#he is checking all the monsterfucker boxes for me

[szynkaaa]

Full images are here. Minors DNI, those are 18+ doodles.

Password: 18+

[lipglossanon]

Mythical/Supernatural Being

vampire!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, biting, blood kink, technical monsterfucking 😜, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), gaslighting, mind/memory wipe, coercion, noncon

not proofread ✌️

You’re at a party when he catches your eye. Mindy, your co worker, decided to have a little costume party that now seems to be out of her control with people from all over showing up to her house. 

It explains why this man you’ve never met, but feels familiar, seems to be checking you out. He’s pretty in a handsome sort of way, strong cheekbones and very serious blue eyes. You shoot him a smile when your eyes meet and he tilts his head, a curious and bland look on his face. 

Feeling like you may have read the room wrong, you offer an awkward smile and a shrug before turning and making your way into the, surprisingly, empty kitchen. 

“Hello.”

A man’s voice speaks behind you making you jump in place before turning around, clutching the base of your neck. 

“Jeez, you scared me,” you laugh nervously, “uh, h-hi.”

The man from earlier stands just a foot away now, letting you see him fully. He’s taller than you thought and fit, biceps and shoulders pressing against his shirt and making your mouth water. 

“I’m sorry for staring earlier,” he gives you an easy going smile, “you just reminded me of someone.”

Embarrassment burns hot behind your eyes making you internally cringe. 

“Oh no big deal!” You clear your throat, “I guess I’m just sorry I took it the wrong way.”

His smile slips into a grin, “How did you take it?”

Feeling flustered now, you fidget with the gaudy rings on your fingers that you thought were a riot to pair with your vampire costume. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you shrug, “so uh, are you friends with Mindy?”

He laughs, “Is it bad that I don’t even know who that is?”

You grin, “No, to be fair, I don’t think more than ten people probably know the host. But I guess however you found out, you at least knew to dress up.”

He laughs again, blue eyes sharper than before, “Yeah? What am I supposed to be?”

You gesture to yourself, “A vampire, unless I’m off the mark. We have the same vibe going.”

Leon glances down at his own clothing, dark pants with a long sleeved white shirt and vest offset with a velvet coat with tails. He then looks up to see your silly lacy frock with a red vest paired with dark wash jeans. 

You laugh again, “Okay, well yours is a little more like the real deal but to be fair I only had like an hour to throw this together.”

He goes to step forward when a group of people bustle into the kitchen, loudly talking and laughing with each other. Grabbing your hand, he tugs and you follow as he leads you both through the French doors into the backyard. 

You feel your heart rate kick into overdrive when he guides you all the way to the gazebo off to the side, nearly hidden from view of the house. 

“We shouldn’t be interrupted anymore, right?” He smiles at you but instead of invoking warmth it sends chills running down your spine. 

“R-right,” you give him a shaky smile in return, realizing Leon is blocking the only way out of the gazebo, “so, um, you said I reminded you of someone. Were you looking for her here?”

“You could say that,” he takes a step forward and you take one back.

“I might can help, I mean I know a lot of people here already,” you ramble, feeling your nerves get the best of you. 

He smirks, features looking colder in the moonlight, “No need, she’s technically not around anymore.”

“Technically?” The spit in your mouth dries up as your back hits the gazebo lattice. 

Leon keeps getting closer to you until he’s boxing you in, hands coming up to brace on either side of your head. You’re engulfed with his scent of cedar wood and pine resin sprinkled with hints of warm vanilla underneath; it makes you dizzier the more you breathe it in. 

Leaning down, he noses gently against your hairline making you gasp.

“She’s not alive anymore,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear in amusement, “it’s just a little game I like to play, to find her look alike. This isn’t the first time I’ve played with you. Aren’t you lucky, my little vampire?”

You push against Leon’s chest but his mouth watering scent keeps you dizzy and weak, like a kitten pawing at his vest making him chuckle.  

“Poor thing,” one of his hands moves to cradle your jaw, his thumb smoothing over your bottom lip, “you’re in over your silly little head, hmm?”

“Who’re you?” You slur out, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. 

“Leon, but you already knew that,” he coos, blue eyes gazing deep into your own, “you’re resisting me, little vampire, but it’s no use.”

“Wanna leave,” you mumble tiredly, unable to pull away from him. 

He chuckles meanly, “But why? I’m going to make you feel so good.” 

You feel a sharp needle like pain sink into the side of your neck followed by honey thick pleasure dripping down your body from that pressure point. Pressing your thighs together, you whimper as your cunt throbs with want. A rumbling moan comes from the man in front of you as he drinks from your neck. 

Your hands tangle in his hair with the intention to yank him away but against your own wishes you pull him closer, whining for more. With a growl, he pulls away from your neck, blue eyes so bright they seem to shine in the dark. His mouth is swollen and painted red with your blood. 

“So sweet,” he licks his bottom lip and you catch a hint of his fangs, “I could smell you from outside. Your blood called to me as it always does, sweetling.”

“W-what?” You gasp out while he licks across the bite mark on your neck, sealing the wound as if it was never there. 

“Shhh, just let me taste you,” he murmurs against your skin. 

Tearing your vest off and shirt open, he pulls down the cup of your bra and bites your breast right above your heart. A keening cry slips past your lips and you sag against his firm body. He moans and uses one arm to wrap around your upper body, cradling you to him as he drinks. 

Your mind drifts in a fugue state, feeling the sharp bite of pain each time he sinks his fangs into your body but immediately having it swept away by arousal so potent it has your thighs trembling as slick fills and soaks through your panties. 

By the time, he pulls away from your body, you’re swaying into his chest, unable to stay up on your own two feet. He slots his leg in between your thighs and you moan, rocking down on the pressure against your clit. 

“Such a needy girl,” he rasps, big hands gripping the fat of your hips to help you grind against his thigh, “come on sweetling, make yourself cum and I’ll take you home.”

The only thing your brain latches onto is making yourself cum. You need it so badly. Humping down onto Leon’s thighs, he kisses and nips at your neck, scraping his fangs against the skin and making you whimper at the hint of pain. 

“Cum for me, then I can take you apart in a real bed, make you scream for me,” his dark baritone promises, tongue tracing the shell of your ear, “be a good girl and cum on my leg.”

He yanks you down on his leg just right, rubbing your swollen clit against the seam of your jeans and making your orgasm uncoil from your belly. You cum with a low moan; reaching out, your nails dig into his broad shoulders as you whimper, slowly coming to a stop against his thigh. 

Your whole body feels wiped out, like you can sleep forever.

A rumbling chuckle makes you realize you must’ve spoken out loud. 

“No one wants to sleep forever.”

Your brain is slow to come back online which Leon is all too happy to coax you back into a half asleep state. He swings you up into his arms and that’s the last thing you remember before passing out. 

It feels like your consciousness is swimming through molasses as you finally come to your senses. Blearily, you open your eyes, squinting from the steady moonlight pouring through the open window. Turning your head, you can’t see much of the room, only that you’re splayed out in a large bed with soft sheets. 

“There she is,” a voice rumbles from between your legs drawing your half open gaze. 

Looking down, you see that you’re completely naked and marked all over with puncture wounds. The man from the party is lying between your spread legs. 

“Leon,” you murmur softly and he grins, showing off his sharpened incisors. 

“Glad you could join me,” he kisses the bite mark he’d been nursing on your thigh making your clit throb. 

His mouth kisses up to the junction of where your cunt and thigh meet, letting his fangs pierce your soft skin. Your thighs tremble and slick drips from your pussy as he laps up the blood beading from the punctures he made. 

“So pretty, all marked up like this,” he purrs, mouth kissing across to your mound and aching clit, “should I sink my teeth into this fat little pussy?”

You moan shakily as his fangs teasingly brush across the lips of your cunt.

“Maybe after I’ve had my fill,” he chuckles lowly, “wanna eat you out first.”

With a sigh, he sinks down and licks up the slick dripping from your hole, tongue thrusting lazily inside your pussy. Your arms lay above your head, fingers twitching, feeling weighed down like you can’t move them. Whining, you toss your head back, hips rolling against Leon’s hungry mouth. 

His hands trap your thighs against the bed, keeping your spread open as he laps and sucks his way up to your sensitive bud. His mouth softly kisses across the hood of your clit until you’re rocking up into him. 

“Please,” you gasp out, “please, Leon.”

He growls and suckles your clit into his mouth, tongue circling the sensitive nerves over and over until you’re humping his mouth with a moan. Laughing, he pulls away to spit on your cunt making your whole body shudder. 

“My girl tastes so good,” he kisses all around your pussy, teeth nipping the sensitive skin making you whimper, “but I think it’ll be better if I fuck this silky pussy, right baby?”

You moan and Leon pulls away from your wet cunt. He moves up your body, forearms braced on either side of your head as he grinds down against you, dripping cock leaking precum all over your slick thighs. Your body feels an insatiable need to be filled— fucked by Leon. 

He slides his arms underneath your shoulders to help you wrap your hands around his neck. Then, he reaches down to guide your legs to wrap around his waist. 

“Good girl,” he coos, making your head go fuzzy as that intoxicating scent of his seems to bloom in the air, “about to stretch this gorgeous little pussy out.”

You let out a choked off gasp as his cock breaches your cunt, bottoming out quickly, stretching your walls to the point you feel split in two. 

“Leon,” you mewl pitifully, tears slipping from your eyes.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, “it already feels good doesn’t it, sweetling?”

His fangs open up two new holes in the side of your neck making your cunt clamp down on his cock as a small orgasm washes through you.  

“There we go,” he coos condescendingly, “pussy just needed a little help. Now you’re cumming all over me.”

You sob out a moan, tears streaming down your temples as Leon pulls out and fucks roughly back into your sensitive hole. Although your legs and arms are wrapped around his body, you lie there practically limp as he fucks his thick cock into your soaked pussy. 

“You’re always such a good fuck,” he grunts in your ear, “no matter how many times we do this.”

“What’re you…”

You try to talk but your mind is just too out of it to form words. 

He chuckles meanly, “This isn’t the first time. But don’t worry, I’ll make you forget so we can do this again.”

His cock throbs and kicks inside your fluttering walls making you whimper.

“Mmm, I’m gonna play with this cute pussy all night,” he groans, dragging his cock against the spongy spot in your cunt that has you clenching around him.  

He snaps his hips harder and fucks the fat tip of his cock against your cervix making you squeal. He’s barely pulling out before thrusting back in, scraping against your g-spot before his cock presses deep inside your pussy. A handful of harsh grinds as he fucks the opening to your womb has you a drooling mess. 

“That’s the spot,” he rumbles, voice a low rasp, “and when I cum, it’s gonna be deep inside this needy cunt.”

You cry out when he sinks his teeth into you over and over, not even drinking your blood, just marking your neck up with vicious bites. It’s enough to make you cum hard around his cock, toes curling as fireworks explode inside your mind. He humps inside your spasming pussy until burying himself balls deep and spilling his sticky jizz all inside your fluttering walls. 

“Taking it like such a good girl,” he moans, pumping his load directly against your cervix, hot sticky ropes of cum spurting from the tip of his cock. 

The blood roars in your ears as he grinds down against your hips. 

“Just close your eyes, sweetling,” his smoky voice drifts into your ears, “when you wake up you won’t remember a thing.”

divider: @firefly-graphics

[vestigialpersonality]

For the fanfic end of year asks, how about 3, 7, 14 and 24?

tyty 💙💙💙

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year That Alfira Scene (Chapter 10 of Aria of Will). It can be really challenging to write your own version of a pivotal scene from the main canon, but I think more than any other key scene I've incorporated that I managed to make this one uniquely horrifying.

7. longest completed fic you wrote this year Troubled Skies, clocking in at 20,298 words.

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write Distillation. There is absolutely no question about it. I'd never written anything even vaguely spicy before this year, and somehow not only have I written four Explicit fics, this one is 6k of monsterfucking.

Though if I'm really being honest...I didn't expect to write ANY fic this year. Or get back into fandom on any level. I've written more fic in 2024 than I have from 2008-2023 combined.

24. favorite fic you read this year This is a loaded question and you know it! According to my magic reading spreadsheet I've read over 600 fics this year and rated 132 of them as Five Star. I picked one from every month, but this was genuinely hard considering how many fics I've loved this year. I should probably start a rec blog or something.

January: Open Me Up by @what-immortal-hand-or-eye. Trigun, Vashwood. I had Feelings. And I can't even pretend that the formatting didn't have a heavy influence on my own writing style.

February: Disco at the End of Time by Sarielle. Disco Elysium, Harry/Kim. Third part in a trilogy that I wholeheartedly recommend to EVERYONE, even fandom blind.

March: Whatever Happened to Jack Zimmermann? by ronandhermy. Check Please, Jack/Kent. Everyone here should already know I'm a sucker for atypical formatting and this one grabbed me.

April: The Hearts and Minds of Evil Men series by DoubleYouTeeEff. BG3, TavTash. Ricco has lived rent free in my brain for 8 months and doesn't seem to be going anywhere fast.

May: Breathe by @picathartidae BG3, Durgestarion. It's still going and it's always a delight when I get a subscription email for it.

June: Letters by mycolalia. BG3, Durgetash (ish). An epistolary that also uses the endnotes as part of the fic. Its FASCINATING.

July: The Diamond by @bharv BG3, Gortash/Lady Jannath. 6.5k of politics and transactional relationships...all inspired by a single note in BG3.

August: Force Immunity by @allconsumingrot BG3, Durgetash. I've reread it uhm. several times this year.

September: Reunited by @vialae BG3, Durgetash. I'm a sucker for fics about them attempting to reconnect after the brain damage, and the realization that Durge is no longer quite who they used to be, but this one hit me harder than most.

October: Taste of Bhaalspawn by @drones-art. BG3, Durgetash. My weird kinks are showing and I'm not sorry. This one bluescreened my brain.

November: in his voice i heard decay by @baronvontribble Fallout 3&4, Harkness/Sole Survivor. I'm admittedly a few chapters behind current because I've been busy with moving, but I was so excited I practically threw up when I saw that he was writing about Ted again.

Haven't had a chance to read much of anything in December yet because my entire life for the last 2 weeks has been unpacking boxes and building flatpack furniture.

I also did some annual rereads of personal favorites that will never not be recs. Specifically

The Adults in the Room by @strawberry-jan Yakuza, Kashiwagi/Yayoi. Adults having complicated, messy, ugly feelings.

The Way of All Flesh by @supaslim Fallout: New Vegas, Gen. I've reread this series every 12-18 months for the past decade and whenever I'm not reading it, it's always in the back of my mind haunting me like an intrusive thought.

And now that I've taken the time to try to choose a fic for every month, I'm now mad I had to choose. So yeah. I'm gonna make a rec blog. 💀

[vacantgodling]

for Ship Classifications: i'd love to see just. 4 random ships and what category they fit into and why

LMAO thank you for asking—i’ll do this for just my ocs but if you want fandom ships as well just lemme know 💀

MAKES SENSE / COMPELS ME

i think the most “traditional” (in terms of tropes) variation of this type of oc ship that i have that checks all the boxes for fandom madness would probably be di/toph in lukewarm rejection ngl. (1) monsterfucking (toph is a demon) (2) bickering to lovers (3) chemistry the second they meet (4) punk x reformed goody two shoes (5) religious guilt and childhood trauma makes you seek the bad boy type. (6) hot. i do kinda miss the more dramatic layers that their old wip had but it was good for my brain to let go of it finally. maybe the ashes of that wip can be something else. anyway, here, art of the sillies be upon ye.

MAKES SENSE / DOESNT COMPEL ME

calvin im/jake deluna from purple haze. as much as like. they have literally everything that constitutes one of my favorite ship dynamics (best friends to lovers) the two of them are just completely strictly platonic in my mind. i toyed with the idea of them being a thing but every time ive tried to think about it, even in a crack sense, its just made me go 🤢 LMAOOOO and i think its the two of them also protesting LMAO. they’re just more like brothers more than i can see them being romantic so even tho usually i can turn best friends into lovers, not these two. they’re just the best bros ever :DD woe, art of the sillies be upon ye.

DOESN’T MAKE SENSE / COMPELS ME

this is a bit hard to answer bc i tend to make a lot of things i like canon However after looking through my oc list i realize that i actually have many many ships that dont become a “thing” BUT i still enjoy them. that doesn’t mean they dont make sense tho, which is what im hung up on. i think a ship that’d fit this category would be kirsi/lord flykrost in alizath. and like hear me out: it makes Absolutely no sense. (1) he’s like 20+ years older than her (but that’s hot— *is spritzed with water*) (2) he’s married (3) kirsi already has two perfectly good handsome men she’s gonna end up with (amarette and juven respectively) (4) they literally canonically are going to have more of a father/daughter or mentor/mentee type relationship BUT THIS DOES NOT STOP MY BRAIN APPARENTLY. lord flykrost is hot to me. i can’t explain what he looks like bc i haven’t solidified that yet but just know he’s hot. more than just physically tbh his entire vibe is giving nanami from jjk so ig that’s why he’s hot to me (and if you don’t know said character dw about it bc i literally don’t go there i only care about him; tldr men who cut the bullshit and take responsibility and look after those younger than them or less privileged or capable than them are hot ? also Big. Big man. tiddies. thank you for coming to my ted talk). so idk the idea of him being all strong romantic lead and taking care of kirsi is very woof woof awooga to me LMAO. but like i said this just isn’t gonna happen it just lives rent free in my head 💀💀💀💀

DOESN’T MAKE SENSE / DOESN’T COMPEL ME

genuinely if (and probably when) i see people ship madja and jihi in tcol i will actually kill people LOL. like no spoilers ig but like while cnc can be fine in some instances this is very much a nc situation so like. you do you ig but like i actually can’t stand madja GJRJRJRJRJ

[thiswasinevitableid]

since i am obsessed <33333 with the sternclay fill you did for this prompt, can you do 57 with indruck nsfw?

Here it is! Note: this mentions mating talk.

57: we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle

This is it. Duck’s new low. Standing under the high ceilings of Wal-Mart at two in the morning, trying to decide if his dignity can take the hit of someone seeing him scale the shelves to grab the lone leftover bag of valentine’s candy.

Fuck it, those are Ghiradeli caramel squares, he deserves them after today.

Just as he’s choosing his foothold, a large, feathery shape rounds the corner. It figures that the one other customer in the store would need to be in the exact same place as him. He’ll just wait the mothman out.

Duck’s mostly used to seeing random monsters around town; back in the fifties, an interstellar gate opened up in Kepler, making it the home of a small population of cryptids know as Sylphs. When he was younger, he hated the fact he grew up in such a weird-ass place, but these days his brain barely differentiates them from the other Keplerites. They come to the national forest where he works, order their dinners in line ahead of him and, apparently, come to big box stores in the dead of night.

“Ah, excellent.” The mothman chirps, grabbing the bag of caramel squares from the top shelf.

“Hey!”

The antenna-topped head swivels, owl-like, and red eyes regard him with surprise, “Yes? Oh, apologies” he tucks his wings in “I didn’t mean to block your way.

“That ain’t it. I was gonna buy that.” He points at the bag.

The creature cocks his head, “But it was still on the shelf.”

“Yeah, because we ain’t all seven feet tall. I was about to grab it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re short.”

Duck bites back an unkind retort, sighs, “will you just give me the damn bag?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve had a very bad day and this is my conciliation prize.”

“You’ve had a bad day? I went out to a singles night for the first time after gettin dumped a month ago. Figured I’d finds someone to take home, but not a single fuckin person OR Sylph was interested. If anyone needs that candy, it’s me.”

A haughty flick of antenna, “I see your disappointing evening and raise you a reminder that it’s been five years to the day that anyone’s wanted to touch you.”

“Please, this town is crawlin with monsterfuckers, you can’t find someone to mess up those pretty feathers, that sounds like a problem with your personality.”

The mothman chirrs, annoyed, “There’s no need for such remarks. Wait, what was that about my feathers?”

Okay, so maybe Duck has jerked off to mothman porn once or twice. Or a few dozen times. He’s not about to admit that here.

“Uh, I, uh, fuck, I don’t not know, fuck-” he grabs for the bag, hoping to distract the Sylph. It works, but the mothman simply raises it above his head. Duck growls, too committed to his bad idea to back down now, and jumps for it.

A toothy grin, “Since we’re speculating, maybe everyone you encountered tonight was simply in search of a taller partner.”

“Fuck you, I’m five six.”

“What was that? It’s rather hard to hear you down there.”

“That’s it fluffball” He jumps again, fingers grazing the bag before it’s passed to the mothman’s upper set of hands. Mid-leap, he can tell he’s going to fall on his fucking knees, and a broken bone is the last thing he needs. His body acts on panic and wraps his arms and legs around the only stable thing.

“What in the world are you doing?” The mothman trills, lower hands catching Duck’s legs so he doesn’t slide straight to the floor.

“Tryin to get what’s mine.”

“This is ridiculous.” He keeps the candy out of reach as Duck tries to climb him.

“I know, but I ain’t about to let you win.”

“Gentlemen.”

They stop grappling and stare at the beleaguered employee at the end of the aisle.

“Please just get out. Don’t even worry about paying for that, it’s like two bucks and that is not worth dealing with you for.”

They both mumble an apology. Then he lunges up, snatching the bag while his opponent is distracted and bolts for the door. He’s without his car, so he’s half a block from the store when a shadow glides overhead and drops down in front of him.

“That was rude.”

“So was insultin me.”

“You started it.” The cryptid looms over him, “and you only have minor ego bruising to blame for your short temper and poor judgement. I spent the entirety of my day arguing on the phone with government officials until one of them finally listened to me about a dam bursting north of here. I, I deserve something nice.” The last part is said more softly, as if he’s not sure he believes it. That slaps Duck back to his usual sensible state.

Duck sighs, reaches for the cryptid’s arm, “Look man, how about we-”

When his hand makes contact the mothman purrs, then flattens his antenna. Duck runs his hand up the smooth chitin, making the purr double in strength.

“I, I apologize. I didn’t even know this could happen with a human so I did not check the futures for it.”

“For what?”

“I, my kind use playfighting and chase as a mating ritual. Which, combined with those gentle touches just now, means my body thinks you’re a potential partner.”

A thrill creeps up his spine, and he pets the Sylph once more just to hear him purr, “So, uh, what should I do?”

“I suggest you take the candy and” he shudders, “walk home, and we both pretend this never happened.”

“What happens if I run?” Duck sets his hand on the down of the cryptids chest, shivering as it sinks into the fluff.

The mothman looks at him, confusion warring with desire on his face, “I chase you. And since I foresee you asking, if I catch you I will take you then and there unless you tell me not to.”

“Got it.” Duck steps back, smiles when the cryptid tries to follow his touch and then catches himself. He could just walk home and wolf down his hard-won candy. But they’re right by his shortcut through the forest to his house and no one has wanted to chase him for months…

He takes off into the trees.

For the first few yards there’s no sound but crunching leaves and his breathing. Then soft, determined wing-beats glide through the treetops. The canopy is thick here and no one but him knows this path, so he likes his odds of making it home. He even knows where the most troublesome roots are so he won’t trip and lose ground.

Duck’s nearly home when nature betrays him; a deer springs across his path, startling him and sending him to the ground. He scrambles up, listening for signs of the Sylph’s location, but the wingbeats are gone. Did he give up? Is he lying in wait up ahead? Did Duck actually lose him?

The questions spin through his mind as he scans the treetops. There’s nothing, only shadows and bark.

“You know” a voice lilts, coiling around him, “I’d think someone who worked in the woods would know many moths excel at camouflage.”

Red eyes appear in the branches to his right. He gets out a single “fuck” before the mothman swoops down and knocks him into the leaf litter. The candy hits the dirt a few feet away as he’s roughly rolled onto his stomach.

“Holy fuck.” He pants as clawed hands undo his pants and push his shirt up his back, “holy fuUUUuuck, oh christ that’s good.” He rests his head on his forearms as the mothman drags his tongue up his back again.

“Mmmmm, what a lovely little mate I’ve caught.” One set of hands pulls his pants and boxers to his knees while the other caresses his ass, “all dressed up too. I cannot imagine why others passed you up tonight but I am glad they did. Hmmm” claws prick his inner thighs as they’re pushed as wide as they’ll go, “you’re a bit aroused already-”

“Wonder why.” He teases.

“-but I ought to make sure you’re ready to take my cock.” A long, flexible tongue traces circles on his folds. He groans, pushes his hips back in hopes of getting more. The Sylph grants his wish with a purr, thrusting his tongue in hungrily. Duck moans, then snickers into his arms.

“‘At’s ‘o ‘unny?”

“F-feathers, ticklish.” Is what he manages to get out before the tongue curls and finds his G-spot, making it impossible to focus on anything but the being behind him. But the Sylph only gives him a minute of delicious sensation before pulling back.

“There, now you’re ready. I, ah, I suggest you hold on.”

“To whatAHFUCK, fuck, jesusfuckingchrist” his fingers dig into the earth and dead twigs scrape his knees as the Sylph grips his hips and shoves in all at once. The upper set of hands drops to either side of his head as the cryptid hunches over him, snapping his hips while sharp trills and chirps fill the air.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, years without a partner and the first warm hole I can catch is a tight one, I, I do so love fucking humans for that reason alone, but you, you feel exquisite, ohyes, yesyesyes” he chirrs triumphantly and Duck moans; he’s never been able to feel a partner cum like this. When he glances down his torso, he’s surprised to see the droplets shimmering in the moonlight as they drip down his thighs.

“That was fuckin incredibleAH!” He’s flipped onto his back, the mothmans body blocking out the sky.

“Did you think we were done?” He’s grinning again, the expression as charming as the starlight on his feathers.

“Kinda? Not, uh, not that I mind if you wanna go again.”

“I do.” The cryptid lifts his legs, removing his shoes and clothes as he adds, “again, and again, and again. After all, look how much it likes you” He adjusts so Duck can see his dick. It’s not the size that startles him; it’s the series of ridges on it and the fact that it’s fucking pulsing like it’s got a mind of it’s own.

Duck spreads his legs, “Only it likes me?”

“I’m beginning to share it’s opinion” The tip presses in and the purring intensifies, “though I must say you’ll need to be far more polite and submissive a mate to make up for your--ohgoodness--earlier behavior.”

“Yeah?” Duck smirks, dragging his hands up the soft feathers of his chest, then glides them out to stroke his inner wing “how’s that for a start?”

The Sylph’s chirrs change, growing needier the more Duck pets him, “So very good. No, no one has touched my wings in years.”

Duck studies their sheen, the little speckles of grey and white, and digs his fingers deeper, “Damn shame.”

A soft trill accompanied by three demanding thrusts and then cum spills into him once more.

“Heh, you like when I compliment your feathers? Ohfuckyes” He moans as the Sylph starts thrusting, slower than before but made far more obscene by the sound of his cum being fucked back into Duck’s body.

“I, I do.” He drops his forehead to rest above the top of Duck’s head, “it’s been so long. As you said, this town is full of people who would gladly take a werewolf to bed but have...reservations about one such as me.”

“Their loss” Duck nuzzles the ruff of feathers around the Sylphs neck, runs his hands greedily along his wings, “these alone are so fuckin gorgeous there oughta be a line of folks beggin for the chance to mess ‘em up while they ride you.”

The mothman whimpers, chirps when Duck leans sideways to trail kisses along his right wing. His hips are moving lazily in time with the roll of Duck’s own and he sighs with every thrust, as if Duck is his favorite place to be.

“Got some broken feathers.” He murmurs.

“A peril of fast flights and living alone. It’s better if someone else pulls them free and grooms them for you.”

“I could do that.”

A hungry moan as the mothman noses his hair, “You’re making me wish I hadn’t caught you so soon; had we played longer, my ovipositor would have joined the fun, and you’re so wonderful a mate I ought to lay in you.”

“Jesusfuck” Duck fists his hands into his chest feathers, bucking his hips.

“Oh, do you like that? The thought of being a handsome little hole for me to stuff my eggs in?”

“Yes, holy fuck yes.”

The thrusts turn demanding, “Just one more way in which you’re perfect. You’re strong, you’ve a lovely shape” one hand runs possessively across Duck’s belly and chest, “and it only takes a little bit of vigorous fucking to make you well-behaved and willing to be properly mated.”

“Fuck, fuckin christ that’s goodOH, ohfuckrightthere�� one of the ridges is catching his dick, pushing him towards orgasm, “please don’t stop, don’t you dare fuckin stop-”

“Never” it comes out in a growl, “I want to see you be a good little human and cum on my cock while I fill you up. Oh yes, yes” he smiles down at him, “it seems you’re about to oblige meAHhnnnn, goodness you tighten so nicely when you finish” he speeds up, jostling Duck as his climax renders him limp, “yes, yes sweet one hold out just a moment, nnnf, oh, ohyes” He spills into him, Duck’s body unable to contain it all and sending it running down the cryptid’s shaft and the humans thighs. Then the mothman eases out with a low chirp and sits back on his heels.

Duck flops his arms about until he finds plastic, pulling the bag of candy to him as he sits up. He yanks it open, undoes the foil, and freezes. The cryptid isn’t looking at him, isn’t making any noise. He’s just hunched forward, antenna flattening.

“You okay?” Duck finishes freeing the chocolate square.

“Yes” there’s a sniff, “yes I’ll be fine.”

“That ain’t quite what I asked.” He holds the candy out. Antenna twitch, but the mothman keeps his head down.

“I apologize, I, I meant to wait until you left but I, I got overwhelmed. You were so sweet, you let me do all that and I, I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s an easy fix. I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

The cryptid finally looks up, takes the offered treat between his claws, “I’m Indrid.” He pops the candy in his mouth and chews miserably.

Duck pulls his boxers on to avoid getting any more pine needle pokes on his ass, then scoots closer, “So, uh, Indrid. Is there somethin special we need for groomin your wings? My place makes the most sense as a next stop, but if there’s a special tool might be better to go to yours.”

Indrid blinks, cocks his head, “You...you want to groom them? I, I thought that was just dirty talk.”

“Can be. But I was serious; now that I got a taste of those wings, I wanna touch ‘em whenever you’ll let me.”

“This is the least likely timeline.” Indrid whispers to himself

“What’d I do in the other ones?”

“Thanked me for a good time and left.”

“See, I thought about that” Duck tentatively moves forward, smiles when Indrid allows him into his lap to stroke his face, “but then I thought, ‘this fella’s fuckin mind blowin in bed, but I wanna get to know what he’s like the rest of the time. Can’t do that if I up and leave.” He offers another chocolate. Indrid eats it out of his hand, then wraps his wings around him.

“I, ah, there’s a special oil for my feathers.”

“Should we go get it?”

“We could. Or” he smiles, hopeful, “we could go to my place tomorrow morning. After we rest at your home and you let me buy you breakfast.”

Duck kisses his fuzzy cheek, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

[whirlybirbs]

reports ; two.

                         PART ONE      |        WANT TO BE TAGGED?        |        KO-FI

summary: a truce is made, a clue is found, and eddie looks hot in a cleric collar. and then he sweats in the hot seat. rating: M for some murder stuff & eddie’s and venom’s dirty minds. word count: 2.5k pairing: reader/eddie&venom a/n: here some goods for the weekend, babes! enjoy some sexual tension & murder vibes. happy halloween, ya monsterfuckers.

“Sorry for the mess.”

Eddie watches as you fumble with your keys, lingering by the bottom of the steps to your apartment.

It’s nicer than his by a stretch, located in Midtown - the bricks are a deep wine color. It churns memories of Annie & Dan’s apartment. Eddie’s heart wines, and Venom wiggles across Eddie’s spine and he shivers at the thought of friends miles and miles away. It feels weird to be so alone; the disconnect is anything but grounding.

I MISS ANNE. AND MAYBE EVEN DAN. HE WASN’T SO BAD. MAYBE A LITTLE WEIRD, BUT NOT BAD. HE MADE GOOD LASAGNA.

Me too, buddy.

MMM, LASAGNA.

You sling your bag over your shoulder as you muscle the door open. Eddie follows up the two flights of stairs (the steps creak under his feet like his own place, and it makes him feel less like he’s stumbling into the lion’s den) before you nudge open the door to your apartment and shuffle inside.

It’s small - but, it’s so incredibly you. The room is all warm colors and dim lighting and relatively spotless, save for the growing stack of papers on the coffee table by the sofa. You settle into your usual routine -- you drop your keys in the bowl by the coat rack and kick your boots off unceremoniously before dumping your bag on the sofa and dragging yourself to the pantry.

Goldfish. And then you tug the fridge open. Eddie’s eyes are set fast on the way you smile in the glow of a 12 pack of Blue Moon.

“Beer?”

He’s about to reach out, to take it, when Venom rumbles alive.

NO, MAKES ME FEEL ICKY.

Alright, alright.

Eddie shakes his head, and then the bag of goldfish in your hands is shoved his way as you round the kitchen island, tossing your jacket over the back of the sofa and settling in. You crack your beer open swiftly, discarding the opener among the scattered papers.

Eddie blinks, fisting a handful of the Xtra Cheddar crackers into his mouth on autopilot. He’s staring -- mostly because those are… a lot of papers.

“You just gunna stand there?” you say through a mouthful.

Eddie chews, swallowing before commenting dryly, “You’ll try and rip my throat out if I sit next to you, so maybe, yeah, I’ll just stand.”

You snort through your nose, taking a graceful swig of your beer. “Try and pretend you’ve done hours of work on this story again and I just might.”

Rounding the island, Eddie kicks his boots off -- you’ve started to shift through papers, settling piles back in rightful order. Taking another handful, Eddie munches on his goldfish as he tosses his jacket over the barstool by the counter. His movements are slow, and you catch the flex of his arm as he shifts the bag of Goldfish around, tossing a few crackers back. He pads onto the rug, lingers for a moment, eyes scanning the papers.

His socks have jack-o-lanterns on them. You don’t say anything.

“You weren’t kidding when you said hours of work, huh?”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “I like to do a good job -- gotta read up on the facts before I stand in-front of a camera and inform the public.”

OOF. THAT’S A BURN.

Eddie is quiet for a second, eyes fleeting from the paper stack to you -- you look less terrifying curled up on the sofa like that, and less like a crouching tiger ready to defend its turf.

You can feel his eyes on you.

So, you blink up at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

YOU’RE NOT VERY GOOD AT LYING, YOU KNOW.

Oh, shut up.

“Clearly it’s something --” you start, brows knotted. He’s being stabbed by the daggers flying out of your eyes.

“I think m’just tyna figure out why you hate me so much, y’know?”

Another blink.

“I don’t hate you,” you start slowly. Eddie winces at your tone, and you continue, “I hate the fact you can waltz into that office upstairs and walk out with a job. I hate that I’ve busted my ass for years, worked shit story after shit story -- I threw myself into a warzone and finally got enough recognition that I didn’t have to work throw away pieces. And here you are.”

You’re facing him now, beer clutched in white knuckles.

“So, if you wanna throw yourself around -- meh, I’m San Fran’s own Eddie Brock, look at me, meh! -- and steal my stories, then fine. But, I’m not letting you get past the fact it’s all about fucking privilege. You’re some pretty white boy with nothing but a shit attitude. So yeah, I’m not happy this is our story now.”

Your finger prods his chest and Venom rumbles in anger at the contact.

THAT? THAT’S RUDE.

The silence is stifling, enough that Eddie has to heave a sigh -- until he speaks quietly, with a bit of a gentle smirk.

“But, I’m a pretty white boy, huh?”

You gawk, head spinning. The comment is a slap in the face, a humorous reality check, and you launch yourself at Eddie, slapping his arm roughly with the balled up reports in your hand. The action feels childish, but well warranted.

“You’re ridiculous!” you yell, “Seriously? That’s all you got out of that?!”

Eddie is laughing, though, recoiling at the strikes -- the laugh is enough to crack your stern facade; you smother a laugh as you shift away from him, straightening out your papers. His smile is crooked but it’s handsome, and you find yourself watching the way his dimples dig into his cheeks.

SHE IS STARING, KEEP SMILING. IT ALWAYS GETS THE LADIES.

She’s mad, okay? Just… This isn’t a thing, stop tryna make it a thing, buddy.

SHE’D MAKE A GOOD SNACK.

You’re telling me.

YOU AGREE? THEN WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?! … OH. OH, YOU WERE NOT SPEAKING ABOUT ACTUAL FOOD, WERE YOU?

Nope.

The room settles back into silence again, but this time it’s not so heavy. After you take another sip of your beer, Eddie speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, “Really -- for just… walking all over you an’ your work. You’re good at what you do, y’know? And I have no right to demean y’ hard work by shoving it under the rug. I shouldn’t have done that.”

An apology was the last thing you were expecting. You choke a little on your beer.

“And -- And, seriously -- all of this?” his hands, calloused and covered in cheddar dust, gesture to the table, “This is a lotta work and you got every right to wanna fuckin’ punch me in the mouth for stealing your story.”

You cough, muscling the rest of the drink down your throat.

“No, I mean -- It’s… I get it,” you’re flustered now, impressed by his sudden softening of personality, “Gotta pay the bills.”

“And now we’re in it together, I guess.”

“Right. Together.”

“Beauty & the Beast Reports,” Eddie rattles off, “That could be a good segment name?”

You smother a laugh, reaching over his arms to grab some goldfish. “Who’s the beast?”

“Me, of course,” Eddie rumbles, “You seen this mug?”

“Sadly.”

“Oof,” he laughs, “Rude.”

“No,” you grin, “Just honest.”

You both munch in silence, eyes set on the papers before you.

“So…”

“Truce?”

You blink down, eyeing Eddie’s hand.

And then you smile.

And Eddie’s heart nearly stops.

“Truce.”

And that’s the moment Venom knew he liked the feel of you.

“So what do we know?” Eddie says, feet on the coffee table, take-out order in his lap.

It’s late into the night now, well past one in the morning, and Eddie had called in for his usual order of lo mein, pan fried dumplings and beef fried rice. This time around, the slurping doesn’t bother you nearly as much -- and he offers the box and chopsticks eagerly, leaning over you to grab your notepad, spurring you on.

SHARE WITH HER, YOU IDIOT. FOOD OFFERINGS ARE SEEN ACROSS SPECIES AS VALID ATTEMPTS AT SEDUCTION.

“Lay it out for me,” Eddie says with a full mouth, “Gimme the whole run.”

You stand, moving to gather your papers. You shovel lo mein into your mouth. Venom nearly purrs.

“Alright.”

“Mhm.”

“We have the first victim, pulled from the Central Park pond on the fifth,” you start, chewing, “A white male, late 40s, later ID’d as Charles McAlister -- a catholic priest from the Lower Eastside of Manhattan. His body was found dismembered. Police found his head after dredging the pond. In his mouth, police found a pair of women’s underwear.”

“Number two?”

“Found on five days later, despite heavy police presence in the area. Again, another white male, this time 30 year old, James Smithson -- another father of the Parish of the Holy Spirit. His body was found in one piece, however suffered a severe and fatal number of stab wounds. Police reports indicate more than one attacker.”

“So our commonalities? White, 30 to 40 years old, religious affiliation,” Eddie scribbles, eyes darting back up to you.

“The third just cements it,” you wave your hands, “Again, another priest -- Jamie Weston. Caucasian, 32 years old, Catholic. Again, another ritualistic, easy-to-sensationalize, murder. Burnt to death with use of accelerant.”

“And live-streamed.”

HUMANS MURDERING FOR SPORT SEEMS OUT OF CHARACTER.

Not as much as you’d think.

BAD HUMANS?

Very bad.

“The site that we pulled up only had the last murder broadcasted,” you mutter, “There’s a chance that the others were streamed as well, but the site history was wiped. The only thing up is Weston’s murder and the bidding on the impending stream.”

“And the police?”

USELESS.

“They looked at me like I had three heads,” you say, “Until I showed them the actual snuff.”

KNEW IT. THEY’RE INTIMIDATED, NO DOUBT. SHE IS VERY SMART. TELL HER SHE IS SMART.

Eddie heaves a sigh. “Fuckin’ disgusting.”

THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID TO SAY, EDDIE.

“Yeah.”

“... How much do you know about that kinda stuff?” Eddie asks after a minute, pointer finger pressed to his lip as he thinks, “Like… as far as tracking goes?”

“If you’re thinking about back-tracking the post, that’s nearly impossible,” you start, collapsing onto the couch beside him and opening your laptop, “The dark and deep web are completely anonymous, and it’s recommended you use a VPN when browsing, anyways. I’m sure if you’re posting this shit, there’s even more loopholes you throw yourself through to stay anonymous.”

“And the video?”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Eddie swallows. “If we go frame by frame, there has to be something.”

And so that’s how you ended up falling asleep, snoring softly into Eddie’s shoulder as he skimmed through the video over and over. Your arm is wound around his own, blanket pulled up to your chin. You’re comfortable, and the symbiote winding its way from Eddie’s shoulder has made sure of it.

YOU ARE INTERESTED IN HER, he’d chirped, AS AM I.

Venom is content with it, inky tendrils fleeting out moment to moment to wind into your hair -- Eddie steals a look at his other half, eyes narrowed.

“Watch it.”

“JUST LOOKING.”

“Hands off, buddy,” Eddie mutters into the take-out, “She’s a co-worker.”

“LIKE THAT WILL STOP YOU.”

And then, Eddie sees it.

A flash of a wrist -- on it, an ornate watch. It’s gold, glittering in the light of the match, and on that hand is a class ring.

Regis High School. Class of ‘75.

Eddie’s hand shakes your knee under the blanket gently.

When you stir, bleary eyes blink up at him. His beard skims your cheek as you shift, moving to wipe your eyes. You blink around, swearing you’d seen something over your shoulder before exhaling -- Eddie offers a soft apology.

“Sorry, Sleeping Beauty,” he mutters, “But we found our lead.”

“I look like a fuckin’ idiot.”

He doesn’t.

In fact, the look of Eddie in an all black ensemble, muscling a clerical collar into his dress shirt? It stirs a fever in your gut and you have to shift in your spot in the driver’s seat to ignore it.

SHE DOESN’T THINK SO.

Can you stop?

JUST SAYING, HER HORMONES ARE SPIKED, I CAN SMELL IT. MUST BE THE BLACK.

I don’t think it’s the black, Venom.

Eddie flips down the passenger side mirror roughly, adjusting the collar and skimming his hands over his jaw. He feels out of character, missing his usual bracelets and trainers -- instead, he’s clean cut. Black slacks and a dress shirt that’s maybe a little too tight, but you weren’t complaining.

“Eddie, you look fine. Now, take me through the plan again,” you say, moving to shove his hands from his combed and parted hair, “Gimme the entire run.”

“My name is Richard Johnson, I’m a priest from the Parish of Mother Mary in Midtown -- I’m looking to do some archival work on the history of Regis and was wondering if I could access your school yearbooks. Maintaining the history of local Catholic educational institution is an important mission to me.”

You give him a thumbs up.

“Perfect,” you nudge his arm, “Go get ‘em, champ.”

He moves, kicking open the door and huffing.

“This shirt is tight.”

“Looks good though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chirps, “See you on the other side.”

Eddie slams the door to the car, tugging his black pea-coat around his shoulders tighter. Long legs stride across the busy parking lot of Regis High School, and Eddie disappears into the fray of the school day.

He knows a shark when he sees one.

And Eddie is sitting in the office of one.

He was seated by a sharp looking secretary five minutes or so ago, told that the Dean would see him shortly.

The office, illuminated by the two far windows, screams Catholic guilt and Eddie suddenly remembers why he stopped going to church. Too stuffy, too formal.

From his spot in the plush leather chair, Eddie can see the picture of two young girls and a blonde woman -- and it peeks his interest. Eddie looks around once, then pushes up off the chair and rounds the desk, beginning to fo what he does best.

CAREFUL.

Just looking.

The top drawer yields nothing, just pens that rattle when he closes it.

Eddie is about to reach for the second drawer when the door knob jingles and his hands go straight for his pockets.

He’s met with the same secretary from before and a kind looking man swathed in the same garb as himself. The clerical collar looks well worn on this man, and from the soft expression on his face, Eddie wonders how much theological well-to-do talk he may have to stomach.

“Oh, hello!” Eddie says quickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop -- the family photos on your desk are quite beautiful.”

“Oh!” the laugh is gentle and jolly, and Eddie smiles, “Why thank you -- my daughter, she takes photos. Those are my granddaughters and my wife.”

“Beautiful, really,” Eddie says, moving across the room and offer his hand, “I’m Richard Johnson, from Parish of Mother Mary in Midtown.”

Time freezes so suddenly in that cramped office of Regis.

The man reaches out, and in the light of the two windows, his watch glitters and his class ring shines.

IS THAT --

Yepp.

“Johnathan Wendell,” he says, shaking Eddie’s hand, “Dean of Students.”

And suspect.

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