smile gracing his features. 

How does a simple smile alter one’s features tremendously so? Before, he was almost… domineering– a word you would practically never use to describe the average bar guest– but as of right now, in this moment, there is no other descriptor that fits him and his bright, gentle smile more than… adorable. 

Dear gods above he really did have you under some kind of spell. 

His bow to you is oozing with formality and respect as he bends to a full 90 degrees in front of you. You cannot control the slight heat rising to your cheeks.

Even you can admit that he is incredibly charming. 

“I shall be financially responsible for any damage they may have caused to your place of livelihood.” 

At his words, your eyes widen in surprise and your hands that are scrubbing the counter top freeze for a second before you compose yourself. If you are going to withstand the man before you, then you must remain professional. 

“That will not be necessary, good sir. Many a man with no difference of carriage and conduct have been guests of such a tavern as this one,” you reply. “And you need not display such formalities to me, sir. I was simply performing my duties as a bar hostess. You need not bow.”

“You so permit me to stand, Madam?” he asks you from his still bowed position. 

“You need not my permission, sir.”

At that, he lifts his head to find your eyes, and you can’t help the blush that blooms from your cheeks. His sweet smile has vanished, now replaced with a small smirk and dear gods above you’ve only just noticed the angle from which his eyes meet yours. 

“Is that so?” he quips in a much softer tone as he tilts his head. “I assumed a composed and industrious woman such as yourself would require some… convincing.” 

You begin to scrub the already clean counter next to you with even more vigor. 

Remain. Professional. 

“It is only a bow you speak of. It presents itself to me and anybody else only as long as you permit it to, sir.” 

 You hear no immediate response from him, choosing not to risk a glance at his enchanting features again lest you melt. What you do hear is the familiar rustling of clothing as he does move to stand. Finally deciding the counter is clean enough– practically sanded down from your aggressive scrubbing– you walk with haste to stand behind the bar only so that you can toss the dirty rag into the wash bin, not because you could feel the beginning embers of a hot flame in your chest and felt you needed to put some distance between you and felix lest your body bursts aflame. 

What is it about this man? Yes, he is honestly quite pretty, but you’ve seen plenty of dashing types mill about this bar. Sure, he wears very elegant, almost ancient looking jewelry on his hands and ears and around his neck, but working at a gambling bar you have certainly seen that before! All sorts of people come from all sorts of places just to make it to the one place in a 100 mile radius they can gamble and drink their troubles away for one night, so why oh why out of all of those hundreds to thousands of faces you’ve seen come and go, does this man’s enchant you so? He is not a wizard for christ's sake!

“And what does the beautiful barmaid do once every ruffian patron and vagabond stumbles their way out of the quaint little gambling bar?” Felix asks, interrupting your rather passionate internal monologue about him. You turn to face him once more, though you stay behind the bar counter (it feels like your only protection right now). Before you can even begin to manage a response, you can’t help but inhale a quiet gasp at the new proximity between you and the yellow-haired felix. He has sat himself down comfortably at one of the bar stools, specifically the one right in front of where you are behind the counter. Although he is much closer now to you than he has been all night, you do not feel threatened or the immediate need to step back and widen the distance between you two. In fact, you stay planted precisely where you are as you speak your answer to his question. 

“Well I strip myself of these rags, slip into my dress of the finest dyed silk, and catch a carriage ride to my castle,” you say with a proud tone. You notice Felix’s lips curl into the faintest of smirks at your response. “After all,” you continue, “My servants can only survive without my direction for so long.” 

You then do something that even five minutes ago you wouldn’t have ever thought of doing– you lean forward and rest your elbows on the counter, hands supporting your face that is now even closer to Felix’s, eyes fixed on his. Whatever trance he’s got you under, you let him keep you there for now. The man makes no move to change his position. 

“Servants?” He asks.

“Oh yes. And quite a few at that,” you quip, “Though I need not describe all of that to you, good sir. With the opulent finery you don on your person, I doubt you are at all unfamiliar with the work of servants.” You hold steady eye contact with him now. 

“Hm. I never felt I needed servants in my long life,” Felix muses. 

“Long life? With all due respect sir you hardly appear to be twenty-five years of age.”

His hand casually flicks in the air at your statement as he responds, “Regardless, I have had much time to acquire companions such as the ones you witnessed gambling earlier this evening. I already possess all the help I could possibly need.” 

For a moment you see Felix’s eyes soften as a small smile graces his face. You choose not to talk right away, using the serene silence to just appreciate the man’s features. Felix must take note of your own softened manner towards him, as he quietly and good naturedly laughs. Laughs? No, giggles. He giggled and blinked his eyes in the most endearing way. 

If anyone was a living, breathing embodiment of duality, it would be him. 

“You are quite charming, however you did not properly answer my question earlier,” the man tells you. 

“Well what exactly is it you want to know?” You’re still leaning on the bar counter, now practically hanging on to his every word. 

“Who are you?” Felix asks, moving to rest his own elbow against the counter, “when you are not a barmaid?” You break eye contact with him to watch his free hand now on the counter start to drift towards you, his fingers dragging almost delicately across the counter top. Gooseflesh breaks out over your arms. 

“When you are not cleaning, making drinks, collecting bets…” 

His hand continues drifting, only stopping when the tips of his fingers are resting on the counter mere centimeters away from your arms. You release a small breath you didn’t know you were holding in at the almost-contact. What was that? You wondered. Were you hoping he would… touch you? This man, practically a stranger? You look back up at him only to see he has not once broken eye contact with you. While you gazed at his hand possibly touching you, all he could see was your eyes and the way your face revealed a subtle tension taking over your person. 

“When you are not giving your evening to others, who are you?” 

This time when he spoke his voice was deeper than before, sending shivers down your spine. You have to momentarily collect yourself before you can speak again, but you choose once again to not answer his question.  

“Felix,” you draw upon your memory of what his companions called him earlier in the night, fully aware he has not informed you himself of his name. His eyes widen slightly and lips part at the choice from you. You choose not to look but you swear you could feel the faintest brush of his fingers against your arm. “From where do you venture to this quaint little gambling bar?” 

~~~

Okay hi that's all I have so far <3

I hope it made sense and you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you thought! I would like this to continue into a full story, but I'm not sure...

[desired-misery]

INGRID HUNNIGAN IN MY FICS PT 2

[Random snippets from other fics later down the line, as Ingrid goes from being Leon's handler to a friend, too.]

Part One + Part Three

“Over what? I don’t think you could get any more idiot-proof than this.” Condor sounds like himself, if annoyed. Ingrid does not know him— she has hardly worked with him— but she likes to think that she can read people's voices pretty well. It is her job, after all.

“You know what’d be more fun?” Condor breaks his silence fifteen minutes into his drive back to the airport. His tone is conversational, friendly. With anyone else, Ingrid would think he is just looking for conversation, but Condor is not like that. If he is talking, it is because he is either being smart or he is stressed— and he should not be stressed.

“I don't think the cows were out to get you, Condor,” Ingrid says. “You probably just got too close—”

Condor stops griping about the quality of his objectives around his fourth mission, which might have something to do with the real risk of people shooting at him now. He is way too cheerful over the line when he gets the brief; Tony sighs and passes another look to Ingrid that reveals how much he is anticipating needing to temper his patience with Condor today.

What is it with operatives and their morale suffering if they are on too many back-to-back missions without getting into an altercation?

He talks about it like it is a joke, but Condor is quite serious about the things he jokes about. Mentioning something multiple times is a pretty strong indication that whatever the subject, it is really bothering Condor.

Tony pulls up the security camera feed in time for them to watch Condor finish smashing glass shards out of the way so he can stick his arm through the door and unlatch it from the other side. That is one way to open a door— Ingrid makes a mental note to check her townhome for such design oversights.

It wasn’t Condor’s fault— but damn, his luck can be abysmal at the worst times.

“I’m not dead,” Condor says— and that’s fake cheeriness for sure. “Not dying, either.”

Ingrid will never understand why they are all somehow allergic to giving any indication that they are incapable of working

“I can tell you about this book I read. It has vampires in it,” Ingrid offers. “I am sure you will find it riveting.” It is a struggle to pull sarcasm into her voice, but she manages. To Ingrid’s surprise, Condor laughs.

“Lay back down, Condor,” Ingrid says, feeling more like she is dealing with a grumpy old man and not a highly accomplished agent. “Hawk’s going to do the mission while you’re injured.

[fr0mthefires]

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 2

In which you're down on your luck, taking the first job that will have you after being laid off from Endeavor Dynamics. There, you cross paths with a certain mysterious, red-eyed individual who seems to be harboring a secret, and (un)fortunately find yourself tangled in a web of obsession and danger you're not sure you can handle. Or stay away from.

cw: implied/referenced alcohol use, death, violence, blood, gore, implied/referenced SA, not beta read

~7.5k words part one here

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

That seems to be the only word currently available in your vernacular as you dig furiously through your closet, a growing pile of vetoed options accruing on the floor where you’ve thrown them in your panic. You currently have an impressive total of zero possible outfits to wear into your first shift tonight, and it’s already nearing 7pm. Kurogiri had made it a point to warn you about being late so as to not upset the infamous He, and the fact that it’s a thirty minute walk from your apartment only makes that little piece of advice more daunting.

You drop down on your bed with a distressed sound and go to rake your fingers through your hair before you remember how long it took to tame it into something more presentable, move to rub your hands over your face instead, and then stop that, too, the idea of ruining the makeup you’d spent an hour doing almost enough to send you into cardiac arrest. At least both those things are sorted, anyway. It may or may not have taken several attempts and a couple mental breakdowns to make it happen, but you think the effort has paid off.

You allow yourself a solid five minutes to breathe and regroup before begrudgingly making your way back over to your closet, eyeing it the entire three steps there like it’s committed grave atrocities against you. You stare blankly at what hasn’t yet been yanked from the hangers, cursing yourself silently for the array of anime and video game shirts you’d accrued over the years. You sure as hell can’t wear your now-retired slacks and blazers, either.

Toga’s cheery voice comes back to haunt you then. “Just take a look at some of the clientele if you need inspiration!” Yeah, the clientele was real inspiring, alright. You sigh in defeat, acknowledge you have no loopholes around the inevitable, and throw down the white flag that just so happens to take the form of the towel wrapped around your body.

You have to shift around the rest of your clothes that had been spared from your ransacking to get to it, but the storage bin buried in the back of your closet is still right where you’d left it, back when you thought you finally had your life together. You hold it away from yourself as you carry it over to your bed like it’s about to grow teeth and bite you and then proceed to drop it like it’s burned you. An anxious glance at the time allows you a generous two minutes to stare at it in distress before you’re yanking the lid off with a flourish you don’t really feel.

The relics of your past are laid before you, folded neatly and looking far more harmless than they do in your mind. They serve as reminders of all the things you used to think you enjoyed back when your only source of serotonin was going out, partying until sunrise, and hooking up with men you knew would never be capable of loving you.

It was easier that way, knowing feelings would never be involved. Easier knowing they wouldn’t still be in your bed when you woke up feeling emptier than the day before, nothing but a raging headache and self-loathing for company.

You don’t bother sorting through it, opting to grab whatever’s on top and praying to whatever’s out there that it still fits. You try not to acknowledge how little fabric is currently clutched between your fingers in a death grip, lest you dive under your covers and forget about this whole thing altogether.

For maybe the first time in your life, your prayers are answered. You’re mortified the second it’s on your body, clinging to you like a second skin. It’s all black lace and leather that leaves very little to the imagination. And was it always this goddamn short? You think you’ve worn this a grand total of one time and that was in the dressing room before you bought it and proceeded to never look at it again.

It takes you another precious minute to work up the courage to fully look at yourself in the mirror and then another two after that trying to not hyperventilate. It’s not that it looks bad. If anything, you’d almost dare to say you look… good. Really good. Better than you have in a long time. It’s just so far outside your comfort zone now that you don’t know how to feel about it.

Glimpses of the women at the club last night flash through your mind, all of whom were wearing even less than you, and somehow, that fact eases your nerves. Just a little bit. Enough to get you slipping into the only pair of heels you own and out the fucking door before you hesitate again and change your mind.

***

The walk to Nine Lives is surprisingly (and mercifully) uneventful despite a couple of whistles and cat-calls once you’re closer to the building. You have to do a double-take to even realize they were directed at you, before quickening your pace as much as the heels allow. You’re definitely out of practice, the added height throwing you more than a little off-balance, and the thought of surviving an entire shift in them makes you want to locate the nearest bridge to throw yourself off of.

You make it at 7:50, proud that you’re a whole ten minutes early before you realize there’s a line wrapped around the entire front of the building waiting to get in. It is a Friday night, after all, and you should’ve maybe planned for this outcome. But hindsight is 20/20, and you’re just about to head to the back of the line and mentally kick yourself for being late on your first day when a now familiar, gravelly voice calls out to you.

“Is that you, little mouse?” You turn, meeting nothing but hulking chest, once again barely contained in his signature red tank top. You wonder how he doesn’t get cold standing out here in that. Probably all the steroids. Your gaze travels up, and up, until it meets his. There’s a glimmer of real surprise in his eyes, and for a brief moment, he genuinely looks baffled to see you back here. You don’t think it’s that surprising that you’d actually gotten hired and try to not be offended that he seems to think it is. 

“Barely recognized ya, ya clean up nice. Real nice.” You try not to cringe at the comment and the way he says it, instead offering him a forced smile that you hope looks genuine. “Guess they haven’t scared ya away yet, huh? Boss is real picky. Didn’t expect to see ya again, if I’m honest.” He stares at you like he’s searching for something, a contemplative expression on his face before it’s gone, replaced by his usual indifferent stare. He nods towards the entrance and gestures for you to follow, and after a hesitant glance at the line wrapped down the sidewalk, you do.

“Employees don’t wait in line. Just come right on up to me, doll, and I’ll get ya sorted. In more ways than one, too. Just gotta ask.” He throws you a wink over his shoulder, an amused smirk on his lips. You get the sense he likes toying with you. He stops at the door, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by, probably on purpose like the asshole he is.

Just as you’re about to step inside, he throws a hand up to halt you. He waits until you look up at him to speak, his expression unexpectedly serious. “If you’re gonna be working here, we should be more familiar. Name’s Goto Imasuji. Know we’re a rough crowd ‘nd all, but we look out for our own. Ya need anything, holler, doll. Y’know where to find me.” Okay, maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as you thought.

You give him your first genuine smile of the night, albeit a small one, and offer your name in return. You make sure to express your thanks, hoping it sounds as grateful as you intend it to be. It does go a long way in easing your nerves knowing this hulk of a man is here if you need him. He nods at you once before you pass through, and you think you see something like concern in his eyes before he turns back to the front of the line. Trick of the light, probably.

“Keep your wits about ya in there,” he murmurs as you squeeze past him, so quiet you’re not sure if you were really even meant to hear it. “Or ya may never walk out again.” You’re already inside when he says that last part.

***

Nine Lives bombards you with it’s, well, everything, though not as severely as yesterday now that you somewhat know what to expect. The music is more or less the same, another dark, sensual beat that vibrates from the soles of your feet all the way to the top of your head. You think you can understand the appeal, if you really think about it. You could see yourself easily drowning in an atmosphere like this under the right circumstances.

It’s definitely much more crowded than it was the day before, impossibly so, the crowd of people spilling out closer to the door and leaving fuck-all for a path to the bar. You think the fire marshal would have a field day with this place if they’d ever be brave enough to step inside. You catch a lot more looks than yesterday as you push your way through, this time a lot less annoyed and a lot more interested. Hungry. Goto’s warning resonates in your mind, and you swallow nervously, reaching to tug down the hem of your dress on impulse. It’s a futile attempt.

“Oh my god, is that you? It is you!” you hear someone call to you over the music, and already, you’d recognize that cheery voice anywhere. Toga seems to materialize in front of you from literally nowhere, momentarily stunning you. You chalk it up to her small stature making it easier to maneuver the crowd. “You look amazing! I already knew you were pretty, but wow! You really took my advice to heart,” she giggles, eyeing you in a way that would likely make you uncomfortable if it were anyone else.

“You’ll have to tell me where you got that outfit later! Let’s get you upstairs to Kurogiri.” She grabs your hand and pulls you through the crowd the same way she did yesterday, but you struggle a bit more this time thanks to the heels. She’s a lot stronger than she looks, easily pulling you along despite how small she is. You wonder if she works out in her free time even though she doesn’t really seem the type.

She releases you to unclasp the red rope again, and then you’re traveling back up the stairs to the VIP lounge for the second time, incredibly conscious of how short your dress is and fervently hoping that nobody below can catch a glimpse of anything underneath.

You notice the same few people are milling around and looking utterly bored, but there’s a noticeable shift once you appear at the top of the stairs, like they’re all waiting for something. Toga disappears through the mysterious lone door in the corner to presumably get Kurogiri, and you’re suddenly left alone. You take the time to really observe your surroundings and the people in them, all of whom seem to be men. You start to understand a bit more why Toga wanted you here so bad.

There’s a guy in the corner with red eyes and almost lilac hair who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, dressed in a white hoodie with a black jacket thrown over top. There’s another one standing next to him that looks much more animated with blonde hair and grayish-blue eyes, sporting a white tank top with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

The one with the striking blue eyes and burn scars is there, too, talking to a man in an orange button-up long sleeve with a black vest thrown over top. He looks oddly dapper compared to everyone else, and you’re once again uncomfortably reminded of how little you’re wearing. They’re all nursing drinks and seem to be in varying stages of intoxication. Unfortunately, every man in this room is attractive despite their odd quirks. Almost inhumanly so.

Toga returns before you can dwell on that fact any further, an impassive Kurogiri trailing behind her. You think you catch a shock of white hair behind them too, but that’s all you really glimpse before your first shift officially begins, your attention zeroing in on your new boss for all intents and purposes.

“Welcome,” Kurogiri says simply, his tone just as monotone as it was yesterday. “I am glad to see that you have returned. I trust Toga will get you well acquainted over the course of the evening. Do not hesitate to find me should you need anything.” And with that, he’s off to his post behind the bar in the corner, polishing more already-clean glasses. Maybe he has OCD.

“He’s very to the point,” you mumble to Toga, who erupts into peals of giggles at the statement. “You have no idea! Don’t worry, he’s like that with everyone, even us!” Us, you presume, is the small group of people occupying the space currently. The small group of people that have all turned their attention to you, and only you. “Well, let’s introduce you to everyone! Don’t be shy!”

***

Over the next half hour, you’ve gotten names to all the faces you’d observed, mentally cataloging them in your mind. Dapper man is Atsuhiro Sako who greets you with a kiss to your knuckles like it’s the 1950s, purple hair is Shuichi Iguchi who doesn’t give much more than a nod, white tank top is Jin Bubaigawara who you suspect may have multiple personality disorder if the “Nice to meet you!” and then the “I hate meeting new people!” approximately two seconds later is anything to go by. 

Burn scars simply goes by Dabi and offers to get you well acquainted with himself if you get bored during your shift. To your mortification, your face grows warm at the prospect, and he seems overly drawn to the color rushing to your cheeks. Actually, they all do.

“And that’s everyone!” Toga exclaims cheerfully as ever before reassuring you that you’ll fit right in. You’re not so sure about that yourself. “Well, almost. The last one likes to hide away all alone like a weirdo.” You watch as she scans the room, a pout forming on her face when she presumably comes up empty. She turns to Dabi and they have a murmured conversation too low for you to hear over the music. It ends with a frown from her and a shrug from him that tells you he likely couldn’t give a fuck less about any of this.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up at some point,” she says at a volume you can actually hear, and you realize she’s now talking to you. She takes your hand again, her skin so cold against yours that it momentarily stuns you, and starts leading you back downstairs. “He’s antisocial, to put it nicely. But don’t worry, he’s not a bad guy once you get to know him!” You try not to let the uncertainty show on your face. If Goto and Kurogiri’s passive comments about this infamous He so far are anything to go by, you doubt it.

***

The next couple of hours pass by quickly while you’re hyper-focused on absorbing all the training Toga goes over. So far, you’ve learned how to make most of the drinks they offer, where to find spare supplies and ingredients, the layout of the standing room tables, and how best to interact with customers. “Try to keep all your interactions short and simple, but don’t be rude. You don’t want to encourage them, but you don’t want to offend them, either. Trust me on that.” Toga says it in a way that makes it seem more like a warning than a piece of advice, and you’re inclined to believe her.

She lets you watch while she serves a few people, and then you’re basically on your own with the promise that she’ll be nearby if you need her. You’re not sure if you’re ready for that, but you’d promised Kurogiri you were a fast learner, and you don’t want to disappoint him. So you do what you do best - pretend, become someone that you’re not for the sake of others. You plaster on the most convincing fake smile you’ve got, grab the drinks that Toga places on the counter, and head off into the crowd to the table number printed on the ticket.

It’s more difficult than it likely should be to maneuver through the swaying crowd without spilling anything. You choose to blame the heels instead of your lack of experience. You manage to make it to the small standing room only table tucked in the far corner with only a little bit of liquor spilled over on your fingers and consider that a win.

“Okay, here’s those drinks for you guys,” you say as nicely as you can manage, being mindful of keeping your distance as you slide them across the table. You don’t look up until you’re certain the glasses are in fact steady on the table and no longer in danger of slipping from your hands. You regret it as soon as you do.

The two men currently staring back at you share a concerning resemblance with the ones you’ve recently seen on news broadcasts about the rising threat of the Yakuza in the area. Actually, you’d be willing to bet what’s left of your meager life savings that they’re the same people.

It’d be hard to not draw that conclusion, given their distinctive appearances; one in the same green jacket and god-awful purple fur collar he was wearing in his mugshot, and the other in a white trench coat that vaguely makes him look like a school shooter. Both of them sport the same plague mask tattoo on their hands, a symbol you recognize as part of the Shie Hassaikai.

You think you remember green jacket’s name from the broadcast, Kai something. He’s currently wanted for an entire dirty laundry list of reasons, but the ones you remember with nauseating clarity are sex trafficking, kidnapping, and murder. They really do let anyone in this goddamn place.

That realization instantly has you on edge, and the way they’re looking at you isn’t helping; like you’re next up on their list of things to ruin. There’s a gleam in Kai’s golden eyes that makes it easy to guess just what he’s thinking about you, and white trench coat has started fidgeting in place like he’s just waiting for you to try to run away. To your credit, you don’t run, but you do fumble out the base of your escape.

“I have a lot of other tables tonight, but if you need anything else you know where the bar’s at.” You say it as neutrally as you’re currently capable of and offer them the most pathetic attempt at a smile before you’re whirling around, fully intent on making Toga handle their table if they do in fact need anything else. You don’t make it more than two steps away.

“Whoa, why such a rush, hm?” His hand is locked around your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but enough to let you know leaving isn’t an option. Your body goes stiff from the unspoken threat, any color you’d had from the heat of the crowd draining from your face. You glance around the area wildly for Toga or literally anyone at all that’s sober enough to help, but she’s nowhere to be seen and the people around you are probably just as intimidated by Kai as you. Any one of these people could be working for him or scared shitless of him.

Your body goes slack with despair and defeat, and he seizes the opportunity to tug you backwards until your back is against his front. “Stay a little while, yeah? My friend here and I know how to take care of pretty little girls like you, promise,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath ghosting over your neck making you nauseous. “Don’t we, Hari?” His friend just laughs in response, the sound so sinister it’s not hard to imagine just how they take care of women.

Your mind starts to work in overdrive, your fight or flight kicking in so fast it makes you dizzy. You could make a scene, but would any of these people even give a shit? No, you decide, they wouldn’t - not when they’re all so drunk or high they can barely stand, and not when most of them likely have some sort of warrant out for their own arrests. You could try to fight your way out, but how heavily his arm is locked around your waist tells you immediately that you’d be outmatched, not to mention it’d be two against one.

So that leaves running. Maybe if you went along with it just long enough for them to let their guards down, you could claw your nails into his eyes and make a break for it into the crowd. Or maybe you could-

“Don’t get any ideas, sweetheart,” Kai grits out into your ear, his grip around you tightening. “I can hear the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours. Do the wise thing, yeah? I’d hate to have to hurt you.” His hand glides up your front slow enough for you to feel every touch, intentional enough that you know no matter how hard you scrub later it’ll still linger. Hari circles around the table then, stopping in front of you and blocking off any potential escape you have left.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There’s that word again, on repeat in your mind. Your first night here and already you’re about to be murdered and god knows what else.

You reach up to claw at his arm in a pitiful attempt to get him off of you. “Please, let go. I-” Your voice shakes too hard to get out whatever else you had planned to say, and his hand slides up and around your neck to squeeze lightly, further stopping any other objections. “Ah, don’t be that way. Kai told you we’d take care of you, didn’t he?” Hari grins down at you, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly in time with the flashing neon lights. It makes you sick.

He looks to Kai over your head, and a silent conversation happens between them. “Let’s get her out of here. Somewhere more… private.” You don’t know why they even bother. Nobody in your immediate area has hardly even glanced your way. “But first, I want a little taste.” Kai’s hand shifts on your neck until his fingers are wrapped around your jaw and pulls, trying to tilt your head to the side. You shake your head wildly, struggling in his grip. No fucking way are you letting this bastard kiss you.

Hari’s grin falls, his expression shifting to something a lot more angry. “Do as he says,” he snaps, his hand shooting out to latch onto your jaw. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable, but it never comes. Seconds tick by, but you don’t dare open your eyes, not until this nightmare is over and you finally wake the fuck up. But then you hear a sharp intake of breath, a grunt of pain, and your eyes crack open.

***

“Tomura, have you met her yet?”

He sighs through his nose, long and loud, as Toga appears next to him. He looks up from the glass he’d been blankly staring into as opposed to drinking, his eyes narrowed in irritation. No, he hadn’t met you yet. He’d been busy. Busy slouching over the bar, going over all the tips the group had given him after you’d left last night on how to make a good first impression.

“Be an asshole. Girls like that shit,” Dabi had said, as unhelpful as ever.

“No, absolutely not, young man! Always treat a lady with respect!” Atsuhiro, ever the gentleman.

“Yeah, Tomura, just be nice to her and she’ll love you!” Toga, always so sickeningly positive.

“I don’t know, man. Just talk about video games and shit. Something you actually like.” Shuichi, who clearly didn’t have a clue of what the fuck he was talking about.

“Just tell her you want to get to know her!” Jin, who had sounded almost reasonable until he followed it up with, “Just tell her you’re after her blood!”

Tomura had been one more word away from burning Nine Lives down with all of them inside of it at that point, himself included.

He didn’t see why it mattered so much whether you liked him or not. You certainly hadn’t been hired here for him to like you. You were just a temporary solution to a problem he had unintentionally created, a way to fix it and get back in Master’s good graces. He’s never given a shit about a first impression a single time in his entire existence, but everyone swears up and down that it somehow matters for your sake. You’re already becoming a headache, and he hasn’t even spoken to you yet.

Which brings him back to the present dilemma, Toga glaring at him as she waits for him to say what she already knows. “No, I haven’t met her yet,” he snaps, his patience already redlining. He doesn’t know why exactly he’s so high strung right now. Probably because it’s been a few days since he last fed, getting dangerously close to his current limit. He can probably push it another four days, but any longer than that and he’ll be a lot more than just a pain in everyone’s ass, he’ll be a bloodsoaked monster on the evening news.

It’s with that thought he starts to understand everyone’s pressing a little more. The sooner he gets you to like him, the sooner he can get what he wants, what he needs. If all he has to do to get you to let him sink his teeth in you is give you a couple half-assed compliments and tell you he likes playing League of Legends in his copious amounts of freetime, well, he thinks he can do that. Maybe.

“Tomura, I swear to god if you don’t go down there right now and-” He throws a hand up to halt Toga’s empty threat and stands so abruptly the bar stool almost topples behind him. The liquor burns down his throat as he downs what was left in the glass, the sound of it slamming against the counter when he places it back down catching everyone else’s attention. “I’m going,” he hisses through gritted teeth, a scowl twisting his features as he starts to stalk off towards the stairs. It seems he’s put it off as long as he can.

“Maybe don’t go down there with your face looking like that, psycho. You’ll scare her away before you even get a damn word out,” Dabi mutters, sounding as self-satisfied as he looks. “Ah, who am I kidding. You’ll probably scare her off either way.” Tomura has to fight the urge to throw him off the balcony, opting instead to settle for one of his most murderous glares and a less-than-tasteful hand gesture. “Fuck off, Burn Unit. I’m surprised she didn’t take one look at the mess of your face and die of a heart attack,” he snaps, but it only seems to make Dabi more amused.

Tomura starts to descend the stairs before anyone else makes any further comments about his appearance or his attitude. He’s already psyching himself out of this, for fuck’s sake, and he doesn’t need their dogpiling on top of that. He stops about halfway down to survey the crowd, trying to get an idea of where the fuck you’re even at. He knows Toga had turned you loose about half an hour ago (not that he’d been listening), so you couldn’t have gone too far, but even with sight like his it’s hard to make out individual people in this big of a crowd. Goddamn Fridays. Why couldn’t you have come to him just two days sooner-

“... but if you need anything else, you know where the bar’s at.”

If he hadn’t been so intrigued by your soft, sad voice yesterday, he would have missed it over the other cacophony of sounds around him, but once he hears a voice he cares about one time, even minutely, it presents itself above everything else. Even now, he has to tune out Jin’s animated garble upstairs in favor of focusing on you better. Your cadence sounds a little off somehow, but he’s still certain it’s you. He tilts his head in the direction he thinks your voice drifted from, his eyes narrowing as he tries to pinpoint where exactly you’re at.

He moves down another couple steps, his surveying narrowing down to the darker side to his right. Still, he doesn’t see you, even with a smaller area to work with. He starts to get irritated then, silently hoping you’ll say something else. It’s not often his senses fail him, but it’s also not often he’s trying to track down a girl in the sea of the Friday night crowd, either. Actually, he’s never tried to track down a girl at all. First for everything, even for the immortal, he guesses.

He’s just about to give up on this entire stupid fucking thing altogether, stomp back up the stairs and tell everyone to eat shit, but then he finally hears you again.

“Please, don’t. I-”

His body goes stiff, his spine rigid as his gaze locks on to one of the tables in the corner where he’s now certain the sound of you came from. You don’t sound like you at all, at least not the you he heard from the shadows yesterday. You sound panicked, scared. Immediately, he knows something is wrong.

He leans over the railing to get a better view now that he knows exactly where to look. It’s no wonder he hadn’t seen you before - you’re sandwiched between two people, two people he recognizes very well. Kai Chisaki, the most recent wanna-be leader of the Yakuza, and Hari Kurono, his pathetic little underling. They’d done nothing but cause more unnecessary trouble for him ever since they’d decided it was a grand fucking idea to operate outside of his space.

The last time these two fools had shown up here, they’d left three dead bodies in the back alleyway and garnered so much police attention on Nine Lives that even Master had seemed to lose his cool a little. Tomura had made a promise to both Master and himself that day - he’d kill them if they ever came back, and now here they were, despite the warning he’d given them via the severed head of their previous Yakuza boss left on their base’s doorstep.

That promise is only made sweeter once he fully sees the position they’ve put you in. The fear on your face, the pitiful acceptance in your eyes. The hand wrapped around your throat. You were his, and here they were, toying with you like it was a fucking game. His jaw clenches so hard he’s certain it would break if he wasn’t what he is, and he’s jumping over the railing before he has time to consider he’s about to make a scene. He’s vaguely aware of Shuichi appearing behind him and telling him to stop, but he’s too blinded by rage to pay it any mind.

“Do as he says,” the white haired idiot is barking at you, and Tomura swears it’s the last thing they’ll ever say to you. To anyone. It’s almost laughable how easy it is, really. Disappointing. He’s able to stop Hari’s arm midair without expending any effort. He makes sure Hari gets a good, full look at the manic grin on his face right before he applies the most minuscule pressure and snaps his forearm like a fucking twig. The sound of the bone crunching is likely too quiet for you to hear, but he hears it. It’s likely the most beautiful sound he’s heard as of late, aside from your voice.

He knows you can hear the gasp of pain, though. It’s what finally prompts you to open those compelling eyes of yours, eyes that meet his immediately. He knows he must look as unhinged as he’s feeling right now, but still, you don’t look away. You stare at him, and Tomura stares back at you, and the idiot continues to wail in pain, but he doesn’t really notice that now.

He feels a shift when he fully looks into your eyes for the first time, like the world is realigning itself, adjusting its axis until it’s perfectly balanced with you. His vision tunnels until all he can really see anymore is the woman before him. A myriad of things pass through him then, so strongly he wonders if his heart has somehow restarted after so many years lying dormant in his chest.

The distance hadn’t done you justice yesterday. It’s such a bizarre thing to notice in the midst of what’s happening, but you make it impossible to not. Seeing you this close in all your glory confirms what he already subconsciously knew - you’re beautiful, and as much as he hates that word, he makes an exception for you now. Your features are so soft, so inviting even with the distress on your face. That little v is back between your eyebrows, and he finds his body wanting to act on its own accord again, this time to reach out and smooth it away.

Not to mention what you’re wearing. Fuck, he’ll have to kill everyone down here that lays eyes on you in that after he’s finished with these two. He’d already found you alluring yesterday from a distance and in the modest clothes you’d shown up in, but this… He finds himself wanting to consume you in an entirely different way now, one that’s foreign to him and has nothing to do with the blood pumping in your veins.

He thinks he can stare at you for eternity or however long he has left on this planet and it still wouldn’t be long enough to fully appreciate every captivating aspect of you. He’s never encountered anything or anyone like you. You’re out of his league in this life and his previous.

What the fuck is this?

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t think he even wants to know, and he doesn’t have time to find out right now even if he did. He’s brought back to reality when Kai makes his second wrong move of the night, his hand constricting around your throat now with the intent of fully cutting off your airflow. Tomura squeezes Hari’s arm hard enough that he hears a second crack in response to the sound of you struggling to breathe.

“Now, now, friend, no need for theatrics.” It takes Tomura a second to realize that’s directed at him. Kai has bigger balls than he thought, but that won’t save him, not now. “I’d hate to have to kill her.” Tomura’s teeth bare in a snarl, a growl rumbling in his chest at the threat. Hari drops unceremoniously to the floor when he releases him, cradling his arm to his chest like the pussy he is. He doesn’t get much reprieve before Tomura’s foot comes down on his neck, applying just enough pressure to make it hurt, right on the border of it being fatal.

“Let go of her or I’ll crush his fucking neck.” He knows he’s going to do that anyway, and he’s pretty sure Kai knows it, too. There’s a brief moment of contemplation, drawn out much longer than it needs to be likely to provoke Tomura further, before Kai’s hand slowly lifts from your throat. It takes even longer for his arm to move from your waist, but once you’re free, Tomura reaches out and yanks you around behind him. 

“Go upstairs and find Toga.” It’s not much of an introduction, he knows. He’d planned to start with a hello and maybe a how are you, but that’d have to wait now, if he ever even got the chance to try again. He’s sure you must be terrified of him and this place after witnessing all of this. He’d be surprised if you ever even came back at all after this shitshow. But you’re still there, hiding behind him, your warmth blooming across the icy cold of his back. “Now,” he grits out, and then you’re finally scurrying away. Well, if you weren’t scared of him before, you are now.

He decides it doesn’t matter, not if it means there’s several feet of distance between you and this band of merry fucking idiots. He’s far too protective of you right now for reasons he can’t explain, and it’s fucking with his head. Something happened when he made eye contact with you, something that made you a lot more than just a blood bag. That complicates things. He’ll have to ask Kurogiri what the hell is happening to him when he’s done here.

Speaking of… He shifts, applying full force onto one foot, crunching Hari’s neck beneath the sole of his shoe and effectively silencing his pathetic wailing forever. Tomura has always been one to give credit where it’s due, and to Kai’s, he doesn’t react more than a slight widening of his eyes. “Hm. And here I thought we’d had a fair trade.” Tomura almost laughs at that. “You know as well as I do the Yakuza have never prided themselves on fighting fair. Don’t act like you weren’t going to linger outside in the shadows until she left alone for the night,” he hisses, and if the slight narrowing of Kai’s eyes is anything to go by, he knows he’s right.

“Perceptive. Though I guess I should have expected that, from your kind.” That catches Tomura’s attention. So he knows, then. Knows about what Tomura is, and likely about the others, too. That means others could know, whether that be other Yakuza or whatever highest bidder Kai sold that information to. A problem, sure, but one that can wait for now. Right now, Tomura’s done playing games. He needs the satisfaction of killing this idiot more than he needs answers at this point.

“You should know better than to reveal your hand too soon, Chisaki,” he tsks before he moves. He’s on him and dragging him out the back door before his mortal brain has a chance to catch up. He sees Shuichi and Dabi swoop in to take care of Hari’s body right before the door swings shut, and then they’re alone in the back alleyway.

“And you should know better than to try to take someone else’s things, too.” Kai laughs at that like the idiot he is, like his life isn’t approximately two seconds away from ending. Irritating until the very end, it seems. “You know how they punish thieves in some places?” Tomura continues lowly as he moves in a blur, his hand wrapped around Kai’s wrist before he can react. “They cut off their fucking hands.” And then he does just that, tearing and ripping through bone and sinew until the hand that had been squeezing your throat is effectively torn from the wrist.

Finally he gets a reaction, a glorious one as Kai screams in agony. “No Hari around to help you now,” Tomura mocks gleefully. Oh, you’d be horrified if you could see him now, but this is who he is at the heart of it all, isn’t it? He tears the other hand from the wrist it was joined to, the blood coating his fingers and pooling on the cement below. A waste, but a worthy one. “I’ll be sure to leave these on the Yakuza’s doorstep next.”

It doesn’t take long after that for him to get bored. Kai is moving in and out of consciousness, his blood spilled and spattered all over the pavement along with his hands and arms, his screaming finished after the first arm came off. Tomura thinks he’s only got two minutes of life left at best. Still, he manages to wheeze out a few more words. “A far greater threat than me and the Yakuza are hanging over your head, Shigaraki. My only regret is I won’t be there to watch you fall.” He coughs, spits up a mix of blood and saliva. “That girl will be your undoing.” And then he’s dead, his pupils blowing wide and unfocusing forever.

Tomura has no clue what the fuck that could mean. The threat part, sure, they could deal with that, but the part about you is what he’s stuck on. Maybe Chisaki knew a lot more than he was letting on. It’d make sense, would fit with what Tomura knows of his character. He almost regrets killing him too soon. Almost. But if Chisaki could find whatever intel he’d found, surely Tomura and the others could too.

He doesn’t get to dwell on that any longer, Shuichi and Dabi appearing out the back door. They take one look at the scene before them before they start letting him have it. “What the fuck were you thinking, stupid? What happened to remaining inconspicuous?” Shuichi shouts, moving around frantically to survey the damage.

“Sheesh, bossman. Lost your cool a little, huh?” Dabi throws in, a weirdly smug look on his face. Tomura scowls at both of them, far too fucking overwhelmed by everything that’s transpired over the last twenty minutes to deal with them right now.

“Just clean this up,” he snaps before stalking back inside, the door slamming behind him. He can’t face them and their inevitable questions right now, not when he doesn’t even have answers himself. He needs to see Kurogiri right now, find out what the hell happened when he made eye contact with you. The rest of it is hardly a blip on his radar.

***

“Are you okay?” Toga asks for what feels like the thousandth time, her hands flying around you helplessly and looking for damage that isn’t there. She sounds guilty, likely for leaving you alone down there, but that was part of the job, wasn’t it? You stand from the bar stool, your hands flying up in a silent request for her to stop. “Toga, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.” And you are, you think. You’d dealt with a lot worse than that before you’d even started first grade.

“I just- I hate to think of what would’ve happened if Tomura hadn’t been there,” she continues, her eyes big and watery. Jesus, she’s more affected by all this than you are. She makes a valid point, though, and now you have a name for the one that had swooped in and saved you. You space out, playing that moment again in your mind.

He’d come out of literal nowhere, there so fast you start to wonder if he was actually there the whole time. But no, you know that’s not right, because you would remember his face if you’d seen him before. He was just a blur of white hair and black clothes before you’d really made eye contact with him. He became a lot more than that afterward. All sharp features, striking red irises, and a couple scars on his lip and eye; he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen, even with the flaws.

You can’t get the way he looked at you out of your mind, like he was seeing a fucking ghost. So many emotions had played across his face, and you can’t pinpoint a single one of them. Then he’d snapped that guy’s arm like it was nothing, ordered you away, and is now likely somewhere doing god knows what to the other one.

The whole thing is so bizarre you’d think you were dreaming if the feeling of his touch on your arm wasn’t permanently burned into your nerve endings, if the slew of feelings that had passed through you when you looked at him weren’t so visceral.

“Tomura?” you repeat, sounding dazed. Toga looks at you like the shock she’s been expecting you to go into is finally pulling you under before her gaze focuses on something behind you. Someone. It’s strange, how you’ve gone your entire life without knowing he exists, but now you swear you can feel his presence.

You turn, meeting his gaze for the second time over your shoulder. You both stay locked there like that for what feels like hours before he snaps out of it, glowering at you as he stalks past and disappears behind that lone door in the corner, the sound of it slamming shut reverberating through you.

You don’t see much of Tomura after that.

***

note: hello again, and welcome back. it's good to see you ♥︎ this part was a bit longer than the last, and finally, we have our first encounter. as always, thank you for hanging around until the end and coming back for part 2.

part 3 in the works, coming soon. see you then.

[savagewildnerness]

There’s really an awful lot of pondering on death & suicide & what it takes to endure existence in The Vampire Lestat… for all it’s viewed as a lighter book than Interview with the Vampire! Like, to the degree that every single main character is at some point either suicidal or wishes to die… or that actually happens. Even though the majority of them are immortal!

It’s making me wonder on this re-read, where I try to think about it more deeply, rather than just reading it - is an innate understanding of how difficult it is to endure/how easy it could be to just slip from existence a reason many of us initially loved this book? Is that Anne can articulate so well that desire to escape oneself & how it feels when that’s impossible one of the most important themes of the books?

Obviously, I’ve spoken about it often: I always associated with Nicolas a lot. Primarily due to how he perceives his own ability/experience of violin playing (I was 12. I definitely wasn’t then, nor am I now anywhere near as cynical as Nicolas….) but I don’t say it is *only* the violin & Nicolas’ music & how he feels to play and about his music that I associate with. Not least because in my opinion, how Nicolas perceives his own music is a reflection of how he perceives himself & how he perceives the world.

In any case, after my last night pondering on Armand’s internal desolation & the way he is actually most emptied of feeling when filled with some external source… yet that’s what he desires/needs because it is the only way he can feel safe… and he’d welcome death it feels if it came to him rather than him having to seek it, and going against God.

Well anyway, I haven’t read on yet, but I listened to the next bit on audiobook as I drive today. And it really struck me how delicate everyone’s mind & heart is.

Nicolas is actually like a fragile genius as a vampire - creating wildly creative, dark plays, articulating the horrors he feels are true (& thus creating Good Art Actually Lestat!) yet he cannot cope. But is it really *madness* that Nicolas screams of horrors in the streets to mortals; that he wants to create a league of vampires; that he wants humans to destroy them all; that he cannot bear it? It seems quite natural to me. Not mad really at all!

And Lestat too, gives himself over to death in despair. For all he talks of enduring, he would not have been able to rise this first time he went into The Earth, but for Marius saving him. And no wonder. He has lost everything. Lestat, talking on fate & how if we escape it, perhaps it waits for us.

It’s hard for me, as a friend died last week at a similar mortal age to Nicolas’ 30 years & this whole part is death & inability to cope with the simple Horror of existence. (Albeit; monstrous existence… but existence *is* monstrous as it is, right? Vampires are a fantastical representation of the very real & way more horrific in my opinion (as it can’t be contained in beautiful, sensual, philosophical vampires in reality…) truth of the actual horror of existence for us all.)

And Lestat speaking on fate reminds me too of Debbie. A girl I went to secondary school with. When she was 11 she got Lupus & her secondary school years were awful, but she endured. I didn’t keep in touch with her after school & her Uncle worked in aircraft engineering & got her a good job. But she survived Lupus in her teenage years, only for death to claim her at 23 in a totally unrelated way… as if it had always just lain in wait. She had escaped it, but then fate waited for her.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I kind of want to create a poll, but I’ve just made myself laugh out loud at what that poll would be - like something like *Did your wee tween self relate to the self-immolatory desires of vampires?* Nice cheery question for a Monday!

I don’t mean it in a depressing way though. We can talk about The Horrors, while allowing joy & fun & play & amusement & silliness & innocence & childlikeness, right? Can we? I am not sure what I’m getting at…?

But this part is hard for me to read right now. And yet cathartic always too. Because… we all feel it, right? Anne is expressing what we humans feel in our tiny existences too.

How to bear it? The overwhelmingness of that.

Right?

[bymaemeadows]

bad idea

Pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Miguel and you have been seeing each other on and off. You both have had a bad day and found your way to each other. It’s a mistake but your body calls to his. He is addicted to you but refuses to admit that he wants you back. I have been listening to GUTS by Olivia Rodrigo on repeat so I took some inspo from that.

Warnings: language, smut, biting and blood (bc vampire), choking, he’s kinda mean but it’s kinda hot

A/N: This is my first time posting fanfic in a really long time and my first time posting here so sorry if anything is off. I wrote is all in one sitting so sorry about any errors. Kind Feedback is welcome.

Walking up to Miguel’s door feels bittersweet. You’ve been here countless times. Sometimes, with his arm around you after a romantic evening and other times running away after a disastrous fight with tears falling on the very steps you climb now.

Still, you can’t stay away. You had the whole trip over here to reconsider but through the hurt you've caused each other, the pain you’re in now calls to his pain. You don’t give yourself a chance to slip into shame or feel foolish about reaching out to him because there’s already enough shit going on in your life. You knock on the door because ringing the bell would be so loud and the cheery sound doesn’t match the moment.

A few moments and he’s there. He’s in dark blue sweatpants and a fitted white shirt. Your eyes linger on his muscled chest before scanning the harsh lines of his face and the unreadable look in his eyes. Without a word, he steps aside to let you into his home, eyes on you the whole time. The transaction already feels familiar because this isn’t the first time they’ve collided like this after swearing it would never happen again. Well, you promised yourself. He’s never pushed you away with his words but in the way he lets his anger tarnish anything good between you two.

But you’re not here to get him back. You both know this meeting is supposed to be purely physical – the biggest lie. You still love him.

He follows you like a shadow. He’s close enough to touch you but heads to the bar against the wall to get you both drinks. You’re too antsy to sit so you make your way to the large windows that overlook the city. You feel his approach and he reaches around your body with a wine glass but instead of handing it to you, he reaches up to brush a finger down your face and neck. You melt at the affectionate touch, starved since the last time you saw him. You turn your face towards him and he looks you up and down appreciatively, taking a sip from his glass tumbler of his favorite whisky. You know that as soon as your lips meet, you’ll taste the drink on his tongue.

“Here,” Miguel says. Placing the wine glass in your hands but his eyes are locked on yours and stays there as you take a sip. It’s your favorite too. The one you would always stock his stash with.

“Thank you,” you say but it comes out quieter than you intended. Like a whisper. He’s so close but tears his eyes away to look over your head and out the window and take another gulp of his drink, slipping his other hand into his pocket. His stature is so at ease while you’re sure you’re trembling. You take another sip of your wine and turn back to the view. 

“You know, you’re always welcome here” Miguel says but his tone is cold and at odds with his words. “You don’t have to knock.”

Your face starts to heat because it sounds like a reprimand. But you feel the press of his body at your back and he’s moving your hair from your neck. His breath fans across your ear and now your skin is on fire.

“You’re the only woman that can have me anytime. I crave you always. You know that, right?” his lips brush over your heated neck as he speaks and you lean into his hard body, eyes fluttering closed and hands clutching your drink.

His hand trails down your arm and rests on your hip, holding you to him as he kisses your neck in the way he knows makes your toes curl. You can feel his hard cock against the softness of your ass. You turn your head to capture his lips but he pulls away, leaving fizzling electricity where his warmth was. Whirling to face him he brings his drink to his lips, eyes on you. You arch a brow and bring your glass to your mouth too. Eyes on each other you both drain your drinks. Your tongue slips out to lick your lips and he tracks the movement.

He leans in to capture your mouth and you back up until you’re pressed against the cold window. His mouth is demanding and you open to him, his tongue tasting exactly like you knew it would. Before you can deepen the kiss and get your hands on him, suddenly, he grabs the glass from your hand pulling away to take both glasses back to the bar. Leaving you frustrated and breathing heavily against the glass. 

Teasingly, he turns and stalks towards you slowly. Miguel’s eyes are fire and ice at the same time. Before he reaches you, he’s pulling off his shirt. Your eyes dance over his skin, the dip of his sweats, to his length straining against the fabric. You press yourself against the glass as he invades your space and cups your face with both hands, slamming his lips against yours. You part for him so he can dominate your mouth. Your hands scramble to grab the top of his sweats and pull him against you. His hands leave your face to brace his palms on either side of your head. You tip your face up to receive the full force of his kiss and reach to hold his ass in your hands, pushing his hardness between your legs. 

You break away from his lips to trail kisses across his chest as you reach into his pants and wrap your fingers around him. You feel his hot breaths against the top of your head as he towers over you, letting you stroke him. You reach lower to gently tease his balls then back up to find a bead of cum leaking from the tip. Pulling your hands out of his pants, bringing it to your lips. He pushes away from you to watch you suck it into your mouth. His breaths are ragged and his dark hair is hanging in his eyes. 

With a smirk on his lips and a slight shake of his head you’re in his arms again. Your ass is in his massive hands as he carries you to the bedroom. His mouth is all over you, your lips, your neck, the tops of your breasts. Instead of dropping you on the bed, he sets you down on your feet to slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders, taking your bra straps with it. As soon as your breasts are free, he’s lifted you into his arms again to suck on your skin and nipples. You press him closer with your hands in his soft waves. 

“Please, Miguel,” you beg. “Bite me, please.”

You feel his chuckle even with his nipple between his teeth – the dull ones, not the sharp ones you crave. You still don't feel the pierce of his fangs. Frustrated and needy, you start to grind yourself against him. 

“Oh I am going to taste you. Don’t worry about that,” he says as he trails kisses back up to your neck where you suck in a breath in anticipation of his bite.

Instead, you’re falling. He’s laid back on his huge bed with you now straddling him. 

“Want me to earn it?” you tease and rotate your hips over his cock, still restrained in his pants and boxers. His groan fuels you but his hands grip your hips, stilling you. Your eyes cut to his but he’s got a playful grin on. 

“Yes, earn it.” He says coolly. “Come here. Sit.”

Eyes widening, your spine stiffens but you steel yourself. Peeling yourself off him and the bed, you walk around, slipping off your dress but when you reach for your panties, his voice stops you.

“Not yet. You wore that for me, didn’t you?” He teases putting his hands behind his head. You blush because of course you picked a matching set of underwear for this self-inflicted booty call. Your bra is still hanging on for dear life so you leave it and the panties on as you climb back on the bed, this time to straddle his face. His arms come up to grip your thighs and pull you closer. You gasp and tilt forward, catching yourself with arms on either side of his hips. He’s kissing the insides of your thighs and around your center. ‘Earn it’ he had said so you pull down the waistbands of his pants and boxers to pull his cock free. He bends his legs, feet flat on the mattress, hips lifting to bring his length closer to you. 

Using one hand to stroke him, you also push back to press yourself to his mouth. He’s now sucking and nibbling through the fabric and you can feel how soaked you are. He grips you tighter but you lean forward to take him in your mouth. Teasing his tip with your tongue and then licking him, dragging your tongue flat up his considerable length. His groans of pleasure feel like they’re vibrating the air in the room as you chase his pleasure. The muscles in his legs are taunt and his grip on your legs tighten but he starts to pull you back to his face.

“Damn it. I told you to sit,” he grumbles. He could easily overpower you and pull you to him but you know he’s really enjoying exactly what you’re doing as you suck him while your hand grips him at the base and stroke him nice and slow. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and starts pulling your soaked panties to the side before slowly pushing a finger into you. You gasp with your mouth still around him and he takes that as an invitation to start finger fucking you hard. The force of his work means your mouth is now bobbing up and down on his tip and your moans vibrate through both of you. He adds another finger, racing after your climax. His cock is still in your mouth but you’re truly at the mercy of his fingers. You feel your release rising and rising so you remove your grip from his base and start to reach for your clit to push you over the edge.

“I got you, baby,” he says before pulling you completely on top of his face. His cock popped out of your mouth and your body slid against his until his mouth was fully devouring you. Without his cock in your mouth, your whimpers and moans come out loud. 

“Oh my god,” you groan and his hands anchoring your legs to keep you still tighten at your encouragement. You free your hand from between you and reach forward to grip his dick so you can stroke him for every stroke of his tongue on your clit. 

His diligent tongue pulls you closer and closer to coming. When he starts sucking you, it’s all over. You gasp and moan through your orgasm and your body jolts from the intensity but he holds you still, not easing up to draw out every pulse of your pussy. When the last wave of ecstasy fizzles out, he loosens his grip. You start to rise, lifting yourself off his face but he stills you just a few inches away to pepper kisses to your inner thigh.

“Oh, baby, you’re not going anywhere yet.” he tells you between kisses.

“I need you inside me, Miguel,” you whine and he responds with a chuckle but then you feel the scrape of his fangs and you stiffen, suddenly alert.

“I thought you wanted something else…” he teases, accentuating his meaning with another scrape of his fangs on your thigh. 

“Yes, please. Please, Miguel,” you beg, reaching again for his cock again to grip and stroke him. 

He buries his face into your skin and groans. You feel it all over your body and stroke him faster to elicit the wonderful sound again and again. His cock starts to twitch against your grip as his pleasure builds.

With a growl, he tosses you off him. You bounce on the mattress, a bit stunned by the loss of him but you feel his hands on your ankles and he’s dragging you towards him and the edge of the bed. He bends his huge body over yours, his cock just at your entrance. He captures your mouth in a punishing kiss, hands digging under you to unclasp your bra and tossing it. With full access now, he's kneading your breasts before sliding to hold your waist. You’re able to gasp for breath as his mouth travels down your body. His mouth is hovering over your breast when his eyes flick to yours. You nod, knowing his question. A sly grin pulls at the corners of that devilish mouth before they part to show his fangs. A growl tears from his throat before he clamps down on your soft skin. 

You cry out in pleasure laced with pain and jerk in his hold. You feel the pull of his mouth as he drinks deep from you. The mouth that just gave you an earth-shattering orgasm is barreling you headfirst into another with the way he’s drinking you.

He releases your breast with a sign, his mouth now red from your blood. His eyes pop open and lock on you. You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He leans down to lick where his fangs punctured and you whimper and arch off the bed. When you open your eyes again, you see he’s standing straight, holding his cock in his hand, stroking himself while he licks your blood off his lips. He’s so beautiful. His sweats are still slung low on his hips but he looks perfectly disheveled.

You wiggle your body to bring yourself right to the edge of the bed. Opening your legs, inviting him to finally enter you. He continues to stroke himself, eyes roaming over you approvingly. You know there must be little trails of blood leaking from his bite because as he steps closer to notch himself at your entrance, he leans over to lick the blood. 

You grab his face to bring it to yours but you feel him hesitate in your hold. You meet his unsure eyes and give him a reassuring smile before he succumbs and crashes his mouth to yours. You open for him and his tongue slowly enters and with it the metallic taste of your own blood. You hum at the taste which spurs him on because his kiss deepens as he starts pushing the tip of his cock into your wet and waiting core. 

The kiss breaks and your head digs into the bed as he pushes into you. His groan sounds so tortured and you realize it’s because his control is slipping. You turn to look at his hands that are bracing on either side of your head to see his claws piercing the bed. You try to find his eyes but his dark hair is hanging in his face, his body locked up as he pushes in another inch.

“Miguel,” you whisper and reach up to run your hands down his chest. The veins under his skin, now pumping with your blood too, strain under your fingers. Another inch and you’re writhing under him. Desperate, you hook your legs around him to pull him closer. His body is so still he’s not moving an inch. You call to him again and he lifts his head enough to peer at you though his waves, his brows low over his eyes. His jaw is locked but his eyes are bright as he searches your eyes. 

“Miguel,” you whimper as your heart beats wildly at the vulnerability he’s allowing you to see. “Fuck me, please.”

His brows soften and he releases a ragged breath and pushes fully into you. He straightens pushing his hair out of his face while looking down at where you’re now connected. But he’s not moving. You need him to move. You use your legs around him to start grinding against him. He allows you to lead and draw your own pleasure for only a moment before his hands with his talons now gone grip you under your thighs and push them towards your head. He leans over you and starts thrusting at a slow but delicious pace. His eyes watch your face as his cock moves in and out. You try to keep his eye contact, but when he picks up the pace your eyes slam shut but your mouth opens to beg and cry and moan at his punishing movements. Your fingers dig for an anchor in the sheets and your hand finds one of the holes he ripped earlier. A satisfied smile spreads across your face and you open your eyes to see a similar grin on his mouth. 

“You like what you do to me,” he states. “You drive me insane,” he admits with a dark chuckle and your heart tightens at the tenderness in his eyes. Your hands move into his hair and gently scrape your nails along his scalp. His answering groan has him slowing his movements to grind against you. 

You watch his face as he responds to your touch. Like a tragic god. His beautiful body and immense strength both focused on you, chasing both of your pleasure. His eyes peel open to lock on to yours and then something flashes in his gaze and his hands and body are moving to flip you on to your stomach. He roughly pulls your panties down your legs and then slaps your ass.

“Crawl,” he commands and you glance back at him, he's stepping out of his pants and boxers while taking ragged breaths. You crawl up the bed on hands and knees, anticipation curling low in your stomach. You feel the bed dip behind you before you feel his hand on the back of your neck gently guiding you so your ass is up in the air. The soft sheets tickle the Miguel’s bite mark as your breasts press into the bed. 

When you feel him rubbing his hardness up and down your folds you bury your face and moans in the sheets. Then he’s pressing into you at the most delicious angle that has you whimpering unintelligibly. He pumps into you once and then twice, low groans coming from clenched teeth, before unleashing himself on you. His hips slamming against your ass and skin slapping skin as he finds the rhythm that just might kill you.

“That’s it baby. You take me so damn good.”

His balls slap against your clit and you jolt at the contact. Breathe. You turn your face, your cheek digging into the mattress to gulp down air.

“Miguel! Fuck!” you cry amongst other sounds that you probably haven’t made since your last trist with him. The only man you’ve been with since you met and you know deep down you don’t want anyone else. Just him, forever.

You feel yourself fluttering around his cock as another orgasm threatens to sweep you away. 

“Ugh fuck, baby!” he groans grabbing your ass cheek in his large hand as he pounds into you over and over. 

You’re so close and you can feel his thrusts get more desperate as he gets close to his own release. You release your grip from the sheets to slip your hand under yourself and to your clit. 

“Fuck! Damn!” he chants over and over when he sees you pleasuring yourself. “You’re so sexy, baby, so beautiful.”

As your orgasm builds you feel your pussy tighten around him and he grips you harder adding the delicious bite of pain to your sweet pleasure. Your releases crashes into you and your shaking and moaning and crying out as your pussy milks Miguel’s cock as he continues to fuck you, wringing wave after wave out of you. 

“That’s right. So good. You’re fucking amazing,” he praises but it comes out strangled sounding. Then he’s pushing your hips into the bed so you’re now flat and he takes on a new but equally punishing pace as he fucks your hips into the mattress. 

Still sensitive from coming, this angle makes you delirious. You just dig your face and hands into the mattress and hold on as he chases his own orgasm. 

“You want me to come in your sweet pussy, baby?” he asks.

You mumble in agreement against the bed but then his hand comes around to grip your throat lightly and lifts your face off the bed. You hold yourself up and he moves the hair from your face.

“I’m gonna fill you up with my cum,” he says, leaning over you to speak in your ear. “Beg me, baby.”

“Yes please -” you say on a shaky breath. His hand comes up to grip your throat again. “Please fill me.”

With your permission now secured, he slams into you roughly. His groans and moans unabashedly loud he chants your name and praises right before his orgasm rips away his words and he growls as he spills inside you. His twitching cock and grip on your throat steals another release from deep in your stomach. Your soundless cries die on your lips when his hand falls from your throat to grip the breast with his bite mark, thumb smearing the blood.

[queenmabsim]

prologue 2 || our old bargains

the click clack of agnes's kitten heels echoed against the damp, cavernous walls of the ancient straud mansion as they both descended the stairwell to the crypt. vlad appeared to be walking exceptionally slow for her benefit which was both saccharine and deeply vexing.

agnes crumplebottom was an exceedingly independent woman. she knew how to walk down some damn stairs on her own.

they entered the final room off of a poorly lit corridor. it was grand. curtains were draped from the ceiling to the floor which gave a lush sense of old money decadence. an ornately wrought coffin was proudly displayed in the center of the room in front of an old, well-used fireplace. mirrors placed with specific precision between the drapery reflected the candlelight in an almost celestial way. ostentatious bastard.

the silence was so thick in the air that it took vlad a moment to gather himself and brave the stillness.

"have you forgotten our-"

"oh, do be quiet. this is important." agnes snapped. "be quiet and listen." she pressed two fingers into the pounding spot on her temple and tried to take a calming breath. it did not calm her. there were a lot of moving cogs in this little scheme and one shoddy movement could rend the entire machine naught but useless, or worse... have you ever seen what happens when you stick a limb in a gear that started grinding unexpectedly? it is not pretty.

vlad startled. agnes exhaled.

"forgive me." the tension held in her former tone dissipated. it was replaced by something softer, an almost foreign fondness from a lifetime ago. that level of vulnerability immediately made the couple noticeably uncomfortable. both looked pointedly away, unable to meet the gaze of the other. agnes cleared her throat. "that was rude...

...and I fear I must ask an otherworldly favor from you."

"you expect a favor?" he grimaced.

"is that so wild a notion?"

they argued.

"no, but I-"

"are you refusing before you even hear it?"

"what? no, agnes-"

there was no denying that he tried, but vlad could not manage to get a word, much less a full sentence, in edgewise. how could he possibly know what he was or wasn't agreeing to? agnes had not been this worked up since...

"would I ask if it were not imperative?"

on second thought, the count could not recount a single instance when this particular woman seemed so... frazzled. sure, she was prone to giving a good thwack to anyone bold enough to flirt in her presence and had a general distaste for pleasantry and cheeriness, but that was a part of her acerbic charm. it was very methodical, though. every action had a reaction, but this felt different. this was... frantic.

"darling-"

agnes brushed his concern away. this was not something she had decided overnight. no. all of this was far too long coming. little did the vampire know that he had been a crucial part of her plan for some time yet. another moving cog in an abject defiance of death.

"if I do not set this right, I will never be able to look at myself again."

vlad glanced over her shoulder into a mirror with no reflection in it at all.

"oh, how could I relate to that?"

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕠𝕣 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion/f!reader the vampire bride

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - T, just fluff, your Vampire Lord sure knows how to make you feel special

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Astarion has been gone for couple weeks, making you miss him terribly, but when he finally returns he brings a gift to make up for his prolonged absence. and what a gift that is.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,176

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: written for a discord server event, just a little fluff piece because i wanted to explore how Astarion would give a gift to his beloved. enjoy! <3

Your life in the palace has been peaceful so far. Well, as peaceful as it can be while living with a Vampire Ascendant who loves to entertain himself with parties, masquerades and a good-hearted murder here and there. However, you signed up for this life willingly and you couldn’t be happier. Still, parties can be exhausting, but when Astarion notices you acting less than cheery, he halts everything and gives you peace and quiet in the palace until you suggest to him to have another celebration. Eternity is full of delights and you two haven’t shared even a fraction of ‘forever’ yet, so you both take it slow, why rush when you have the evermore?

Nonetheless, before fully settling in Baldur’s Gate, you spent first few decades traveling. From one end of Faerûn to another, tasting everything life has to offer. Not needing to fear the sun, you both strolled through the streets of every city worth visiting and stalked the nights when you needed to feed. Astarion joined you quite often. And while his own desire for blood is near gone entirely, he still enjoys a good hunt, especially in your company.

But eventually you have returned home, to the palace you both carefully refurbished before leaving. After settling back in, Astarion began preparing his plans, just like he spoke years back – to make Baldur’s Gate his domain. And you settled as his Consort – managing servants, provisions, planning parties and eventually - Astarion’s and your own spawn. He carefully chooses every single person to turn into his spawn, while you are generally more lax about it, and he trusts you to make sure that they all behave. But sometimes they do misbehave, as spawn tend to, and when that happens Astarion has to punish them, sparing you the trouble of doing it yourself. You’re not averse to getting your hands dirty, but in those times you stand by your lover’s side and watch with pride how your beloved manages those lesser than him. They all deserve it after all.

Some more years pass in a wonderful bliss. But Astarion’s plans only begin to come into motion. To keep them moving as he wants them to your Vampire Lord has to travel. Sometimes for weeks, leaving you alone to manage your mutual estate. In his absence you don’t feel lonely, but you do miss him terribly, anxiously waiting for his return. At least he sends a messenger bat to you every other day, informing you about what he’s doing and always telling you just how much he wants you by his side. You have a feeling that soon he will stop going alone and will begin taking you with, just because he’s growing more possessive, wanting to make sure that you’re safe and thriving, and to him – that’s only possible when you’re at his side. Not that you could argue with that. Your entire soul aches when he’s absent.

And such you find yourself in this state again. Anxious, nervous, and longing for your lover to come home. Astarion has been gone for two weeks this time, longest yet, and for the third day now you keep wandering the palace, feeling increasingly irritable, snapping at servants and spawn alike, punishing them for minor transgressions. You need Astarion, you crave to be in his arms again, you feel like you’re falling apart the longer you’re away from him. Finest wines and freshest blood can’t lull the ache in your very soul that you’re feeling.

“My Lady, the Lord has returned.” you hear behind you and you immediately stop in your tracks. You were pacing in Astarion’s office, restless and almost ready to send another letter via bat because his own letters stopped a week ago, making you worried.

But he returned. At last.

You turn to the servant who immediately gets out of the doorway when you rush. Your footsteps are fast, you’re holding the front of your long, lavish dress so that you don’t trip. One flight of stairs, then another one. Faster, you have to go faster. If you had a beating heart it would pound in your chest like a dwarven hammer on hot iron.

And then there it is, the last step.

You stop, slightly out of breath, and see that your beloved indeed has returned. Astarion is standing by the main entrance, his clothing and hair are immaculate as always, there’s a smile on his lips but you also see longing in his eyes. Then he opens his arms for you.

“My love!” you cry out and rush to him, the sound of your heels on the tiles fill the room and you let go of your dress just before you fling yourself into Astarion’s embrace.

You hug him with a fierce need and he too wraps his arms around your shoulders, managing to do so before you crash your lips against his. You hear Astarion’s own heart beating fast in his chest and he hugs you even tighter, painfully strong, his fingers digging into your shoulders. You remain locked like this for a long while, kissing each other first in short bursts, smiling, happy to be finally reunited. Then the kisses become longer, deeper and more passionate. You let go of him only to find first two buttons on his doublet, eager to feel his skin against yours, to feel him in a way no one else feels him, or you.

But Astarion catches your fingers with firm elegance and pulls back from your lips. You eagerly want to kiss him again but he just smiles.

“Little treasure, I missed you too, but I brought something for you. Wouldn’t you like to see what it is?” your lover asks and you stop your attempts to steal another kiss.

“What is it?” you ask and dip your head lower, now planting soft kisses on his fingers that hold yours, your heart bursting with love. Astarion’s eyes soften as he watches you and he presses his lips against your forehead briefly.

“Come. I’ll show you.” he whispers and moves from you, taking your hand in his and leading you to the room left from the main entrance. It’s where you greet guests when they arrive, that is, unless the main event is happening in the ballroom.

You follow and inspect Astarion’s appearance as you walk with him, his fingers intertwined with yours. Your beloved doesn’t look any worse than how he did before he left. In fact he looks as he always does – opulent and wonderfully beautiful. You feel relief that nothing happened to him while he was away, but what could even harm the Vampire Ascendant? You know you worry too much but you can’t help it.

“Here it is, my dear.” Astarion stops and you finally look away from him to where he’s gesturing with his left hand.

In front of you, on the floor, sits a medium sized ornate chest. There was a lock on it that now rests on the table nearby and you look at Astarion, your eyebrows raised in an unsaid question.

“Just open it.” he chuckles, obviously pleased with himself. “I got it for you myself. Although I’ll admit it wasn’t an easy task, so you better appreciate it.” Astarion raises an eyebrow and you pause for a moment longer then smile, giving him a nod.

“I’m sure I will.”

You let go of his hand, however unwillingly, and walk to the chest leaning down and slowly opening it. While you do that you feel Astarion’s palm caress your rear and you smile. Oh how you missed these touches. Even though it was just two weeks, it feels like he was gone for eternity.

However, what you see inside shocks you. Your mouth drops open and you lift chest’s lid fully, straightening your back as you stare down, utterly taken aback.

“Is that-“

“A dragon egg, my dear. Indeed it is.” Astarion says with pride and you look at him, the disbelief you’re feeling right now makes you feel like you’re in a dream rather than reality. There is indeed a red dragon egg in the chest, resting on a soft pillow, its opalescent scales softly reflecting the daylight coming in through the windows.

“How did you-“

“Found a lair.” Astarion smugly raises an eyebrow at you. “It’s a red dragon egg. I think it will be quite an addition to our little home, don’t you think?”

You’re still speechless. How in the hells he acquired a dragon egg? And even brought it here? As a gift for you?

“But Astarion, dragons are not pets they are-“ you begin but he rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed now.

“Yes, my dear, I know. You don’t need to give me a lecture about what dragons are and what they aren’t.” he says while taming his irritation, then he turns to you, taking your hands in his, making you fully face him. “You forget that I’m the Vampire Ascendant, love. And you’re my beloved Consort. I’m sure once it hatches you will be able to win its trust and have a companion by your side worthy of you.”

You think it over. Yes, maybe he’s right.

“But why a dragon?” you ask carefully and Astarion scoffs.

“Why not? My coven will survive for eons! A dragon will be a wonderful part of it. To have an ally like this will prove to others that we are not to be trifled with. And you will have something loyal to you and you alone, my treasure. I think you deserve it.” Astarion lets go of your hand and cups the side of your face with a warm palm. His eyes are locked on yours and you see that he truly believes you can convince a dragon, a red dragon above all, to become loyal to you. Well, at least he didn’t steal an egg from a black dragon.

“But what if I fail?” you ask with a tinge of worry in your tone and Astarion sighs, pulling you closer now, his hands finding their usual spots on your hips.

“My dear, I don’t think you are capable of ever failing me.” Vampire Lord smiles and leans closer to your face. “You are perfect in every way, why would you doubt yourself now?” he asks and his lips move over your eyebrow, then down your nose, making you smile and giggle, just like that.

“You put too much faith in me.” you look at him while Astarion trails a row of pecks across your left cheek, making you briefly close an eye when his nose brushes against your eyelashes.

“Everything I have would mean absolutely nothing without you.” he whispers and his eyes meet yours at last as he pulls back just enough to make sure that you see how serious his expression is. “How could I ever doubt you, my lovely Consort? You’re my world. And you will be my world forever.”

Astarion leans in and kisses you again, possessively but also affectionately, like a mere fraction of a thought of you not being in his life makes him fear losing you. His kiss is intense and needy, and you respond in much the same way, holding onto his arms when he fully presses himself against you.

“You’ll do just fine with the egg, my dear. I know you will.” Astarion whispers and you hug him now, your arms move around him; you press your palms onto his back and bury your face in his chest, feeling him begin to stroke your hair.

“Thank you.” you murmur against the fabric of his coat with your eyes closed. You smile and inhale the familiar perfume, letting it fill your lungs. “It’s a very precious gift.”

“Oh I know.” Astarion responds and he sounds like he’s smiling, you think he is. His strokes on your hair are slow and tender. A moment of silence passes before you speak up again.

“Just don’t leave for this long again. I missed you terribly.” it’s easy for you to admit it, he knows that you weren’t yourself without him.

“I won’t, I promise. And if I do need to leave for longer, I will take you with me. Does that sound good, my pet?”

You nod and sigh, relaxing in his embrace.

At last the palace feels much warmer, so much livelier now that Astarion’s back. It’s like stone and iron lost their iciness with your lover present. But no, it’s not that the walls feel more welcoming with your Lord back home, it’s that Astarion is your home. The world is a cold and unwelcoming place but not when you’re with him. Not when you’re in his embrace. Not with his lips pressed against your hair.

And you have forever together. Including, it seems, a dragon to hatch and raise.

You smile while being held by Astarion. Your Vampire Lord sure knows how to give lavish gifts.

You will have to return his kindness later. And you know just the perfect way to do so.

[bite-the-bloody-hand]

Owlcatober 1 - Teatime [Part 1]

I'm a little stalled but I love where this is going, so have the first half of Teatime, featuring Zell's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Very Bad Morning. Please forgive the formatting.

Teatime [Part 1]

He should have known this was coming. All the signs had been present, after all, but he’d ignored them. Surely it was just the stress of his new appointment; a few sleepless nights; endless threat of demonic incursion; so on and so forth. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

Yet of the many trials and challenges that had been presented to nascent Knight Commander Zell Hellsing during the first insane few weeks of his new job, there was nothing old or new in the world of Golarion that could compare to his two most ancient and beloved of nemeses: His own Hubris and The Fucking Sun.

Hubris, ever the sly fair weather friend, had convinced him that the cramping muscles, irritation, mania, and general malaise of the last day or so had just been simple exhaustion. They had been out on the road a few days too long, so what? He could muscle through it, no problem. No absurd dreams of being dragged through bloody battlefields, bloody streets, or bloody portals could keep him from his many…. Many many tasks. Hubris had whispered its sweet poison into his ear and he’d gladly tilted his head for a little more. Like a moron.

Then there was The Sun. Beloved giver of life. Beloathed stabber of eyeballs. It was through the small seam at the southeastern facing corner of his tent that the evil little assassin, the wicked beam of light entered. Cruel, wretched light, enemy of his similarly wretched vampire progenitor but most importantly, right now, his enemy because it was really making his head hurt.

Surely it was just the sun and not the everything else. He would kick himself about the hubris later.

There was a rustle, bootfalls that somehow thundered against the sod and straw floor, and the sudden Knowledge that the command tent was now flooded with early morning light. He then heard Anevia’s fist rapped against the partition screen propped next to his bed. He could feel the twin pressures of sunlight and Anevia’s gaze upon him.

“Mornin’ report! And since when are you a past-dawn layabout, not even up and stretchin’ yet?” her voice was so marvelously cheery, and usually so very welcome to help start his day. Zell covered his eyes with his blanket and groaned pitifully.

“Anevia. Death is here.”

“Well shit, boss, that sounds like a big problem for the Crusade.” A light rustle as she dropped a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Not much today really; Wilcer’s got that herd o’ horses you ordered all ready for inspection, and we’re still workin’ on opening up the road between here and Leper’s Smile.”

“I’d love to hear the history on that name sometime,” Zell mumbled. Of course Wilcer would have the horses ready now, when he is least able to appreciate them. Another little trial. “Anyway, wicked sun,” he grasped in the air for the words he wanted, landing eventually on something close enough. “Finally has come claimed me.” Anevia made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t have a funny comeback for that one that wouldn’t be a little too mean this early in the morning, I think.” Zell heard her move to the tent door, and the leathery sound of the tent flap dropping down into place. The pressure of the light eased. “Bad headache?”

“Kill me.” “Come on, you know I can’t do that. We’d have to do the choppin’ and the burnin’ and bury your parts at crossroads and it would be a whole thing. Nobody’s got the time.” Zell scoffed, immediately regretting it. “I – ugh - can’t believe you, of all people, cannot be writing ‘put poor Commander out of his misery’ to your schedule.” “Believe it or not, Boss, but I’m a busy gal.” “But so much faith I have in you…”

“And speaking of I’ve gotta get scouting, since the only news right now is your horrible impending demise, unless someone can brave the sixty paces to the healer’s tent to get you the good tea.” She paused, and from the soft creak of her boots and rattle of the screen, he could all but see her peeking over the partition at him. Her voice went soft in a way he wasn’t sure he’d heard before. “I’ll see about getting any crazy stuff sent to Beth first, so you can try and rest a little, okay? You’ve been working pretty hard, by Knight-Commander standards.”

“This Crusade is nothing without you, Anevia,” he sighed in gratitude. As long as he could make it to the healer’s tent, he could count on Anevia to keep her word.

“Don’t I know it,” she replied, before taking her leave.

Zell lingered in the dim silence of the command tent a few moments longer, weak to the knowledge that the second he started to stand up, his head and stomach were really going to start with the nonsense. But stand he must, so stand he did. Slowly. With extreme caution, pushing himself up by meager degrees until he was sitting upright. The bright buzzing angry pressure in his head turned into a wave crashing bright spots against the inside of his skull, while his stomach turned elegant flips in accompaniment. If he were in a more poetic mood he could have gone on about the sensations, how uniquely beautiful and awful they were, but in the moment he felt like boiled ass on dirt and couldn’t think of a pretty word to save his life.

So he forced himself to his feet and wrapped his blanket around his head and shoulders as a makeshift shroud. With great effort he pushed himself from the end of his cot to the end of the partition screen, stumbling from it to the corner of his desk. He tripped, cursed, and stumbled forward to the tent flap, grabbing the canvas to keep himself from falling. The whole tent shook violently for a second but stayed intact. Zell cursed again and righted himself, dragging the makeshift hood over his eyes just in time to avoid a sudden slash of bright sunlight across his face.

“Sir?” A voice he recognized punched him in the ear. He stumbled and forced himself not to hiss. It was just one of the lads that always lingered around the entrance of the command tent, no need to lash out. “Can I assist?” “No, no, I have this,” he said, waving the boy off. He could barely think it was so bright, even with the blanket making a deep hood to shield him.“I make for the healing tent. Not an emergency.” “Oh, well, but Sir I-”

Please child by the name of whatever God you hold holy I will bite you if you speak again, Zell’s head throbbed like something disgusting. “Not emergency,” he growled, teeth snapping in irritation. The lad shrunk back, hands up as Zell pushed past him. “I tell you when emergency.” He left the boy behind him, stuttering.

It wasn’t really that long a walk. He’d made the trip both mildly hungover on demon blood and while still aching from a poison he’d accidentally forgotten about. This was doable. Allegedly. In some world, in another world that was not the one which he currently occupied, the task was doable. In those other, beautiful worlds, his head was not already splitting apart from the force of its own willpower. In those worlds, walking past the blacksmith would be such a little, trivial task.

Each ring of the hammer echoed between his ears and tilted the ground beneath him, making his stomach churn. He barely caught himself on a tentpost once he cleared the causeway beyond the Smithy’s tent, shuddering as his knees nearly gave out. He had to be more than halfway there, surely. No other terrible obstacle could keep him now.

“What party did you not invite me to that you are this hung over?” A voice just behind him demanded. He caught a glimpse of a warped golden glow at the edge of his hood and snatched it back down before the reflection of Count Arendae’s halo could blind him.

“Not hungover, just headache. Anyway you’d crash if you weren’t invited, I know this.”

“Hm, true. You sound wretched.” Daeran announced, without a hint of sympathy as he came closer to investigate. “Why ever are you attempting to stumble around on your own?”

“Getting tea. Headache tea from healer’s tent.”

A pause. Then Daeran asked, in a tone that was usually reserved for very small, slow children, “Why didn’t you send a squire to get it for you?” Zell considered the question. Rather he realized that he hadn’t considered that at all. “What… do you mean.” “You know, the lovely young men and women that linger about the front of your tent, waiting to run small errands at your beck and call. One of the magnificent perks of gaining the title of Knight Commander of Mendev’s Crusade.” A terrible silence settled between them.

“That is many words, you have just said to me.” “So you forgot about the squires.” “...Head is stupid right now,” Zell grumbled. Daeran stifled a laugh.

“The tent is to your left,” Daeran supplied.

Zell turned, and felt a light tap on his shoulder.

“Your other left, Commander.”

Zell grunted his thanks and turned in the proper direction. After a moment of stumbling, he caught the red-lined edge of the healer’s tent in his field of view. Finally.

“Anything else I can do to help?” Daeran asked, though the lilt of his voice suggested his help would extend little further than guiding Zell to another, less ‘busy’ healer. But he had followed, which was an interesting detail he would forget to think about for several hours. “Yah , do me an favor and cut my head off,” Zell muttered, fumbling with the door flap to the Healer’s tent. He felt Daeran nearly run into him as they entered the tent together. There was a momentary pause. He thought he heard Daeran clear his throat, but the sound seemed a little off. “We’ll save that for after you’ve won the Crusade and the Capitol decides to convict you of war crimes,” The Count eventually replied, his voice airy. “You’re such a good friend.” Zell pressed at the sides of his head, grasping at the back of his neck. Something popped; a tiny bit of pressure released. Thank goodness it was so much darker in the healer’s tent, it made thinking a little easier.

A sudden jolt of realization hit him. He groaned, pulling his hood over his face and down his chest until he was less a man than a walking stupid blanket.

“For the fucking sake of pity, Daeran, be angry at me. That was the most meanest stupid shit thing I could say just now.” He doubled over in misery as another lance of pain hit its mark.

Daeran responded to his apology with a laugh that came out loud at first but he caught himself, dampening it down to a deeply amused chuckle. “Please, Commander, apologizing after such an excellent barb? I suppose I shall accept, if you would rather your venom be intentional. Cot to your right.”

Zell turned, then felt another light tap on his shoulder.

“Your other right.”

He turned the opposite direction, shuffling slowly until he felt his knees hit the edge of a bed.

“Who is that under – Commander?” He heard Sosiel’s voice nearby and stumbled slightly as he turned to sit. Oh of course it would be him, and not the other one who was always there. Of course.

“Kind healer I beg your indulgence,” Zell croaked, not obviously attempting to look pathetic but doing a great job of it anyway. “I was told you have the good tea for the headaches brought by the sun.”

“Oh, certainly,” Sosiel paused, slight confusion in his voice. He was also probably wondering why Zell hadn’t just sent for a squire, but at least he was too polite to say anything about it. Instead he addressed Daeran. “And you, Count Arendae? I hardly suspect you need my assistance?” “Oh, I’m just here because misery loves company,” Daeran replied. Zell felt his weight settle down next to him on the cot. “And of course performing my duties as field advisor.” “By doing what, pray tell?” Daeran waved his hand in a vague gesture. “I advised Commander Hellsing on the field placement of this very tent, and quite competently I might add.”

“Lost without you,” Zell mumbled truthfully. He debated the merits of pushing Daeran off the cot versus just using him as a convenient pillow, but eventually decided either one would be far too much effort. Instead he hunched into himself, the blanket billowing around him to looks something like a nest. Zell heard the rustle and clatter of herbs being prepared; smelled the sharpness of ginger and the green acerbic bite of willow bark. Then came peppermint and mallow; Sosiel was definitely not skipping out on the good stuff. The scent alone was enough to start settling his stomach.

“Thank you for taking the time, Sosiel,” he murmured, wishing he could at least look the man in the face with his thanks. Though perhaps he hadn’t noticed-

“I was beginning to worry I had made you uncomfortable somehow, and you wouldn’t come to me for help,” Sosiel replied. His voice was kind, but Zell didn’t have to be functioning to sense the hurt in his words. Zell flinched, ashamed.

“You noticed I am er... avoidant,” he admitted. He had tried so hard to be polite, rebuffing Sosiel’s offers for help not out of some misplaced projection but because he “didn’t need it.”

He did not address in the moment why his own thoughts felt the need to emphasize - with deep sarcasm - his insistent lack of need.

“I did, I thought perhaps after the incident at Martyr Zacharius’s Cemetery, that I had done something in particular to put you off…”

Zell felt his heart clench. He had been unkind to Sosiel for no reason. Alas, in a better mindset a more elegant explanation may have come to him. In lieu of that...

"No, it is not your fault. You just...” He grasped for the right combination of words, flailing until he landed on “...remind me of my... ex." The final word ended in a hiss that was part confusion, part embarrassment. Not that it wasn’t the right word, he just didn’t want to have had said it ever.

Daeran snorted inelegantly next to him.

Zell grimaced. No, that was a stupid way to put it, He had to explain it better. "Not really ex, more like. His boss had him string me along because I,” he gestured to himself, again at a loss for words. “Asking questions." Oh yes, that was much better.

He heard the soft clatter of the kettle being rested on its trivet. Sosiel responded, "You're saying I remind you of this person?" Zell could hear the good-natured humor in Sosiel’s reply. At least he didn’t seem to have taken it personally.

"Of his persona! His front. He was very-" he waved a hand, gesturing at where he imagined Sosiel stood. "Like you, but about Sarenrae. Devoted."

"Devout?"

"That's also that one yes. And like you he healed us, and very much was handsome as well. It's the good things I think of, I promise." Zell pressed his fingers to his temples. The pulsing whine in his ears felt almost like laughter. Or maybe that was Daeran. Who could say. "I did not mean to be so clumsy in saying it. My head makes me stupid."

“I see,” Sosiel chuckled. “It is nice to know that I wasn’t being avoided for anything I’d done, though I was a bit curious.”

“I am an ass, unworthy, please forgive me,” Zell apologized through another wave of nausea.

“He’s so precious when he’s contrite,” Daeran quipped. “All patients should be so easy, wouldn’t you say, Brother Sosiel?”

“There is no need to apologize,” Sosiel’s voice was firm, though he was still clearly trying not to laugh. “Besides, what kind of Cleric would I be if I showed any less grace than you to our beleaguered friend, your Lordship? Commander, drink this-”

Zell felt Sosiel’s hand close over the back of his own, steadying it to accept a warm wooden mug. The sharp scents of ginger and peppermint floated up into his hood; he breathed them in with gratitude, grasping the mug with both hands. Whatever sharp reply Daeran gave Sosiel was missed as all of Zell’s attention centered on the warmth and the smell.

[sebstanaddict]

Midnight and The Light

Bucky Barnes Vampire!AU Story

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is a vampire detective working for the London police to cover up murders done by his own people. One day his world turns upside down when a female detective is assigned to work with him.

For some reason his mind bending power doesn't work on her, making his job harder and the mystery intrigued him. Who is she? But more importantly, what is she? Will he figure it out?

Chapters : 2/10 (May add more)

Chapter list >

Warning : violence and murder depiction

---

Chapter 2

The night was still young when James drove back to his apartment. His conversation with Y/n earlier that evening made him even more intrigued and curious about her and a thought crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, he knew what she was and he couldn't wait to find the facts that can back it up.

As far as he knew the only ones who were immune to his powers were supernatural beings like him. Never humans. So she must not be human. At least not fully.

She couldn't be a werewolf because they usually smell bad and he would have smelled it from feet away. On the other hand, she smelled good to him. Underneath the layer of fruity perfume and the scent of jasmine from probably the shower gel she used, he could pick up her signature scent, which was not like the usual humans he had encountered.

She couldn't be a faerie either because they’re usually overly cheery and happy. She was not like that even though she seemed to emit a faerie-like aura in his eyes.

So the only other supernatural being he knew was a vampire, like himself. But she seemed to lack the coldness a vampire usually has. There was only one possibility and that was she was a half-vampire. Something rare but he had encountered several times before. 

Of course he couldn't confront her right up. If she was one, there was always a chance she was sent by him or by another coven - to do what, he wasn't sure. And if she wasn't, he was just going to terrify her and he didn't want that. The conversation with her made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long while and he was hoping to continue to forge a connection with her and see where it goes. He didn't realize how lonely he had been, but being with her that evening made him realize that.

He returned to his sleek, modern apartment, the city lights casting a gentle glow through the large windows. He took off the gloves he always wore whenever he went out and poured himself a glass of sheep blood, the only sustenance that could satisfy his natural hunger.

Despite being a vampire and having an appetite for human blood, his heart couldn't take feeding on other humans. Even from the beginning he had an unnatural ability to resist feeding on humans and could satisfy himself with animal blood. He was what the vampire community would call a vegetarian vampire, a term that started with him three hundred years ago. After that there were more vegetarian vampires that emerged, but they were the minority. 

His ability to resist feeding on humans was what kept him on his job. Mingling among humans day in and day out was something not a lot vampires can do without triggering their appetite. So it was dangerous for them. But to James, it was weirdly easy. 

He picked the glass of sheep blood and settled into his study, a room filled with various monitors and documents. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Y/n and the peculiar resistance he had encountered.

He turned on his laptop and began searching through his contacts and databases. His vampire connections were vast, spanning both human and supernatural networks, but he was careful to use them discreetly. He needed to find out more about Y/n without alerting her or anyone else.

Pulling up Y/n’s professional records, James scrutinized her work history and personal background. Everything appeared normal—solid career, reputable institution—nothing out of the ordinary.

Frustrated, James contacted a few trusted informants. “I need information on any unusual half-bloods,” he said into his phone. “Nothing major, just a feeling I have.”

The responses were vague. “You know how it is,” one informant said. “Half-bloods tend to fly under the radar. Can’t say I’ve heard anything recent.”

James hung up, his frustration growing. He accessed a more obscure database he kept for special cases, searching for patterns or anomalies. He noted the historical cases of half-bloods with traits similar to Y/n’s: unusual eye colors, enhanced observation skills, and a unique aura.

One file caught his eye: a case from several decades ago involving a half-blood with similar characteristics. The file was incomplete, but the similarities between the individual and Y/n were striking. James felt a growing sense of urgency. He needed to verify his suspicions and find out if Y/n truly was a half-blood.

—

The next morning, James met Y/n at the headquarters. She greeted him with a curious smile, her eyes bright despite the early hour.

“Ready for another day of detective work?” she asked, her tone light but serious.

“Absolutely,” James replied, trying to mask his inner tension. “We’ve got a new case.”

They went over the details of the latest murder—a young woman found in an alley, her death bearing similarities to the previous case they had investigated. It was a murder done by another one of his kind and he had done what he usually did at the crime scene to cover up their tracks. 

As they examined the crime scene a little later on that day, James observed Y/n closely.

“You’re very perceptive,” James remarked as Y/n noted an unusual detail—a faint trace of a rare chemical substance.

Y/n looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to piece together patterns in these cases.”

James studied her reactions and her ability to pick up on subtle clues. “You have a knack for this,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of genuine admiration. “How did you get so skilled?”

Y/n shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “I guess it’s just something I’ve always been good at. Maybe it’s a mix of instinct and training. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” James replied smoothly. “Just curious. Sometimes people have unique skills that they don’t even realize are special.”

Y/n’s gaze lingered on him. “Like you? You seem to have a knack for solving cases.”

James chuckled softly, feeling a bit of warmth in her gaze. “Something like that.”

As they continued to work, James tried once more to subtly influence Y/n. “You know, it’s possible this murder is just a coincidence,” he said, focusing on her with his penetrating gaze.

Y/n met his eyes, her expression unchanging. “I don’t think so,” she said firmly. “There are too many similarities to ignore.”

James’s attempts to sway her mind were met with resistance. Her resolve seemed to counteract his influence. “You’re really steadfast,” he said, his curiosity growing. “I admire that.”

Later, as they sat in the headquarter’s break room, James decided to approach the subject more directly. “So, how’s the case treating you? Finding anything interesting?”

Y/n leaned back, looking thoughtful. “It’s challenging, but I think we’re getting closer. I’ve been finding some patterns that don’t quite fit the usual profiles.”

James’s mind raced with possibilities. “Patterns like what?”

“Like the chemical trace we found at the scene,” Y/n explained. “It’s not something you see every day. It could be a clue to something bigger.”

James nodded, trying to mask his growing concern. “You’re onto something, I can tell. But don’t get too attached to any theories until we have more evidence.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes reflecting both curiosity and caution. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I have a feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

James nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. He needed to have more opportunities to figure her out and to try and sway her mind. “I think we’ve made some progress today. How about we grab dinner and discuss our findings?” 

Y/n looked at him, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Sure, sounds good. But don’t think you’re off the hook with those questions about me.”

James smiled, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

—

The dim light of the restaurant flickered gently across James’s face as he and Y/n settled into their corner booth. The atmosphere was intimate, with jazz softly playing in the background. As James poured wine into their glasses, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the evening held more than just casual conversation.

“So, Y/n,” James began, leaning forward slightly, his gaze intense yet inviting, “what else drew you to detective work? Aside from wanting to fight injustice? Which I think is admirable but.. I’m sure that's not the only reason.”

Y/n took a sip of her wine, her eyes reflecting the candlelight. “I’ve always been drawn to solving mysteries. There’s something thrilling about uncovering the truth, no matter how elusive it might be.”

James’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. “Thrilling, you say. And what about your past? Any peculiar experiences or moments that shaped your path?”

Y/n’s smile faltered just a touch, her gaze dropping to her glass. “My family had different plans for me, you could say. They wanted me in a more traditional role. But I chose this path because it felt right.”

James leaned back, studying her. “And your childhood? Anything unusual?”

Y/n’s eyes met his, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. “Why the sudden interest in my past?”

“Just trying to understand what makes you tick,” James said smoothly. “Sometimes our past can reveal hidden strengths or talents.”

Y/n shrugged. “I had a typical childhood—supportive family, some struggles, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

James’s mind was racing. He was searching for patterns, something that would explain her resistance to his influence. “You seem well-adjusted despite the challenges. It’s not always easy to defy expectations.”

Y/n’s gaze softened. “I guess it’s just a matter of following your instincts and staying true to yourself.”

James’s attraction to Y/n grew stronger with every word she spoke. Her presence was magnetic, her voice soothing yet compelling, her bright smile was like the sun breaking through the storm in his heart. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her, much like he had been to his former fiancée before he became a vampire. The pain of their separation still lingered, and the feelings he had for Y/n were both surprising and intense.

“So, tell me,” James said, his voice low, “what do you do when you’re not working?”

Y/n’s eyes lit up. “I love reading and hiking. I also have a fascination with history. There’s something captivating about learning from the past.”

James smiled, genuinely interested. “That’s intriguing. History can indeed offer valuable insights into our world.”

As the conversation continued, James noticed how Y/n’s eyes seemed to change color in the light, one blue and one light brown with streaks of dark brown. They held a depth that he couldn’t quite place, drawing him in further. The more he watched her, the more he felt a connection that was both intense and unfamiliar.

“Do you ever feel like there’s something more to your life?” James asked, trying to probe deeper. “Like you’re part of something bigger?”

Y/n’s gaze was steady, her eyes searching his. “Sometimes, yes. I think we all have moments when we question if there’s a greater purpose.”

James’s heart quickened. Her words resonated with him in a way he hadn’t experienced in centuries. “It’s curious how some people come into our lives and change everything. Have you ever felt that way?”

Y/n’s smile was wistful. “I’ve had moments where I felt like someone or something was guiding me, but it’s hard to explain.”

James felt a pang of longing. “It’s interesting how connections can be so profound, even when we don’t fully understand them.”

Their conversation grew more intimate as the evening wore on. James tried to maintain a casual demeanor, but he couldn’t ignore the growing sense of urgency he felt. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Y/n was a half-vampire, but he needed more than just feelings—he needed evidence.

As they finished their meal, James couldn’t help but wanting to know her more, both to figure out the mystery on how she could defy her powers, and also to enjoy her company, much to his surprise. “Would you be open to discussing the case again? There’s still a lot to uncover, and I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Sure, I’d be happy to. There’s a lot we need to figure out.”

James smiled, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Great. I look forward to it.”

“One more thing though.” Y/n said, her eyes twinkled.

“What is it?” James asked, arching his eyebrows.

“What's with the gloves?” Y/n asked, her eyes darted to his gloved hands.

James’ eyebrows knitted together as he racked his brain for a believable answer. “Poor circulation.” He finally replied and he was met with Y/n’s arched eyebrows.

“Interesting.” Y/n replied and he smiled.

As they parted ways outside the restaurant, James couldn’t shake the undeniable attraction he felt for her. For a split second he contemplated on asking to walk her to her apartment and hoping that maybe she would invite him in. But he realized it was too soon. So he reluctantly walked the other direction, realizing that he also needed to start monitoring the night for any rogue vampires.

—

The moon hung low, casting eerie shadows across the desolate street. Y/n's footsteps echoed off the damp pavement as she walked briskly towards her apartment. The night air was unusually cold, sending shivers down her spine. The once-comforting hum of the city seemed distant, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

Every so often, she would glance over her shoulder, her instincts prickling with a sense of being watched. She quickened her pace, her anxiety growing with each step. The alley ahead, usually just a shortcut, now loomed like a dark, foreboding maw.

As she neared the entrance of the alley, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She stopped abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest. Shadows danced along the walls, but nothing seemed out of place. Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath and continued forward, her unease intensifying.

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the darkness, emerging like a predator from its lair. His eyes glowed with a malevolent hunger, and his smile, full of sharp fangs, sent a chill down her spine. 

“Evening, love,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re just the meal I was looking for.”

Y/n's heart raced as she took an instinctive step back, her breath catching in her throat. “Stay away from me!”

The vampire’s grin widened. Without warning, he lunged with a speed that defied human capability. Y/n barely had time to react as he grabbed her arm with a grip that felt like icy chains. She tried to wrench free, but the vampire’s hold was unyielding.

Fear surged through her as she struggled against his strength. The vampire’s eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction as he pressed closer, his fangs bared. She could feel his cold breath against her neck, and the terror of being bitten overwhelmed her.

In a desperate bid for survival, Y/n flailed her arm, managing to catch the vampire off-guard. A burst of raw, uncontrollable energy erupted from her, throwing the vampire backward into a pile of discarded crates with a loud crash. The impact echoed through the alley, and the vampire’s surprised curse filled the air.

Y/n stood, trembling, trying to make sense of the power she had unleashed. Before she could process what had happened, the vampire was on his feet again, his eyes burning with anger and confusion. 

“You’re not just a regular human, are you?” he snarled, his voice a dangerous growl.

Before Y/n could answer, the shadows shifted once more, and James appeared. His presence was commanding, his expression a mix of urgency and resolve. Without a word, he moved with a speed that seemed almost otherworldly, closing the distance between himself and the vampire in an instant.

James tackled the rogue vampire with brutal force, slamming him into the brick wall with a resounding thud. The vampire’s eyes widened in shock as James’s hands locked around his throat, his grip unyielding. 

“You picked the wrong person to mess with,” James growled, his voice echoing with authority.

The vampire’s struggles became frantic as he clawed at James’s hands, but James’s grip only tightened. With a swift, calculated motion, James lifted the vampire off the ground and slammed him back down, causing a visible tremor in the alley. The vampire gasped, trying to regain his bearings.

James’s attacks were methodical and relentless. He delivered a series of powerful blows—each punch landing with devastating impact. The vampire attempted to retaliate, but James’s superior strength and skill left him reeling. The alley was filled with the sounds of their violent struggle: the thud of fists, the crack of bone, and the vampire’s pained grunts.

With a final, decisive move, James grabbed the vampire by the head and twisted violently. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the alley as James snapped the vampire’s neck with a powerful, deliberate motion. The rogue vampire slumped to the ground, his body lifeless.

James stood over the fallen vampire, his breathing heavy but controlled. The alley was silent now, save for the distant hum of city life.

Turning to Y/n, James’s expression softened with a mix of concern and relief. “Are you alright?”

Y/n, still shaking and wide-eyed, nodded slowly. “I—yes, I think so. But what was that? Who was he?”

James’s gaze was serious. “He was a rogue vampire. I had to intervene because you were in serious danger.”

Y/n’s face paled as she absorbed the reality of the situation. “So you’re…?”

“Yes,” James admitted, his voice steady. “I’m a vampire. And it’s possible you have some vampire heritage yourself. That’s why my abilities didn’t work on you.”

Y/n’s expression was a mix of fear and confusion. “Your abilities?”

“Yes, I have a mind bending ability. Something you might have picked up on.” James explained and her eyes grew wide.

“I need to know more. What does this mean for me?” She asked, her voice trembling.

James took a step closer, his eyes filled with a blend of empathy and urgency. “There’s a lot to explain, but for now, we need to get you somewhere safe. We’ll talk more about this soon.”

As James guided Y/n away from the alley, the night felt even more oppressive, its dark secrets now laid bare. The weight of new revelations and the dangerous world she had been thrust into hung heavily in the air. 

---

Y/n fumbled with her keys as they reached her apartment door. Her hands were trembling, her mind racing with what had just transpired. She could barely register the world around her as her thoughts kept replaying the sight of James effortlessly snapping the vampire’s neck. The reality of what he was, what he could do, was crashing down on her with suffocating weight.

James followed behind, his steps silent but his presence overwhelming. As Y/n opened the door and stepped inside, she hesitated for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. She could feel him behind her, watching, waiting. She didn’t know whether to feel safe or terrified.

She stepped into the dimly lit apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. “You can sit,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She moved to the kitchen area, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the kettle, needing something—anything—to keep her hands busy. 

James stayed by the door for a moment, his sharp senses picking up her rapid heartbeat, the uneven breathing. She was on the verge of panic. He could feel it, the fear radiating off her in waves, and it pained him in a way he didn’t expect. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. Not her.

“Y/n...” His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated predator he had been moments ago. He took a step toward her, moving cautiously as though approaching a wounded animal. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Y/n turned sharply, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of fear and disbelief. “You just… killed him. You—” Her voice cracked, and she took a sharp breath, trying to calm the rising panic.

“He was going to kill you,” James said softly, his hands held up in a placating gesture. “I had no choice.”

Her breath came faster, on the verge of hyperventilating, as she backed up against the counter. “But you’re—” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “You’re a vampire.”

James closed the distance between them, slowly, deliberately. His presence was calm, soothing, and he made sure his voice was even and steady. “Yes, I am. But I swear to you, I’m not your enemy.”

She shook her head, barely able to process his words, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t know what to believe right now.”

James took another step closer, so close now that he could see the fine tremor in her hands. “Look at me.” His voice was firm but gentle. “I need you to breathe, Y/n. Deep breaths.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and something in his gaze—the calm, the steady warmth—gave her the slightest bit of reassurance. She tried to take a breath, shakier than she wanted, but it was a start.

“Good,” James encouraged, his voice low, soothing. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a gentle hand on her arm. Despite the gloves he was wearing, the contact sent a jolt through him—electric, magnetic. The pull toward her was stronger than anything he’d felt in centuries, but he held himself back. Now wasn’t the time. He needed her to trust him. “I know this is overwhelming, but you’re safe with me.”

Y/n nodded slowly, though the fear still lingered in her eyes. “I don’t understand any of this.”

James took a breath, fighting the instinct to pull her closer, to wrap his arms around her and shield her from the confusion and fear. Instead, he released her arm and stepped back slightly, giving her space. “Let me explain.”

She watched him warily as he moved toward the couch and sat, leaving the decision up to her. After a long pause, Y/n followed him to the living room, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite him, her posture stiff.

“I’m a vampire,” James started, keeping his tone soft. “I’ve been one for over three hundred years. I was born human, just like you, in London in the 1700s. I worked as a detective, solving cases much like the ones we’ve been working on.”

Y/n listened in stunned silence, her fear ebbing slightly as the shock of his words replaced it. She shook her head, trying to grasp what he was saying. “But… how?”

James’s jaw tightened for a moment, the memory of that fateful night flashing through his mind. “The vampire leader singled me out. He saw my skills as a detective and decided he wanted me to work for him. Without my consent, he turned me into a vampire. I had no say in it.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “He just… turned you? Without asking?”

James nodded grimly. “Yes. After that, I was forced to work for the vampire community, covering up their tracks, hiding their existence from humans. It’s what I’ve been doing for the past three centuries.”

Her expression turned to one of horror. “That’s… horrible. You had no choice?”

“None,” James said, his voice laced with the weight of centuries of regret. “But I made the best of it. I’ve tried to protect humans, to keep the supernatural world from spilling over into the one you know. It’s my way of atoning for what I was made into.”

Y/n looked away, her mind racing. “And now you think… what? That I’m part of this world too?”

James leaned forward, his gaze intense but filled with concern. “I’m not sure what you are yet, but tonight, when you fought that vampire… you displayed abilities that aren’t human. You’re stronger, faster, more resilient. My guess is that you’re a half-vampire, though you may not even know it.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, wide with shock. “Half-vampire? That’s impossible. I’m just… me.”

“Maybe you are,” James said softly. “But there’s something more to you, Y/n. And I want to help you figure out what that is.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Y/n’s mind was reeling, her whole world tilting on its axis. She stared at James, searching for answers, but all she found was that same magnetic pull—the undeniable connection she felt, even through her fear.

James felt it too, stronger than ever. The way she looked at him, even in her disbelief, made him want to close the distance between them, to feel her warmth, her pulse against his cold skin. He could barely stop himself from reaching out, from leaning in.

But he held back.

Now wasn’t the time. She needed answers, not confusion.

“I’ll protect you,” he promised quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “No matter what happens. I’ll help you figure this out, and I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Y/n’s gaze softened slightly, her fear still present but now mixed with something else—trust, perhaps. “Why are you helping me?”

James hesitated for a moment, unable to say what he truly felt. The connection, the pull, the way she made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in centuries. Instead, he said, “Because it’s the right thing to do. You didn’t ask for this, just like I didn’t.”

She looked at him for a long time, studying his face, the weight of his words sinking in. Finally, she nodded, the smallest hint of trust forming in her eyes. “Okay. I’ll trust you.”

The words were simple, but they held a power James hadn’t felt in years. Trust. Something so fragile, yet so valuable. And with it came a promise—one he would keep.

“Thank you,” he said softly, unable to hide the slight relief in his voice.

They sat there in the dim light, the air between them charged with unspoken feelings. Neither of them acknowledged it, but both could feel it—a connection, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Chapter 3 >