#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: 𝑻𝒂𝒓��𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒂 ꒷꒦ 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."

[samfkiszka]

Paper Bag: Chapter Three

Vampire!Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Hunger Hurts, and I want him so bad, oh, it kills...

★・・・・・・★

Forced to move back to your father's hometown the summer before your first year at college, you had resided yourself to the fact that the next few months were going to suck.

But that was before you were reacquainted with Danny next door. And before you got a brand new job at a dusty old bookstore run by an eccentric old woman. And before Jake walked into said bookstore, poised to turn your entire world upside down.

Warnings (for this chapter): SMUT!! 18+ ONLY! Oral (female receiving), fingering, Jake being a slut, you know how it is. Cursing. Cheesy writing. Allusions to him biting you (it doesn’t actually happen though). Seriously NSFW, MINORS DNI.

Word count: 5,782

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Masterlist

taglist form if you're interested <3

★・・・・・・★

Several days had passed with no word from Jake or Danny. Danny had stayed true to his word. He wasn’t going to protect you anymore. He stopped walking you to and from work everyday, and despite your anger towards him you missed your nightly chats. You also missed the safety you had felt walking beside him as the sun began to set. Besides that, work grew boring without Jake’s usual visit. How you had managed to fuck everything up in one night was truly beyond you. In less than twenty-four hours you had pushed away the only two people that even remotely cared about you in town. It didn’t matter what Jake was now; it was clear to you that he too had no interest in seeing you anymore. 

You turned even more irritable as days without word from Jake, or Danny, went by. Even Mrs. Palmer noticed their absences from the bookstore. Most likely because she noticed your sour mood. And much like your mood, the weather grew increasingly worse as the days passed. You spent more than one night wringing out damp clothes after making it back home and combing through tangled, soaked hair. 

You fell into a routine. Wake up. Go to work alone. Work a boring shift. Walk home in the rain, alone. Wake up. Go to work alone. Work a boring shift. Walk home, soaked by a torrential downpour, alone. No Danny. No Jake. And it continued like this for much longer than you wanted it to. 

Even your father noticed Danny’s absence, although he seemed moderately pleased that he wouldn’t have to deal with the overly cheery intruder. He didn’t mention Jake, but you were sure he was simply glad to not have to discuss boys any longer. 

Two weeks went by before he finally came back into the store. It took you by surprise– he didn’t quite look like himself. His eyes sported deep purple blooms underneath them, he cheeks seemed more sunken than usual, and his skin was nearly an entire shade paler— if that was possible. Despite all this, he still looked entirely too beautiful for your liking. The anger you had been harboring over his disappearance faded momentarily. Much like your inability to be afraid of him, it seemed to be just as difficult to be angry at him. And it was nice to see him again. It was as if he had never left, as if that night had happened only yesterday. 

But you had to keep up a front. There was no way you’d let him get away with this now. 

You kept your attention on the book you had been reading to pass the time, trying your hardest to ignore the feeling of his eyes bearing down onto you. His boots clicked against the linoleum floors as he slowly made his way to the front desk.

“I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be. It’s unfair of me to disappear without warning like that. Please forgive me.” 

You glance up at him, taking in his disheveled appearance. He looked truly sorry, and the begging tone in his voice only pushed you closer to forgiving him. It’s not like you could stay mad at him for very long. 

“Say something. Please,” he begged. 

“Can you at least tell me where you went?” 

He glanced down, wincing. That was enough of an answer for you. Above anything, you were tired of people refusing to give you answers.

“But, I know you know. At least a little bit of the truth. Will… will you let me explain? Please?” He rushed out. 

You nod, wondering if somehow your bullshit theories from before were true. As the week had passed you had realized how absolutely laughable Jake being a vampire was. A rash moment of very idiotic thinking. That’s what you chalked it up to. A bout of temporary insanity that Danny fed into out of jealousy. What he had to be jealous of, you had no clue. But Jake’s words from the last time you had seen him seemed to ring true. 

Jake stood in the corner, eyes towards the floor as you quickly closed up and bid Mrs. Palmer a swift goodbye. 

He followed behind you quietly as you locked up the store and turned to face him, hands on your hips in an attempt to seem more stern than you really were. 

“Speak.” 

“Where do you want me to start?” He looked utterly defeated as you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“What are you?” You asked, as if it was that simple.  

“You know what I am.” 

You scoff, “No. You’re not getting away with this dancing around the subject stuff. Tell me everything.” 

“I’m-” he hesitated, staring at the pavement as he fought the urge to be vague, “I’m a vampire.” 

“Do you- do you eat… people?” You cringe as you ask, feeling even stupider with each passing moment. 

“No. My brother’s and I… only animals,” he clarified. 

“How old are you?” 

“Twenty.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Sixty-eight. I’m really not that old-” 

“How?” 

He glanced around nervously at the darkening sky, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards his car– you hadn’t noticed that you were standing right next to where he had parked on the side of the street. 

“Let’s talk about this in here.” 

You nod, sliding into the warm leather seats with a huff. He started driving the opposite direction from your house, but as long as you were getting much needed answers you didn’t mind where he took you. 

“I was… a promising musician,” he chuckled as he began, “I know it sounds stupid, but I was young. I wanted to do something, to be someone. All I was interested in was music. My parents, they wanted me to go off to school. I had dreams, and they had their own, but once they realized how serious I was they supported me. I played in shitty, sketchy dive bars… with my brothers actually. We wanted to be as big as The Beatles, bigger even. Sam played the bass, Josh sang, and I played the guitar. We rotated a few drummers, but never really found our fit. It felt right, being on stage. I mean, I was scared shitless. Half the time I played with my back facing the crowd because I was so terrified,” He chuckled, a wistful looking glazeing over his features.

“I fell in with a bad crowd, I guess. I didn’t notice how different they were from other bands I had met. I didn’t pay attention to the fact that every instinct in my body screamed at me to get away from them. One night, Josh and I got into a huge fight. He found out I was planning on going to Nashville without them. It was selfish, stupid of me to even think about leaving. I was… I wanted to make it. Like, really make it. And this band I had met, they told me this was where I needed to go. So, Josh stormed off, taking Sammy with him. I decided to get wasted. To drown my sorrows, I guess. Ended up in a dark alley behind the bar, nearly bleeding out. Josh told  my family I had gone to Nashville. They had no idea. Who would? 

“I woke up alone. The other band, the one who had changed me, they were gone. I had no idea what I was. All I knew is it felt like there was a monster inside of me. I knew I couldn’t go home, not like that. So, I watched from a distance. I watched my mother and father mourn me, under the assumption that I ran away. I watch my brothers go on without me, harboring some resentment towards me for leaving. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted nothing more than to go to them, to tell them I never would have actually left them. I loved them– I still do. 

“Josh and I were twins. We were… close. He was my best friend. I suppose he still is. Despite being perpetually older than me, he’ll always be my twin. I couldn’t live without him. I wasn’t really living, per se, but it would never be a life without him. I was lonely and bored. It was a moment of weakness, and I’ll regret it forever. But, I turned him. I couldn’t bear the thought of outliving him. I never knew life without him. He never blamed me. He’s always been too forgiving for his own good. 

“And Sam, my baby brother. I never wanted to turn him. Josh and I wanted to protect him. To allow him to live his life as a human, the life he always planned. Despite losing both of us, he seemed to be happy. Lonely, but happy. He thought Josh ran away to find me. He would have eventually, at least. But Sam… he wasn’t miserable like I had been without Josh. I believed he was capable of making it on his own. But… our parents died just a year after I turned Josh, leaving Sam completely alone. We couldn’t watch him live like that, live thinking we had just left him to suffer alone. Not when we could do something. He stopped playing music. He never ended up studying science the way he planned. It seemed like he was giving up. We gave him a second chance at life. I turned to him too. Josh couldn’t do it.” 

“We knew immediately how hard it was going to be to keep Sam in control. Newborn Vampires are tricky. It’s hard– denying your primal instincts. It was easier with Josh. And when I woke up… well, I hated myself so badly I refused to give in to any sort of pleasure. In addition to this, I now had the added burden of reading everyone else's thoughts.” 

“What?” 

“Oh,” he chuckled again, tearing his eyes from the road to glance at you quickly, “yeah. That part. That’s the part they don’t tell you. Sometimes when people are changed their abilities from when they were human become… amplified. I’ve always been very good at reading people, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he explained. 

It all began to make sense. How he was able to answer questions you hadn't asked, how he was always one step ahead of you, how he knew things about you that you had never told him before. You shuddered at the thought of him reading every thought you’ve ever had about him… especially the more sinful ones. The smirk that blessed his perfect lips was not lost on you. 

All you could do was laugh. Hysterically. Hard enough that you had to grip the dashboard to stabilize yourself. Tears pushed past your eyes as you struggled to breathe. You didn’t miss the occasional look of worry Jake passed you while you attempted to calm down. 

“What about your brothers?” You asked in between gasps of air. “Do- do they have powers like you?” 

“They can’t read minds, although I’m sure Josh wishes he could. Sam is very good at controlling emotions. He always had a very good sense of feeling what other people felt. And Josh… Well, Josh can see the future to an extent. On top of the other stuff. When he came to it was a lot easier to control him– he was assaulted by visions of the future. He knew he would have the willpower to avoid killing anyone.” 

“Okay,” you huff, “Read minds. Control emotions. See the future. Other stuff.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m drawn to you in a way I’ve never been drawn to any other human. Or any vampire for that matter.” He slides the car into park. You had been so attuned to his storytelling that you hadn’t noticed him circle around the entire town, finally making it back to your house. “I have developed a sense of self control throughout the years. I don’t find the idea of killing other people appealing, no matter what Danny or anyone else believes. Sure, it’d be safer for you to run from me. You deserve someone who will grow and change with you. Someone who’s heart races at the sight of you. But… I told you before. I can’t stay away from you. If you told me to leave, if you wanted me to go away right now, I would.” 

You remain silent, searching your brain for the right words to say.

“Are you scared?” He asked, worry lacing his voice.

“I’m not scared of you. I never have been. I really like you Jake. I know physically you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, but even when I thought you were human I felt… well I’m sure you know how I felt.” 

“I actually… Well, I really don’t have the best grasp of your thoughts. I can read them, but they’re muddled. I have to focus. It’s like you can actually push me out. No one else has been able to do that. Sometimes I catch you off guard, and I get really clear glimpses. Other times, I just catch the feeling.” 

Your racing heart steadied at this admission. So, he hadn’t really heard the worst of it. 

“Do you at least feel enlightened now?” He asked. 

“I guess. My entire world view has been turned upside down, but sure, enlightened.” 

“Any more questions?” 

“Why didn’t you kiss me the other night?” 

Whatever he had expected you to ask, it wasn’t that. He stammered for a moment, stumbling over his words. 

“I wanted to, God, I’ve never wanted someone more than I want you. But, I’m… scared,” his voice cracked and he felt so utterly human in that moment, “I’ve never been so close to anyone, not like this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You lean across the center console, inching your face closer to his. 

“You do realize how stupid you are? I may be able to resist hurting you from a distance, but when you’re this close-” 

“Just kiss me Jake. I trust you. Please.” Now it was your turn to sound desperate. 

His hand gently cupped your cheek, the cool marble feeling comforting the burning blush that painted your face. 

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to touch you like this. From the moment I met you, all I could think about was this.” 

“Then do it.” 

He slowly pulled you close to him, his lips brushing yours slightly. 

“Our first kiss isn’t going to be in my car,” He whispered, just low enough so that you could barely hear him. He pulled back, a shit eating grin spread across his face. 

You groan, opening your own door and stomping out of the car, ignoring his taunting calls until he quickly caught up to you. He pulled you into his body, his arms enveloping you smoothly. 

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t kiss you tonight.” 

Rain was starting to drizzle down, as it had every night before. It picked up just as soon as it started, falling down heavily around the two of you. A drop rolled down his perfect nose, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted him to kiss you, to hold you like this forever, to- 

His lips crashed against yours, his wet hair sticking to your face. You grasped at his soaked shirt, ignoring the disgusting, wet, squelching noise it made. The whimper that sounded from him was much more interesting anyway. His body pressed against yours, your clothes sticking together as you moved against him. Your mouth parted slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. Warmth spread across your chest, your heart pounding fervently against his still one. The woodsy scent of whatever cologne he always wore made you dizzy. All of him made you dizzy. You could tell from the sheer desperation in the way he kissed you that he wanted this– no, he needed this– more than you did. Your head was swimming as he pulled back, allowing you to gulp down quick, sharp breaths. 

“Holy fuck,” was all you could manage to get out as his golden eyes bore into yours. 

“I want to see you again. I’m not going to leave you like that anymore. I can’t,” somehow you were able to make out his lilting whisper against the downpour. 

You may have hated the rain before, but fuck were you thankful for it now. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

You nod, unable to speak. You hoped the ear splitting grin that breaking your face was enough for him. He leads you to your door, pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead before leaving, his car peeling out towards the flooding streets. 

Your fingers brushed over your lips, the ghost of your kiss still lingering as you watched him leave. You ignore the painful feeling of being watched, pretending like you don’t see Danny’s curtains pull closed in a flash out of the corner of your eye. The rain didn’t matter. Danny didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered right now. His scent, his taste, the feel of his body crashing against yours— that’s what mattered. That’s all you could think about as you all but float into your room. You welcome the warm shower, the dry clothes you had laid out even before leaving the house that morning, the comfort of your bed. It felt right. It felt more than right, it felt perfect. 

There wasn’t even a drop of worry about the next day. 

You didn’t dream last night— at least you can’t remember what you dreamed of when you woke up. All you could recall was the beautiful sense of calm you felt. It may have been the first good night of sleep you had since moving to town. For once the anxiety about Danny, the worries about Jake, they were gone. Nothing seemed to matter as much anymore. Nothing but your intense need to see Jake again, the pulling urge to feel his lips against yours once more. 

Your father was out of the house once more for a work related emergency, at least that’s what the note he stuck on the fridge said. His absence was welcome. You didn’t need him questioning you about Jake anymore, at least not right now. Not until you had wrapped your own head around it. Besides, you had enough to deal with today. 

It was too much to spend another day agonizing over what clothes Jake was going to see you in; you felt that if he had already seen the deepest parts of your mind then it really didn’t matter if he saw you in a much loved t-shirt. You weren’t even sure when he would arrive. All he had given you last night was the quick promise that he’d be here. Oddly enough, the strange pulling feeling you had whenever he was around grew increasingly stronger when a sharp knock at your door tore you away from the breakfast you had been shoveling down. 

You struggled with the door once again, cursing it as you swung it open to reveal the man who had been consuming your every waking moment since he stepped into your life. He looked significantly better than last night, the dark circles under his eye fading to a paler pink. His lips quirked up in a coy smile as he took you in, swinging an arm around you and pulling you in for a swooping hug. 

“Sorry, I know I didn’t tell you a time. I just missed you,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck. This didn’t seem like the same man that had been so keen on staying away from you. 

“It was only a little while,” you laugh. 

“Maybe for you. I don’t sleep.” 

He pulls back, grinning as he watches you walk back through the doorway.

“Do you need to be invited in or is that another myth?” 

“A myth. I just like staring at you.” 

You feel heat rush towards your cheeks as you turn around quickly to avoid his gaze. He followed suit, easily shutting the door you so often fought with. 

“So what’s on the docket today?” He asked, leaning against your fridge as you hurried to clean up breakfast. 

“I was going to ask you the same.” 

“I was hoping I could question you the same way you questioned me yesterday,” he propositioned.

“Ask me what?”  You were utterly taken about. What could you have to tell him that was nearly as interesting as what he told you the night before?  On top of the new knowledge that he could read your mind– no matter how muddled– what could he possibly want to know? 

“It’s hard not being able to get a clear read. There are plenty of things I need to know. Your deepest, darkest secrets for instance. Like… What’s your favorite color?” 

You mumble out the same color you had always considered your favorite– although now you were sure your favorite color was the same rich amber as his eyes. 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Princess Bride.” 

He grinned widely, settling into one of the worn seats adjacent yours, “Of course. I knew you had good taste. Favorite food?” 

“I’m not sure. It changes from day to day.” 

“Hm,” he tilted his head while he thought, “what’s the best birthday present you’ve ever gotten?” 

This one stumped you. You had never really been one to celebrate yourself, birthday or not. 

“You’ve never had a birthday party?” Jake seemed genuinely astonished as he poked and prodded through your thoughts. 

“I guess not. I don’t really like the attention. My dad would just give me money and tell me to buy whatever I wanted. Not all of us have nearly seventy attempts to get it right.” You shrug. 

This seemed to really bother him. More than it should, at least that’s what you thought. 

“When is your birthday?” 

You gave him the date, scowling as you said it. “Seriously, how many questions do you have?” 

“Only a couple more. Favorite book?” 

You prattled off a list of favorites, not being able to pick only one. His features softened as he took you in, commenting once again that you had good taste. 

“What about music? What are you into?” 

You had been waiting for this one, so you straightened up expectantly as soon as he asked. “Classic rock. Old stuff. Well… not old to you. Hendrix, John Lee Hooker, Zeppelin. The Beatles. Queen,” you listed, taking a breath as you continued, “Janis Joplin, Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd-” 

“Okay,” he cut you off, “I guess you have great music taste too.” 

“I try. Shoot me your next question rockstar, I’m ready.” You stared him down, a daring smile on your face. 

“I only have one more.” He leaned closer, the woodsy scent that accompanied him invading your senses. He was so suffocating you couldn’t even respond. You knew he noticed your racing heart, the quickening of your breath. What more could he have to ask?

 “Can I kiss you again?” 

It was his turn to catch you by surprise. Still, you nod curtly, biting your lip nervously as he got even closer. His fingers traced your jawline softly before his hand reached up to cup the back of your head, gently coaxing you forward. His lips met yours in a much softer manner than they had the night before, slowly working in time with the beat of your heart. Your hands slowly snaked their way into his hair, tangling up his otherwise perfect brown locks. You tugged involuntarily, feeling entirely lost in the movements of his lips. It was like you forgot how to breathe, forgot everything around you except for him. His lips were just as cold as the rest of his body, just as cold as the night before, and yet you didn’t mind. He pulled you impossibly closer, so much so that you were nearly sitting on top of him, squished together in the shoddy wooden chair. It felt like hours passed like this, and the increasing discomfort of your current position meant nothing as his hands explored your body, dropping lower and lower. A familiar fire sparked in your belly, the same feeling you felt when you watched his fingers flick through pages of old books. 

He pulled back, and you whined at the sudden loss of contact. 

“Not close enough,” he groaned. 

“Upstairs?” you manage to pant out. 

He pulls you into him, moving up the creaky stairs at speeds you never thought you'd be able to move. The door to your room swung open with a crack, and you didn’t even have time to worry about the splintered wood before he threw you on the bed. You stared up at him through heavily lidded eyes, taking him in his entirety. 

“Need you, so fucking bad,” he mumbled as he was on top of you again, pressing wet kisses into the side of your neck, “You have no idea how long I’ve thought of this.” 

Words didn’t matter. All you could do was focus on getting a full breath in. In his presence, when he was like this, everything felt ten times more difficult than normal.

“I could bite you, right now. No one would even know. You’ve made it impossibly easy for me,” he continued teasingly, staring at the exposed side of your neck. 

Your heart skipped a beat, maybe even several. But not out of fear– no, you found yourself wanting him to. To give in, to bite you, to do it. Some disgusting, depraved part of you wanted to satisfy him in ways you would never be able to. 

“God, you’re filthy. I don’t need to read your thoughts to know what you're thinking about.” 

You didn’t need words. He had enough for the both of you. 

“Take this off,” he commanded, tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You obliged, but you weren’t going to expose yourself even more without some form of recompensation. 

“You too.” It felt childish, the way you begged him. Nevertheless, he gave you what you wanted, discarding his shirt quickly. You reached down to fumble with his belt buckle, but he swatted your hand away with a tsk. 

“Not today, angel.” 

You sulked at his refusal, but he barely gave you a second to dwell on it. He leaned in once more, pressing a chaste kiss on your swollen lips with a grin. 

“Don’t pout. This is for you,” he chastised, pushing you down gently until you were laying on your propped up pillows. His hand ran along the edge of your shorts, pulling at them slightly. “May I?” He whispered, and all you could do was nod. He frowned at your refusal to speak before starting again, “Need to hear you say it.” 

“Please-” you were surprised to hear your voice sounding cracked and dry, but you kept going, “Touch me, Jake. Anything. Need you so bad.” 

At any other moment you would have been ashamed at how pathetically desperate you sounded. But Jake looked at you with so much adoration that you could not find yourself to care. 

“Of course, angel. How can I say no to you?” 

The coolness of his skin sent shivers up your spine as he pulled your shorts down at an agonizingly slow pace. You wanted to rush him, to plead him to go faster, but the look in his eyes told you to bite your tongue. 

“All this for me?” He smirked when he saw that you had completely soaked through your underwear. He seemed genuinely shocked for a moment. How could a man who had access to your mind, no matter how muddled, doubt your feelings for him? 

“Only for you. You drive me insane, Jake,” you whispered, suddenly embarrassed at being this physically exposed to him. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you, but you still blushed at his words. 

His hand ghosted over your clothed clit, the temperature difference making you feel dizzy. He continued his tantalizing pace, barely touching you where you needed him most as he leaned down to pepper your face and neck with kisses. 

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped in between his movements. 

“You-” was all that you could manage. But it was no longer enough for him. You could tell from the gentle frown that ghosted over his features that he wanted more from you. “Your mouth, your hands, anything,” you pleaded. 

He worked his way down your body, pressing open mouth kisses over your chest. You sucked in a breath of shock when he suddenly brought his mouth to your exposed nipple. This was such a stark difference from the man who was wary of even kissing you the night before. Your hands flew to his hair again, tugging so roughly that he whimpered into your skin. You knew you couldn’t cause him pain, but the sensation must be nice enough without it. 

He continued his assault on your skin down your stomach, and you admired the soft pink blooms he left in his wake. They were sure to turn purple later, but you didn’t care. They were proof that this was real, that he was real. 

He reached the band of your underwear, staring at you for quick confirmation before tearing them off of you. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed out, staring at you so intensely that you wanted to shy away. But you couldn’t– he was holding your legs so tightly that you were sure there would be fingerprint shaped bruises painting your thighs later. You know he didn’t mean to be so rough. He already looked at you like you were made of glass. He was so lost in his own lust that he forgot just how breakable you were. 

He pressed more kisses into your thigh, losing his early composure and tormenting pace in his excitement. Your hips lifted up slightly to meet his face, begging for any sort of friction as he got just close enough to give you what you wanted so badly. 

Please. Please. Anything. Please. Jake, please. You chanted like a prayer in your mind, hoping that he got the drift. 

Without warning he pressed a kiss to your clit, and all you could do was gasp his name. His eyes never left yours, staring up at you lovingly as he began to lap at you like a man starved. He seemed to melt against the heat of your cunt, becoming more frenzied as you whimpered nothing but his name. 

He was all encompassing. He was all you could think about. 

“Jesus, fuck, that feels so good.” You tugged at his hair as he continued, pressing his face even deeper against you.

He whined at your praise, and the vibration nearly overwhelmed you. 

“Holy fuck, Jake,” you coaxed him on, squeezing your thighs around his head so tightly you worried for his safety for a moment– before remembering you had nothing to worry about. 

One of his hands relinquished its grip on your thigh as he slid two fingers down to your entrance. You felt dizzy at the thought of him inside of you, and suddenly it was all you wanted. As if your thoughts were clearer than ever, he slowly pushed his way in without an ounce of begging from you. He started slowly, the added pressure from his tongue on your clit making you feel intoxicated. It wasn’t long before you were seeing nothing but stars. You squeezed your eyes shut, no longer able to keep them open, despite how badly you wished to keep looking at Jake. 

The fire in your stomach had spread all over your body at this point. You could tell you were close. Jake must have been able to as well– of course he could. He once again knew what you needed without you having to ask. He sped his movements up, maintaining his rhythmic pace. The wet noises he was making, paired with your near constant string of praise, were almost musical together. It was almost too overwhelming. His movements were nearly animalistic as he acted like you were the last meal he would ever eat. 

Time seemed to slow as you reached your peak, screaming his name so loudly you were sure everyone in a ten mile radius heard you. You felt like you had left your body– it took a second for your vision to come back, and for the ringing in your ears to fade. 

He pulled back after a moment, panting. You could tell that he enjoyed putting on a show– you knew he had no need to breathe. His face was covered in a mixture of… well you and his own spit. He brought his fingers to his mouth, making yet another show of cleaning them off. His eyes were dark as he pulled them out with a lewd pop, grinning almost drunkenly at the way you stared at him.

You lay there gulping in sweet air, Jake-scented air, like you would never breathe again. He flopped down unceremoniously next to you, crossing his hands over his chest triumphantly. 

“How-“

“You know, I did know how to… have fun before I was turned.” 

“I thought… I thought you were scared of getting too close.” you huffed, struggling to breathe right. 

“A lot can change in a night.” 

Whatever that meant. 

“At least I get to taste you this way,” he joked, earning a slap on the chest from you. Again, not that you couldn’t hurt him. 

You felt like you were never going to fall back into your body. He made you feel disgustingly stupid, intoxicated by nothing but him. Unfortunately, much like always, he didn’t give you time to adjust before he popped up with a frown. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Complication. I have to go. I’ll see you later. Maybe you can meet my brothers,” he promised, pressing his lips to your forehead before rushing to open your window. 

“How are you going to get home?” You asked, vaguely remembering his lack of a car from earlier. 

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about that,” he mumbled, nodding towards the door. You didn’t wonder what he meant for long when the front door opened with a groan, tearing you away from him. You glanced back for a moment, and he was gone. The only sign that he had ever even been here was the ache that spread through your entire body. 

No matter how much he gave you, he always left you wanting more. 

★・・・・・・★

tags: @spark-my-nature @edgingthedarkness @emojakekiszka @slut4lando @ascendingtothestarsasone @writingcold @notsostrangerthing (some of the tags didn’t work. if you want to be added, please feel free to inbox me if the form isn’t working)

[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.”

[artyandink]

𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 | bartender!dean winchester

Summary: Dean Winchester needs a job after his little brother left for Stanford, and he’s good at mixing drinks. You happen to work at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, which is the place he chose to work at. He finds a family. He finds a new life. But he also finds you. But you have problems of your own.

A/N - My first reader series, do make sure to comment and/or reblog feedback. Set with S1/2 Dean cause I love our baby boy 😁 and pretend group chats exist on old phones lol

A/N 2 - Chapter’s kinda short, sorry guys 😬 I’ve been ill nonstop, and that sapped my creative juice

Warnings: Blood, gore, alcohol, chaotic group chat, angst, some fluff, Charlie being Charlie, mentions of abuse, Benny isn’t a vampire, Ruby and Meg aren’t demons, everyone got an out from hunting and the Apocalypse, Azazel doesn’t come after the Winchesters

SERIES MASTERLIST

three - french 75

You and Dean were working the bar the following Tuesday with Bela and Benny, a surprisingly chaotic duo while, as usual, the rest of the gang lived it up in a booth nearby.

After the Roadhouse closed up, all of you agreed on what you knew would be a chaotic night of strip poker, almost guaranteed highlights being Ruby’s victory gorilla grunt, Jo throwing her cards down when she lost and Bela’s painfully obvious ‘poker face’ which consisted of her smirk that was strained with poorly restrained giggles.

It was tradition, really.

“Is this place looking for vacancies?” There was a redhead at the bar, her locks cropped to her chin and she sported an eager expression. “If not, that’s ok. I need a way to make some extra cash.”

“And you are?” You asked with a broad smile, pouring a glass of whiskey for a patron.

“Charlie. Bradbury.” She replied with an equally as wide smile. You already took to her well; she seemed like another lost soul who needed a family, but someone you could easily warm up to.

“Ok, Charlie Bradbury. Behind the counter.” You let her in, starting to show her the way in, out, up, down and around the drinks lined behind the counter, showing her the baseball bat in case she needed to ever, y’know, start swinging.

Charlie seemed like a go-getter, already prepared to start flipping bottles and mixing the drinks like nobody’s business.

“This place is cool.” She grinned widely, and you gave her a warm smile and pat on the back as you handed her over to Benny, who took the reins while you and Dean dissolved back into giggles.

Dean nudged you, nodding to Ellen, who looked a lot happier than usual. “Y’know, I think we did Ellen and ol’ boy Bobby a solid. They both seem more like cheery old souls rather than just… old souls.”

“Jo said she actually saw Ellen blushing. Blushing.” You nudged him back. “We play good matchmakers, no?”

“Damn right. We just have to choose our next victims.”

You and Benny were clearing up the bar after closing, the low rumble of your chatter being the only available ambience. The door opened, and without looking up, you and Benny said the exact same thing.

“We’re closed.” You both chorused, but an exhilarated gasp came from whoever walked in, and as your heads looked up, both of your veins turned to straight ice. A woman with flowing, perfectly coiffed brown hair, creamy olive skin and doe eyes was standing there, dressed in white with a longing expression.

You and Benny shared a look, instantly standing closer to one another as you swallowed thickly on a dry throat, the feeling stinging and scratchy. “Andrea.” You whispered, setting the broom against a table while Benny’s eyes misted over with nostalgia and barely restrained heartbreak.

Andrea Kormos. Benny’s ex girlfriend.

“Dre.” Benny breathed, his hand gripping your forearm protectively, putting himself in front of you while your hand discreetly reached for underneath the counter for the concealed weapon, holding off a panic attack as the sight of Andrea brought back unwanted memories. “What are you doing here?”

“My love.” She took a step forward, making Benny fully shield you with his body. “I’ve searched for so long.”

“Why are you here?”

“To bring you back.” Andrea insisted, tilting her head and gazing at Benny as if she was obsessed. “Our family misses you. My father misses you.”

“Tell him to go to hell.” Benny growled, your hand closing around the weapon amid rasping breaths that got shorter each time, heart pounding in your parched throat. Your thoughts drifted to the scars on your neck, the ones that you desperately hid with a good coverage foundation.

Blood draining out of you, your limbs going limp as the thick fluid dropped onto the floor, hungry tongues licking up every inch…

That didn’t help in the slightest.

“I have to bring you in by force if necessary.” She announced, her head held high. “You knew what you got into once you came to our house.”

“I didn’t.” Benny shook his head determinedly. “You said you were just taking me to meet your father. And I find this poor thing in a side room!” His finger pointing at you, blind fury on his face. “I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into.”

“Force it is.” She muttered before teeth, sharp, hooked teeth emerged as she snarled and charged for Benny. Amid gasping breaths, a pounding head and constricted lungs, you yanked a machete out of its holster and swung your dominant arm.

Andrea’s head made a dull thud as it hit the floor, even more so when her body did the same, and before you could collapse against the counter and start sobbing until your voice went hoarse you were drawn into Benny’s arms as he patted your hair, chin on your head as he shushed you. “You’re safe, sweet.” He murmured in a strained voice, torn because who he once thought his love was now lying on the floor.

A piece of his heart might have gone with her.

“Listen to my heartbeat, angel.” He told you, and the thump of his heartbeat filled your ear as you desperately timed your rasping breath with the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Attagirl. Doing so well, sister. I promised you they’d never hurt you again. Didn’t I? And you handled yourself so well. So damn well.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

You repeated that pattern until your head cleared, and you gave Benny a thank you squeeze. He held you for a few more moments before wordlessly sitting you down, getting you a tall, cool glass of water.

Normally, you’d find pin drop silence uncomfortable.

Now you welcomed the change.

The icy liquid seemed to calm your nerves as you gulped it down, Benny’s calloused hand smoothing your hair back an anchor made of the strongest material your brain could think up when it wasn’t all muddled up.

Your lungs gradually releasing the grip it had on your oxygen supply.

“You sit there, sweet.” Benny murmured with a kiss to your crown. “I’ll clear all this up. Like it never happened.”

Your parents had a baby before they were turned into vampires. That baby was you, but they decided to do something else with you.

They made you a lure.

Raised you to coax people into being fed on, and when crop yield was low, you were their supply. That was until Benny got lured into the nest by Andrea, found you and fought like hell to get you both out.

You both stumbled into the Roadhouse, covered in dust, grime and blood, but found a home for life.

You owed your life to Benny, but he insisted that he did the bare minimum and refused any attempt where you tried to repay your internalised debt, and through that you both found an older brother and younger sister figure to rely on.

But only the gang sans Dean and Charlie knew. You’d rather Dean not know where you really came from. He was too innocent for that.

You thought of him, with his million dollar grin, billion dollar flashing eyes and trillion dollar words. If you had to put a tag for his worth on him, he’d be, well, priceless.

A gentleman towards you, a grade A flirt (which you didn’t mind as he lobbed compliment after compliment your way) and he looked at you like you were the only girl in the room. And he never failed to make your heart flutter when he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when you were working and it obstructed your vision.

You didn’t know why he’d suddenly reach out to take whatever task you were doing and do it himself. All you knew was that it was only a matter of a few weeks and you were already down bad.

Down bad for Dean Goddamn Winchester.

No. No, you couldn’t be. He was too good for you. Even if all those thoughts flew out of your head the moment he called you ‘sweetheart’.

Sweetheart. You hated that name but loved it at the same time. You hated it because it dragged you deeper into the rabbit hole that was Dean and you knew there was no way out. You loved it because the feeling was like a gulp of whiskey after months of not touching it.

Intoxicating.

bDe: who’s managing shift this weekend

charlie weasley: I am!!!

ScarJo: I’m free to manage shift

Queen B: That’s good, cause me, Ruby, Meg are going on a girls trip

You: Where’s my invite hmmmmm

Ruby-gina George: Fine, you can come

You: YAY

Megolodon: There’s gonna be lots of booze

ScarJo: Kind of regret taking shift now

Ben Dover: Too late, darling, you’re stuck behind the counter

ScarJo: I hate you

You: LET’S GET DRUNK

Queen B: THAT’S THE SPIRIT

Casanova: I’m guessing that you’ll need someone to pick you up.

Megolodon: That’s right, Cassie baby

Casanova: I’ll wait for your call, then.

bDe: a gentleman at his finest, yall

Ruby wondered whether she was ill or something. On a grocery run, she found herself tempted to buy women’s swimsuit magazines because the ladies looked pretty. And another day, she found her heart practically somersaulting when she saw Meg’s lips close around a straw as she drank a vodka and soda.

Goddamn.

Now, Charlie was a newbie, but she’d been open about how she was, y’know, batting for the other team. She liked girls. And that meant that Ruby could ask her for advice. And Jo, because Jo was the classic glue of the group and somehow had advice for every damn thing under the sun.

“Jo.” Ruby sat down in front of Jo, who was in animated conversation with Charlie. They both turned to her in surprise and identical raised eyebrows. “And you, Charlie. I need advice.”

Maybe Charlie could help. After all, she was an expert in the field Ruby needed advice on. This was an extremely unfamiliar topic, even though she’d grown up in a family full of suspiciously close women.

Oh, god, this was nerve wracking.

Jo looked concerned, but nodded, and Charlie did the same. “Sure, go ahead.” Jo gestured for Ruby to continue, while Charlie sat eagerly forward in her seat, waiting for Ruby to speak.

“Ok.” She took a deep breath, her eyes briefly flicking to Meg. “What if… what if I…”

“Liked girls?” Charlie finished the sentence with a wide grin. “Don’t worry, takes one to know one. Clocked you the moment I saw you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ruby drawled, but Jo covered her hand reassuringly.

“We are really proud of you.” She grinned. “No joke there.”

In the meantime, Dean had ducked out to take a call. You saw him through the window, a frown on that gorgeous face. Then it morphed to a rather docile one as he mouthed ‘sorry, sir’, which got you thinking. Who the hell was he talking to?

“I don’t wanna come back, sir.” Dean muttered dejectedly, but heard John’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Ain’t your choice to make, son. You’re gonna come back and keep hunting. With your brother gone-’

“Sammy’s out. I should get one too.”

‘You’re a born hunter. You’ll stay that way.’ John’s voice half inclined Dean to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Hell, he itched to, with how messed up and crappy he was, he ached to.

Then he saw you come out of the bar, brow furrowed in the sudden sunlight. His new home. The one he felt tentative, but safe in. Not like everything was an urge he needed to fight. With you, he just gave in.

And so he gave an exhilarated smile, cut the call and acted as if everything was ok.

Because it was.

You were around.

Sam was nervous. He was at a restaurant with Jessica, wearing his best suit and adjusting his tie, while she looked stunning, in a blue, floor-length dress that brought out her eyes and her beautiful features. The warm lights flickered in the ambience while Sam ordered a round of champagne just as Jess came back from the bathroom, quickly slipping something to the waiter.

“This is a very rare date night.” Jess quipped, her manicured hands (she went for an emergency nail appointment) resting over one another as she gave Sam a knowing look.

He gave her a light scoff and a defensive look. “Hey, hey, I take you on dates all the time-”

“I’m kidding!” She giggled, waving him off before resting her head on her palm. “This is just fancier than usual. It’s a change from our coffee dates. Don’t get me wrong, I love those too, it just makes me think there’s a special occasion.”

That was his cue.

He signalled to the waiters, who brought out Jess�� favourite champagne. She delicately sipped as they talked, of Stanford, how Sam was doing and their chosen courses.

When a small metal thing hit her lips.

She gasped softly as she took it out, seeing a shiny diamond ring and then Sam on one knee, taking her hand and kissing the knuckle.

“Jessica Elizabeth Moore, will you marry me?”

TAGLIST:

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Like, reblog, and let me know if you want to join the taglist!

[tragedybunny]

Fangs and Fairytales - Chapter 4

༺Summary༻

“As I was saying, you're right, things can't stay the same.” Beside her, she felt him tense. “Living at night is going to be an adjustment, I'm sure. It may take me a while. And we'll have to find ways to make sure you're always safe.”

“You don't-”

“I told you on the roof that day, I'm not going anywhere.”

Now. She reached out, and, careful to avoid his burns, pulled him into her arms. 

“It won't always be easy, I know that. But I'm not giving up.”

There was a time when he would have argued with her, told her she was wrong and this wouldn't work. Instead, he leaned his weight against her and drew a breath he didn't need. “Promise?”

Serafina, a warlock with a hidden past. Astarion, a freed vampire spawn. With the Netherbrain defeated, life and happiness are theirs for the taking. Together they’ll set out on a new adventure to find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again. There’s no easy path to happily-ever-after though as they quickly find many obstacles blocking their way, including Sera’s own Patron, the Fey Queen Titania.  

Chapter 4: Astarion has an amorous plan to fix Sera's melancholy, it gets a little delayed by an encounter with a peculiar bard.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Rating༻ Mature

༺Warnings༻ Light bondage, anal play, vaginal sex

༺Word Count༻ 4114

༺A/N༻

Hello Lovelies!

This is the smutty chapter. Takes a bit to get there, but I promise the second half is steamy.

Many and eternal thanks to @icybluepenguin for betaing and always encouraging me!

Also, if you recognize a certain bard and his ballad in this chapter - he's on loan from my dear friend @snowfolly If you don't recognize him, please check out Endlessly, one of my fave fics.

Read on AO3

All chapters here on Tumblr

The camp was in high spirits tonight and buzzing with activity. They'd turned the courtyard and upper floor into some sort of communal festival, all because some ostensibly famous bard had come to play there in an act of “charity” that Astarion found gratingly self-aggrandizing. 

The cheery mood and sense of community had even led the denizens to give the camp a proper name, erasing its last ties to Shar.

“Selûne’s Embrace.” He couldn't think of it without disdain. He wanted to be done with gods, and couldn't fathom why everyone else still would cling to them, Dame Aylin excepted.

The bard’s distraction served his purpose though, so he couldn't complain too much. The event kept Sera distracted while he made preparations for a very special night. He'd left a note before trancing telling her to go enjoy herself and he'd be along later, there were some things he wanted to do.

He shut the door to their private cave hideaway with a satisfied smile. Everything was perfectly set, including the items he’d snuck off to the night market in the Wide to procure. Now to fetch his beloved. 

Sera had seemed back in high spirits the last couple of days. They'd started making preparations to travel and Astarion had to admit, he felt more hopeful as well. He still wasn't happy about losing the sun, but seeing Sera smile after that terrible night made even the light of day seem less important. They'd leave in a couple more days after dinner with Duke Ravengard.

The night crowds were thicker tonight, swarming to the surface, bringing along a tide of food and drink for the revelry. Astarion weaved through them with dexterity, avoiding any brushes against his skin that would reveal it as too cold, and any lingering looks that would expose anyone to his too red eyes. 

He glanced down at his fingertips– his nails had become much more claw-like without the tadpole and, though not as animalistic as they once had been, they still required much more attention. Thankfully, the glowing eyes and maw full of jagged teeth had not also returned, those would be much harder to hide. He had a theory that being well-fed had something to do with it. An idea he could possibly discuss with Dal at some point, but for now he’d simply be thankful.

Thus far, they’d managed to keep his nature to whispered rumor, and no one really wanted to force the issue and confirm they were sharing quarters with a vampire. Especially since this particular vampire was the partner of the hero of Baldur’s Gate. It would seem Sera was still his great protector.

And that thought didn't have the sting it used to. They were rather good at protecting each other. 

Astarion’s thoughts were interrupted as he exited the stairs onto the ground floor and the notes of a song reached his ears. His jaw tightened and his teeth ground together. “That fucking song…” The Golden Lyre. 

“Dark haired maiden, play it true,” a rather pleasant voice crooned from outside.

Despite the pleasantness of the voice, the lyrics were still like listening to Lae’zel sharpen her weapon for hours on end. Astarion charged outside, determined to find Sera as quickly as possible. 

“The golden lyre, I beg of you, hold my heartstrings, in your hands.” 

It wasn’t a bad song, it simply was the song; every bard knew it and would play it in every godforsaken shithole in the city. The sort of place he used to haunt. He’d heard it so often, he would find himself singing it involuntarily and recoil, cursing himself. 

“Dark haired maiden, my love, my muse.”

Down the stairs, into the courtyard, Astarion spotted the ridiculous creature, furiously plucking away at a violin, dancing about like an ungainly bird, a mane of gray hair flowing wildly around him. And of course, at the end of a table nearest this display, sat Sera, sipping from a wine glass, with a smile on her face. A smile that was a little too fond for his liking, 

“Oh my love, my muse…”

Astarion shouldered his way over to Serafina, coming up behind her to rest his hands on her shoulders in what was definitely not a possessive manner, fingers on the light blue fabric of her dress. “Hello darling.” 

If her smile for the bard seemed fond, for him it was radiant adoration. “There you are. Done with your business for the evening?”

Astarion suppressed a smile, thinking of what awaited her in their cave sanctuary. “Indeed. In fact, part of it was a surprise for you. Shall we away?” he purred at her. 

“You’re such a tease. I’m dying of curiosity now.” 

He gave Sera his hand and helped her from her seat, ready to whisk her away from the scene and the hells-damned song when the music abruptly ended. The crowd started to applause raucously and Astarion attempted to make their exit before another song that would remind him of his lowest days started. Who knew what else was in the bard’s repertoire; The Wilting Rose, Summer’s Sweetest Wine? They all made him shudder. 

He’d gotten maybe two steps when the bard’s melodious voice called out behind him. “Corellon fucking wept… Serafina?”

At his side, Sera froze, eyes going wide with a look of terror he hadn’t seen since Cazador had bound him into the ritual. Astarion felt himself tense as well; from what he understood of the warlock pact, no one in Baldur’s Gate should recognize Sera. They gave one another a look and Astarion released her hand to wrap his fingers around the dagger always at his side. 

“It is you! Don’t you recognize me, it’s Tali?” The tiny elf – moon, if Astarion was any judge – flailed his arms about, jeweled rings catching the fire light and a fine scarlet coat swaying with the effort. 

“H-how? You shouldn’t be able to…” Sera stared at him in wonder. 

“Exactly.” Astarion gripped his dagger tighter. Had her family somehow found her? Was this their agent? 

Through the vaguest of conversations and some deduction on his part, he'd been able to put together that Sera had accepted a warlock pact with Titania, Fey Queen of the Summer Court to escape an awful family. Said family were almost certainly Patriars here in Baldur’s Gate. Sera had tried to disguise that noble bearing she’d been taught since birth, but he'd seen his share of nobles and rabble. There was no way she was anything but the former. And that was all he was allowed to know, lest the magic that hid her shatter. 

Tali’s eyes went wide as he caught sight of Astarion’s hand at his weapon. “Hells, call off your attack vampire!” 

The last word was so loud that the crowd started to look their way. Though there had been talk, they had worked hard to keep Astarion’s nature as secret as possible. That effort looked to be going up in flames. All because of… whoever the hell this Tali was. 

“Why you–” Astarion began to draw the dagger from its sheath, causing Tali to  back away. 

The sound of Sera’s laughter caused them both to freeze. 

“The two of you are ridiculous, you know that.” Sera turned and gave Astarion a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “He’s an old friend.” 

“One that is now extremely worried about you, I might add!” The bard fell into a sulk. 

“Could you give us a minute?” Sera asked, barely waiting for Astarion’s nod before dragging Tali off by his hand. 

Astarion sighed and tried to bury the frustration of the delay to his romantic plans. Slinking off, he disappeared into the shadows, the attention of the crowd having diminished without their entertainment present. 

Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall, definitely not annoyed with the delay. Agonizing minutes passed as he waited, his fingers tapping against his arm and a fang worrying his bottom lip. Finally, Sera returned without the unwanted company in tow. 

He was already preening for the crowd, readying for another performance. Astarion doubted he could know what had passed between them but at least she didn’t look troubled by it. He held out his arm until she hooked hers through it, giving him a reassuring look, and they started back inside.

“He’s a friend, a friend that seems to have some immunity to Titania’s glamour. It’s fine though,” she answered the question he hadn’t asked.

“Oh so this random bard–”

“Taliesin. Honestly I’m surprised you don’t recognize him, he’s quite famous. He wrote the Golden Lyre.” 

Astarion pretended that did not make his blood boil further. Of course the foppish creature wrote that damned song. “Whatever. He’s allowed around Her Majesty’s spell, but I, the love of your life, am not.” 

Sere halted their progress, turning to shoot him a look. “Astarion, you know that’s not how it works. She can’t just make exceptions.” 

“I know she despises me. And she clearly can make exceptions.” 

Sera sighed and started walking again. “You’re being impossible.” 

Astarion followed, now being pulled along by Sera, despite being a head shorter than him, and slightly built. “Don’t act like it’s not true,” he groused. 

“So you're telling me that all a Fey Queen wanted from you for all this power was a child. How very… cliché.” Astarion was setting up a simple trip wire around their camp. They’d just dealt with a pack of gnolls and didn’t need any more surprises for the night. 

“It's not that simple,” Sera answered from where she stood watch behind him, scanning the horizon for any more danger. “She wants a lineage to serve her, my family line.” 

“And you agreed to that? Was life at home really that bad?” Nothing to compare to his, he was sure. 

The night sky over the Risen Road was turning the brilliant colors of twilight as the first stars appeared.  Astarion had agreed to help with security measures and immediately asked Sera to be his look-out. A chance to spend a little more time with her and “strengthen” their bond. They were on their way to the Githyanki crèche, and perhaps a way to be rid of these worms. He needed to ensure his hold on their warlock leader was as tight as possible. Without the tadpole he might well be entirely dependent on her. 

Oddly, the last couple of nights they hadn’t done much more than chat pleasantly by the fire and share a few kisses. Not for lack of trying on his part. Leading to his desperately attempting to ignore the creeping dread that his protector was losing interest in him, and his mouth was running without much thought. 

Audibly, she inhaled. “If only I could tell you.” 

Astarion felt an awful weight in his stomach, the feeling of knowing he'd screwed up. Only it was disturbingly not like when he'd misstepped in front of Cazador. That was fear of reprisal, of one of his master's many punishments. 

This was… he didn't know exactly. He just didn't like being the cause of any distress to her. “I– no, I should trust you on it. Although I have to say, she'll probably be disappointed if you keep carrying on with a vampire,” he finished with an awkward laugh and was glad she couldn’t see him cringing at himself. 

At least the trip wire was done. No explosions, only noise if something tried to cross into their camp. He stood up, shaking off the clumsy exchange. “There, no gnolls in camp this night.” 

“My hero,” Sera gave him a playful smile and headed back toward the cluster of tents. 

The smile soothed his nerves and he made to follow her when a voice whispered in his ear. 

“Watch how you go, Spawn, I won’t tolerate disappointment in my bargains.” 

That had been the only time he’d heard the voice of Titania, but the threat had remained with him, her distaste for him extremely clear. 

“It doesn't matter. And stop being jealous,” she scolded, and Astarion almost groaned in frustration. 

This night was rapidly spiraling out of his control. 

Letting go of her arm, he pulled her closer to him by her waist. Leaning down to purr into her ear,  “Of course my love, let's not spoil the evening. Not when I have such delicious plans for it.”

He was rewarded with a little shiver and smirked to himself. Oh, how he’d come to know her and what made her body respond. And the love they shared made using his considerable experience something he no longer reviled. For the most part– sometimes the skeletons of the past decided to venture outside the shadowy corner of his mind where he kept them. 

The crowd and the noise faded as he led Sera back toward their quarters. The steady increase of her pulse echoed in his ears, and the scent of her arousal filled the air, more alluring than any perfume. Tonight was safely on its way back to being a success. 

When they reached their room, Astarion swiftly shut the door behind him and locked it. No well-meaning visitors to interrupt them tonight. 

Sera turned to face him, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils wide with desire. “What did you want to show me?” 

“It’s in the cave. But first, take off your clothes.” The words were firm, an order, and he watched her swallow hard. 

For his part, Astarion could give or take control with equal pleasure, but Sera, with the rare exception, desired to relinquish it to another. Which made taking it all the more pleasurable for him. 

“I–” Sera started. 

“Shh, just be a good girl and do as you're told.” 

Her skin flushed a deep pink but she wordlessly moved to obey, already sliding into that space in her mind where thought gave way to feeling and reason to desire; the world ceasing to exist outside the two of them. 

When she was freed from her dress, Astarion– still clothed himself– took her hand, careful to not touch any other part of her, and lead her toward the door to their private refuge. “Go on,” he prompted, letting her enter first. 

He didn’t need to see her expression, the ragged, gasping breath she took told him everything he needed to know. The old Sharran rug had been discarded, and a newer plush one was laid down in its place. Currently, a bedroll had been laid over the top of it for extra comfort. And at each corner of the bedroll, attached to a stake driven into the ground, a leather restraint. Nearby was a small box, open to display an assortment of other toys should the night call for them. 

Astarion wrapped his hands possessively around Sera’s waist and leaned to down to speak in a low, throaty voice. “You see, my love, I think I finally understand your problem from the other night. You simply have too many thoughts inside that pretty little head of yours. So I’m going to fuck every last one of them out of it.” 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the blindfold that had been waiting there and slipped it over her eyes. As he did, each breath came more rapidly despite her stillness, like a rabbit frozen in the path of a predator. “And you are going to lay there, and not say a word while I do it. Just make all those lovely little sounds of yours for me.” 

Guiding her toward the bedroll, he laid her down on it, the soft light of the moon from the opening above them bathing her in an ethereal glow. Even without her sight, she obeyed him with perfect trust, following his commands without falter. She gave over each of her limbs to be secured into the restraints until her body was spread gloriously open for him. 

Leaving her to ponder what was next, Astarion wordlessly moved away to strip himself; spending longer than necessary as he watched her chest heave with nervous breath and the minute movements she made out of anxious anticipation. He could feel himself already hardening without even touching her yet. 

Kneeling next to her, he began to skim his nails over her skin, the faintest of marks appearing in their wake. “Now, what am I to do with you, my poor overthinking, anxious love.” His touch idly circled her breasts, avoiding her stiffened, rosy nipples 

“Ast–” she gasped as his fingers closed around one of those nipples and pinched.

“Ah, I said no words, only noises. Behave or we'll have to find a way to keep you from talking.” 

Sera didn't say anything more, only panted and whined as he rolled the nipple between his fingers. 

It was actually the perfect place to start. Shifting so that he kneeled between her thighs, he rubbed the head of his cock over her slick folds and felt her try to buck into him. He gave a soft chuckle at her efforts. 

“You're not getting it quite so easily, pet.”

Not that he didn't want her desperately by now, but that would ruin the fun. And more importantly the effort he was making to give her this: a night about her pleasure only. 

He leaned forward, the scent of her - wildflowers and forests - filling his nostrils, intoxicating him. Hands resting on her shoulders, her flesh like satin under his fingers, he stilled her. 

His mouth began to water as he leaned down towards one firm nipple. Instead of latching on to suckle at it, bared fangs pieced the skin above it, withdrawing quickly to create two small streams of blood. 

Sera let out a sharp cry and he was thankful he'd thought ahead to set up here, away from their door.

With her delectable blood flowing enticingly, he wrapped his lips around her nipple and sucked. Intoxicating. 

Eyes fluttering closed, he let the taste and scent possess him.  Lazily his hips rolled, cock sliding over her clit, no relief for either of them as he drank the blood flowing from her breast like mother's milk. All the while she gasped and sighed beneath him. 

He could stay like this for hours, teasing the drips from her, not enough to drain her but enough to make his mind and stomach sing. But there was more to be tasted.

With a final lick over the wounds, he withdrew to a noise of disappointment.

“Oh don't you worry, I'm not done with you yet.” 

He’d let himself relive every wicked idea and lustful fantasy he’d had about her while planning tonight. Only some were fit for tonight's purpose, the rest he would get to in time. They had so much of it now. The fantasy enticing him would definitely serve his goal though. 

Getting up, he retrieved a toy and vial of oil from the box, placing them between her legs on the rug, making as much noise as possible. Sera adorably tried to hide her curiosity in silence but the sound of her blood did not lie. 

Coming to stand next to her head, he dropped to his knees, smirking at the intake of breath as he caught her off-guard. “Mouth open, darling, and trust me.” 

Obediently she opened wide for him, a welcoming, waiting hole. 

Very carefully, he placed his knees at her shoulders, and lowered himself over her, sliding his cock into her warm mouth. Wantonly, she moaned around him and he couldn’t stop his own answering groan. Elbows on either side of her hips he gave an experimental thrust, felt her tongue lapping at him. She was good - so, so good, sucking  from underneath him, pliant and submissive.

His hips moved again and he felt his cock twitch inside her. Not yet, he scolded himself. 

Arms wrapping around her thighs, nails digging into her soft skin just enough, he buried his face in her cunt, sodden in expectation of him. Nothing was as intoxicating as her blood, but the taste of her juices, flowing for him, was as close as one could get. Not even bothering to tease, he lavished his tongue over clit, relishing in the much-muted noises. 

It wasn’t enough though. Two of his fingers slipped into her sex, working her as his tongue continued its ministrations. His own hips picked up a rhythm, carefully fucking her mouth. 

Sera’s breath was coming in desperate gasps, the poor thing was nearing her limit. 

“You can wait a little longer, my pet, can’t you? For me?” 

The sound that answered he took for a yes. 

Sucking on two fingers from his unoccupied hand, he coated them with his saliva, and began to tease the last of her holes gently. She was tight and untried, sowith a delicate touch, he worked his way inside. 

Frantically, she lapped at the cock in her mouth, as though to plead with him for release as he fucked all her holes at once. A noise like a scream erupted from her as she shook against him. He could be merciful, he supposed. 

“Go on then, love, come for me.” To punctuate his words, he took her clit between his teeth and sucked. 

It was only moments later he felt her clench around his fingers, and a soft whimper followed. How he wanted to let go too, to spill his seed down her throat and let her taste him. Instead, he pulled his mouth from her and eyed the toy he’d left waiting. 

“Shall I ravage you properly, pet,” he teased, knowing she still couldn’t answer with words, but the thunderous melody of her heart spoke for her. His favorite sound in the whole world, that organ, beating out the song of her vitality, a real and living love. 

“But I’ve got one more treat for you. Now be patie– hgn!” Sera sucked deeply, tongue flicking over his sensitive head. “Naughty little thing,” he scolded. “I should stop right now.” 

They both knew he wouldn’t make good on that threat but still she ceased the attempt to goad him. 

Taking the vial of oil, he carefully coated the small, metal bulb in it. It was delicate work, he knew from horrible experience, but she’d been curious for some time, and was so eager for his fingers just now. The tip of the toy pressed against her and she tried to roll her hips into it. Once, he never would have bet sweet little Sera could be so wanton and needy. And it was all for him. 

Gently, he pushed it inside her, until she had taken it all. A couple of teasing pumps to keep her desperate, and he rose back to his knees, cock slipping from her mouth. 

He took a moment to admire his handiwork; drool running from her mouth, tears escaping her blindfold, her cunt swollen and dripping. 

Gods, she was beautiful.

Kneeling between her thighs, at long last, he gripped her hips, and drove into her, letting out a sigh of relief. Her warm slick squeezed him tight, eager to take all he could give. The feel of the toy inside her pressing against him added another dimension of pleasure, almost too much. 

He thrust with a desperate cadence, his mind fading into only feeling and wanting, almost the same as when he drank from her. The sounds of her pleasure were muted as though miles away. Hips slapped against skin, fingers dug bruises into her skin. 

Again he felt her, climaxing, thrashing, moaning uninhibited now. His cock twitched, gods, it was too much, and he felt himself let go. 

There was stillness and gradually the sounds of the cave penetrated the haze. Sera lay still, her breathing evening out after the exertion. Leaning down, he kissed her with all softness, his undead heart almost quickening with the raw, unbridled, affection he felt for her. 

“You did so well,” he whispered into her ear, “now let’s get you out of all this and into our bed.”

Under a mound of covers, Astarion held Sera close, as she lay with her head resting upon his chest. Idly, her fingers traced lines across his chest. Finally she made a thoughtful hum that drew him from his thoughts. “Yes, love?”

“I was thinking– if this is your treatment for melancholy– do you believe in preventive medicine?” Sera tittered giddily. 

“Oh my darling,” Astarion purred exaggeratedly, “I can most assuredly give you whatever dosage you require.” 

He tightened his arms around her and pulled her up to kiss her properly. They were so lost in the laughter that followed, Astarion barely noted the ease with which he lifted her, strength he hadn’t had before. 

Edited to add my tag list. Oops.

Tag list: @writingmysanity @snowfolly @sunfire-ancunin @vixstarria

@just-a-refrigerator @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @tallymonster @azu21

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate @spacebarbarianweird @cilil @bg3obsessedsideblog

@talentedbitch @claryvoyantfray

[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 >