#i already draw myself with really sharp fangs so i had to. I has to uh. Make everything even sharper :)

[medicalunprofessional]

attack of the really tall dentist vampire 🫢🫢

brainrot…

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

The Scars On His Back

Just going to slowly reupload my fics...two at a time...

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and goes out to the forest for a breather when he runs into you.

He’s back there again, with the feeling of a knife tearing into his back, carving up his flesh. Blood runs down his body, creating rivers of crimson on his pale skin and drips onto the floor, pooling between his feet. He can feel the stickiness of the liquid penetrating the gaps between his toes, the feeling sending shivers up his spine. His lifeblood drains with each moment, the pain overwhelms what is left of his soul and tears his body apart, sending screams ripping from his throat until his voice is hoarse but it never stops. The knife digs in again and again, the pain harshly dragging him back into reality each time he drifts off too far into the black void.

And then he wakes up with a start to the mess that is his tent, chest heaving out of habit and a sting in his eyes. His hands tremble as they reach up to wipe his weakness away, nearly causing him to nick himself. He presses his hands against his face, shakily drawing deep breaths.

He’s far far away from there now. He’s safe from him , with the tadpole in his head. He won’t have to bow and scrape to him as long as the tadpole remains. As long as you shelter him.

Hastily throwing on a tunic to cover up the scars, he heads outside his tent for some fresh air, to be away from the stuffiness that his tent brings tonight. The night air is cooling, a gentle breeze whistling through the still camp. Moonlight spills through the tree canopy, shining beams of silvery light upon the various tents pitched around the once burning campfire.

Quiet trills of nighttime creatures fill the silence, the smell of your blood wafting from…hold on. The smell of your blood? Ruby eyes widen and his feet move in the direction his nose is picking the scent up from before his mind can register anything. You are injured , his half-awake mind processes, a small pool of panic bubbling within his chest as he quickens his pace. How bad are your wounds? Have you been attacked? Will he make it in time?

He bursts through the trees, gaze frantically searching for any signs of an attack but all he sees was you. There is no sign or scent of enemies, only your lonesome figure sitting sheepishly on a rock, crimson liquid seeping through your fingers.

“Hi Astarion,” you smile, waving awkwardly.

“Y/N!” He hurries over to your side. “You’re bleeding.”

“So it seems,” you chuckle. “A small accident, really. I merely slipped on some wet grass and cut myself on the sharp edges of the stones.”

“You really are the clumsiest person I know, darling,” he shakes his head with a sigh, taking out some bandages and ointment. “Let’s treat this wound of yours before it gets infected. Wouldn’t want a small accident to turn into a big mess now, would we?”

You nod, biting your tongue before words that will ruin the mood slip past your lips. It’s better to keep to yourself how prepared he was to treat your injuries, and especially the fact that you could tell he was worried about you. Then an idea hits you.

“Since I’m already bleeding, do you want to feed on me?” The question sends his head shooting upwards, a quizzical look on his face.

“Feed…on you?”

“Yeah, like drink my blood since it’s leaking out of my body anyways, would be a shame if so much of it went to waste,” you can’t help but grin, “I can see your fangs peeking out, you know. Go ahead and drink, I don’t mind.”

He opens his mouth, moving it closer to your wound. The sweet scent of your blood hits his nostrils hard and they flare in response, hunger gnawing in his chest. You had offered your blood to him, what did you want in return? His body? His services?

Ruby red eyes search your face, waiting for you to lay down your conditions but you simply press your bleeding arm to his lips with a small smile, dabbing a sliver of blood on his lips.

“I mean it, Astarion. And no, I don’t want anything in return. I promise.”

A small puff of breath leaves his lips at your words and his tongue darts out, gently licking a stripe up your arm. When you don’t pull away, he gets a little bolder, sucking blood from the open wound. You hiss softly when his fangs dig in, drawing more blood from your body but keep your arm steady. He hungrily drinks it all in, the sweet flavour bursting in his mouth.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but your other hand moves towards his hair, gently running your fingers through his silver curls, twirling the longer strands around your index finger. You carefully avoid touching his ears, knowing how sensitive they are and instead tangle your fingers in the hair at the top of his head.

He quietly purrs against your arm, pressing his tongue against the wound to staunch what bleeding he can before cleaning the wound thoroughly with a damp cloth, sending vibrations running up your arm. Gently dabbing the ointment on your arm, he wraps a bandage around the wound, pressing one last kiss to it before standing back up, offering a hand.

“Shall we return to camp before the others begin panicking? I doubt they can function without the both of us.” The smile on his face is filled with apprehension, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Astarion –”

“Don’t you worry, my sweet. I’ll repay this debt of yours as soon as possible,” he winks, pulling you to your feet. “You won’t regret it in the slightest.”

As he turns to leave, you shout.

“Astarion!”

He stops in his tracks, turning around. Muscles tensed, he tries to cover up the fear that is thrumming through his veins with a feigned smile, hoping it’d mellow out your anger. After all, you could neve resist his smile…right?

You see the way fear flashes in his eyes and immediately regret raising your voice, even if it was out of frustration directed at yourself. Taking a deep breath to clear away your anger, you hold out a hand in peace offering.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” Your voice trails off. How do you even justify what you just did? You know of the horrors Cazador inflicted on him, and yet you still lash out.

“It’s quite alright, Y/N,” he chuckles nervously.

You vigorously shake your head, “I really am sorry about it. There’s no way I can justify raising my voice at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was really frustrated at myself for not being able to convince you I didn’t want anything in return, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Astarion searches for any sign of a lie in your words but finds nothing. You really meant it. Every word you said. Your apology, your insistence on needing nothing from him after he had just fed on you, all of it was sincere and genuine. His undead heart skips a beat and suddenly the night doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

You care about him.

Before he knows it, his feet carry him over to you once more, his hand sliding into your outstretched one. The warmth blooms from your palm and winds around his cold one as your fingers intertwine with his.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

“Will you accept my apology?” You ask softly, eyes downcast.

“Of course, dearest. I always will,” he leans in, lips hovering over your forehead. Can he kiss you? Will he taint you if he does?

You tilt your head upwards, meeting his lips with yours and he immediately melts into the kiss. Unlike his previous kisses, this one is filled with care and love, not the usual lust and passion he’s used to receiving. Your arms wrap around him, hands resting on his back where scars tell of his past and he reflexively tenses. But this time, the hands on his back mean him no harm. They lie there to pull him closer into your warm embrace, to protect him from those who seek to harm him. So he lets them rest on his vulnerable back, soaking in the strange warmness that the simple action brings.

Astarion closes his eyes, putting his own arms around you. It’s weird, hugging someone for the first time. You don’t mind his cold dead fingers resting on your back and even press closer against him, enveloping him in your warmth.

When your lips part ways, he doesn’t say a word lest his voice wavers and betrays him. He lets you do the talking, relishing in the way you hold onto his hand tightly. Not a single move is made when you lead him into his tent, only letting go of his hand to help him tidy up his bedroll. You make sure he’s comfortable before turning to leave, pausing when he calls out your name in such a gentle manner.

“Stay…with me?” He begs. Your heart aches from his tone and once more you’re reminded of how much he hurts on the inside, so you backtrack and wrap your arms around him.

“Always.”

[lubelzoldyck-artworks]

👁SOMEBODY'S WATCHING YOU 👁

"Illumi, having been born into the post-apocalyptic world, was a mutant. His skin was blueish with rougher, almost scaly-feeling patches. He had pointy ears, large, deformed fangs, and the right side of his face was covered with several extra eyes, as if his very large black eyes had not already been unsettling enough. He also had sharp claws and a tail which somewhat looked like a rats tail. "

...

HELLO HELLO 🌸 It's been a while hasn't it? I realized I did 0 serious fanart in April for some reasons. Nothing but that Gamzee WIP 😔 sowwy...

My mind has been everywhere lately! I still have to continue Homestuck, I also started rewatching Versailles and being extra frustrated at how badly they represented Philippe d'Orléans... I also went on vacation! T'was great 🌸 but now I have to get back to art!

I believe I have been unconsciously paralyzing myself by putting pressure on myself. I kept thinking "you have to do This Specific Artwork you have to finish it you have to do this you have to do that... I realized I really should just draw whatever I want to draw in the moment! I mean, as long as I don't habe commissions, I can draw whatever the heck I want, after all!

So today I remembered my dear friend and RP partner @forbiddenseason (check out her art blog @forbid-art !) drew my version of Illumi in our nuclear apocalypse AU! We agreed on doing a little collab witg me coloring her lineart, so that's what I did!

In this AU, a nuclear war happened and the whole world is now an apocalyptic wasteland where the remaining human beings ended up severely mutated by the now omnipresent radioactive radiations. Illumi, in scavenging duty for his family, meets Hisoka, a wandering merchant who has access to precious and much needed medicine. Illumi wants to do business with him, but since Hisoka doesn't need the services of an assassin, he ends up trading... something else. 👁👁

I had fun coloring this piece and I am really happy with it 🌸 someday I'll draw him in my style :))

If you like this fanart and / or my art in general, please consider tipping me or commissioning me! 💕

Likes, reblogs and reactions are greatly appreciated! Thank you 🙏🏼

[piece-of-hweat]

Hi I'm back on my Little Nightmare bs again ODJSOID

SO, The Crane Wives' "Coyote Stories" and "Foxlore" albums remind me a lot of Mono and Six's silly little relationship, and now I'm here to ramble about it to you.

Never Love an Anchor - Coyote Stories This song, I've already had a storyboard ready for, but it's old as hell so I ain't showing it lmao The song feels like it's a song Six would sing (if she had the skills to L) to Mono, after The Fall(tm). "On some level I think I always understood that these hands of mine were clumsy not clever. And I tried to do the best that I could, but try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to hold you." I've always imagined that in canon (so not my personal feral-child-Six headcanon), Six has always struggled to show affection to people, especially after the events of The Nest. As a result, she's been very quiet and distant with Mono. I personally believe it's because she's become way too familiar with (always understanding, perhaps) people she's cared about meeting an unfortunate end by her "clumsy not clever" hands. She's scared to be friends with Mono, she's scared to hold him and his hand. And as much as she may try to overcome the fear, she could never "bring myself to hold you". "There's a secret I keep tucked inside my chest, with this heart that's guilty not remorseful." Six feels guilty for every misfortune that came to everyone. Raincoat girl, Mono, and most likely some more people. Of course, she wouldn't share this with anyone, they don't need to know, it'll forever be "a secret I keep tucked inside my chest". "There is love it doesn't have a place to rest- but it would've buried you if it settled on your shoulders." She does love people, there is that in Six, but she's afraid of showing that affection, because from her experiences- sharing that with anyone, Mono included, would've buried him alive. It would've hurt and most likely, killed him- at least that's what Six feels/understands. "On some level I think I always understood that a ship could never really love an anchor. So, I did the only thing that I could and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor." On some level, Six understood that she fucking sucks ass bro. Loving anyone like her is a death sentence, she'd lead anyone who wanted to be friends with her to their eventual demise, because that's all she's known. No one could really love an anchor who'd weigh them down beneath the waves and drown them. So, Six concludes that the only way to save them is to take the first step- to start removing the rope (bond) to set them free from her. (…) "And you'll never see the reasons I had for keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you." Mono will never, ever know the reasons as to why Six was so distant, because he's gone- and Six can't really… change that. I also wanna draw attention to the word "claws". Six sees herself as a dangerous monster, with claws and fangs and teeth so sharp it'd hurt anyone she met. She wants to keep Mono safe from her. (…) "Do you ever look at me and my two hands and wonder why they never soothed your fevers? And wonder why they never tied your shoes? And wonder why they never held you gently? And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?" Six wonders if Mono ever wondered why she was so cold and quiet towards him, when he's been practically anything but mean to her. She wonders if he hates him for everything she's done, or more accurately- everything she hasn't done. Six wonders if Mono hates her for not showing him the kindness he showed her.

Okay that was... a lot. As you can see, this post only analyzed "Never Love an Anchor" from the Coyote Stories. This is simply because the original plan of analyzing three songs ("The Moon Will Sing" - Coyote Stories, and "Allies or Enemies" - Foxlore) wouldn't work out. I' may or may not make two other posts talking about the other two songs I had in mind. I'll probably make two other posts about the songs in the future. But for now, I'll leave you with that non-sense. Have a nice rest of your day/night!!

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Hey, I just wanted to say thank you for writing Limerence, it’s an amazing story and I love all the extra drabbles and things! Also if you have time could you do another drabble with the vampire Zuko au, maybe some smut?

AU: Limerence (Vampire AU)

Pairing: Zuko x Fem. OC (Ying Yue Jiang)

Masterlist

It was always a curiosity of mine—an itching piece of knowledge I just had to know, especially now.

The concept of vampires, blood-lusting creatures, was already a mystical idea that only existed in horror films. Evil, underworldly creatures of the night that you should always fear and keep a clove of garlic in hand. But that panic quickly turned into curiosity.

A curiosity that Zuko has told me many times would get me killed.

But that’s why I had him by my side, right? Catching me after every stumble, giving scary looks to anyone that seemed a bit odd. It appears that Zuko’s fondness towards me had gathered quite the attention from the vampire community. From seeing and knowing zero vampires to a few dozen.

Some came seeking, curious souls like me. Wanting to know how I managed to get their Vampire King under wraps. In contrast, some came to me for some more sinister reasons.

Either way, it didn’t change the way I felt for Zuko. Nor the question I had in mind as I stared while he ate like some creep. His teeth were so pearly white; they could blind. But those four long fangs of his-

Sharp to the touch, glimmering under the candlelight dinner.

I knew how they felt against my skin. His kisses over my neck, my shoulders, but he never did bite me. Whenever he found himself become cruder, gentle caresses turning into eager nibbles where his fangs would press to the point you would think he would pierce the skin, he always backed away. And I always bit my tongue to stop myself from begging, to experience that roughness that always just skimmed the surface.

It was as if he was fearful of breaking the skin- taste my blood.

A part of me was intrigued to know how it would feel to have him bite my skin. Was it as orgasmic or painful as the movies portray? And from that lead to another question to another and another. My mind buzzed like a bee, and Zuko mused to himself.

Picking at my pasta, watching him absentmindedly-

“Love?” Zuko spoke, and I jumped despite his gentle tone, fork dropping. It rattled against the plate as I cheekily apologized, and Zuko snickered, “If only I could read minds, the things I would learn.”

My blush deepened because that would be terrible. He didn’t need to know the ideas I had about him. While most of them were harmless, I couldn’t stop that bubble of lustful intentions that would randomly come to mind at the worst of times.

Like now.

“I-it’s nothing important.”

“Mm, I’m not too sure, love. You seem pretty preoccupied, so tell me.”

“No.” I huffed, poking at my pasta with a pout.

I wouldn’t dare say it to Zuko because it really was so stupid. As if this was some cliche movie with a low budget. I chewed on the pasta and swallowed, my fingers toying with the red wine Zuko had brought when he came over.

But Zuko sported a giant grin the whole time. He was watching me flush and struggle to take a sip from my glass. Get it together, Yue! Taking much too big of a gulp from the dark-coloured wine that I already knew was far too expensive.

Yet the longer his golden eyes stared, the more flustered I got because Zuko’s eyes were piercing. Staring straight through to my soul, but they were so gorgeous. I didn’t know if it was because he was a vampire, but it always left me breathless. His eyes were like molten gold, pulling, drawing me deeper.

Paired with his smile, his husky voice-

“Let’s make a deal, love.” Zuko purred, and I raised a brow, curiosity once again getting the best of me.

“What kind of deal?” I invited, and Zuko’s grin grew because he knew exactly what to say to pull me into his trap.

I’m an idiot. A fact I always knew but gosh, did my level of stupidity seem to grow whenever it came to me wanting to know something. Dad always told me I should’ve been an investigator. Well, that was until he took back his words because I'll most likely get myself into a world of trouble - and he wasn’t exactly wrong.

Zuko leaned back on his chair, spreading his legs wide as his arms crossed in front of his chest, “You tell me what’s on your mind.”

“And?”

“I’ll answer truthfully.”

“And what makes you think it’s even about you?” I poked, and Zuko shook his head, that cocky expression on his face, “Because I saw the way you were staring at my lips.”

"Well, that doesn't seem like much of a deal to me." I huffed, trying to seem indifferent.

Zuko laughed.

His large hands fell over his knees, slowly rising from his chair with a dominant crawl. The fork I held to my lips began to drop, unable to take a bite because Zuko had this air of power around him. Effortless, taking easy-going steps with a handsome smirk, his eyes planning.

"You're right, love." Zuko hummed, his fingers dragging along the edge of my dining table, before finally stopping beside me. Once again, he bore those sharp fangs, not afraid of me seeing and retracting to seem 'normal' like he often did with others.

But it was embarrassing how attracted I was to those damn fangs. My lips parting, gawking, twisting myself in my chair so my knees could face him. If only I could know-

Zuko's face leaned towards mine, his breath mixed with the wine fanning my face.

"It may not seem like much of a deal to many. But to you, my curious human, it is worth a bag of gold and more. So let's skip the games, love, and tell me. What's on your mind?"

I found myself frozen.

Zuko's words were hitting me full force because he was right, and I hated it with a burning passion. My breath caught in my throat as my hands flopped over my lap. I was clasping onto the fabric of my skirt with a death grip.

"I can hear your heartbeat. It's racing." Zuko snickered; his eyes were not wavering from mine.

My shyness intensified tenfold, but- this is my chance. Probably my only chance. I could easily blame it on the glass of wine I had. Say it was my drunken mind, get the answer to my foolish question.

"Ask, love." Zuko edged.

With a nibble, I tried to push the reality of such a plan away.

He's not that stupid to fall for such a lie. I wouldn't get drunk over half a glass of wine, but it didn't matter. At this moment, I had fooled myself into believing it or else I couldn't ask what I always wanted to know.

"I’m waiting,” he whispered, like the call of a siren.

He was encouraging my need to know, spotting the cracks of my resolve. A second more, another plea, letting his tongue run over the sharp tip of his fangs as he loomed above-

"Does the blood of a virgin taste better than other...types?"

It took me a moment to realize that the blurted question, rushed in speech, came from me. My cheeks heating, a wash of shame flooding the room as the closeness of our faces let me see Zuko’s reaction in its purest form.

For a split second, his pretty eyes widened. Undoubtedly taken aback from the question, but before I could slap myself silly, I froze. As quick as he was to be shocked, I watched how his expression fell. As if...as if he was-

Letting out a light laugh, Zuko shook his head. His eyes fell downwards as his shoulders shook with the utmost amusement before letting his gaze rest over me again.

“What an interesting question, love,” he purred. His large hand running up my leg, toying with the edge of my skirt, fingers warming the skin of my thighs, “I think the better question is why ask? Is there something you wish to share with me?”

I swallowed.

We had only known each other for a few weeks. Our relationship, fresh. It was like those cliche love movies, love at first sight. We had an emotional connection, seemingly understanding without uttering a word. But that didn’t mean we didn’t have physical chemistry.

But I stared at Zuko with a lost gaze; it finally hit me.

I never told him I was the poster child of innocence. Zuko was the second guy I had ever kissed, and the first guy I had ever made out with. And naturally, I had to pick a vampire, of all people, to experience the rest of my firsts. Those long fangs, highlighting and glistening under the light-

“I thought I was the one asking questions?” I tried to argue, putting on a brave face as Zuko glowed.

A sly, devilish grin that had me holding my breath because it was so wrong. How a single look had me melting, my resolve wavering as his fingers continued to crawl up my thigh. Finally, I took a deep breath, sounding like a meek whine, and Zuko’s eyes darkened.

“Fine. The blood of a virgin isn’t what tempts a vampire. Some silly rumour spread by brothels back in the day to get women to work. But that isn’t what you want to know.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“There isn’t a damn thing you want to know as much as you want to experience. I can fucking smell it.”

It was then I realized how tightly my thighs clenched each other. My cheeks were blushing, trying to strip my gaze away because I was exposed. Worse than Zuko reading my thoughts - he could smell me.

How did I forget? Let such a common-sense fact slip from my mind all this time. Vampires had heightened scenes, especially smell and taste. A slickness was starting to seep, fidgeting in my chair because the look on Zuko’s face was one I had never seen before.

He looked hungry.

Both of his hands firmly pressed on my thighs, parting my legs as his nose brushed against mine, “Did you know our top fangs and bottom fangs serve different purposes, love?”

I couldn’t speak- shaking my head, unable to pull from his touch. It was intimidating how his chest rose and fell, the muscles in his arms tensing.

“The tops are the painful ones. We use it to drain our food dry. A cruel fate, because unlike what people think, there is no numbing agent.”

He flashed me a menacing smile.

I could see his fangs in all their glory; not even the sharpest knife or sword could compare. It was like a game to him. Placing a much too modest kiss over my nose all while he moaned with growing wickedness.

Perfectly gripping the thickness of my thighs. The pads of Zuko’s digits digging into my skin, his chaste kisses moving downward. Falling over my cupid’s bow, I whimpered as I shivered in my chair.

Overwhelmed yet not satisfied. Feeling the sting from his unforgiving clutch below while his kisses were too tame.

“Zuko-” I whimpered, unsure of what I was asking for, and he snickered, “Be a good lil’ human and listen.”

I moaned.

Never have I heard him demand to assert his dominance in such a way. I was thankful that I was already sitting because I would’ve swooned. Nodding eagerly, wanting to seek his approval, Zuko smiled graciously.

His hands were sliding further up my thighs, now perfectly hidden under my skirt, “Good girl. Now tell me, what fangs do I have to explain next, hmm?”

“Y-your bottom fangs.” I panted.

He was letting his tongue run along them to affirm my statement. A part of me glowed in happiness, to make him satisfied, to answer correctly.

“That’s right, love. And these fangs are special.”

“Why?” I gasped, my feet pressing onto the hardwood under us so my toes turned white.

With his touch, getting closer to my core, I felt myself dripping on the wooden chairs we sat on. Spoiled with my dirtiness and the embarrassment of knowing Zuko could smell it-

“Guess, love.”

I huffed because Zuko slyly slid down on his knees before my own; his large hands spread my legs with one push. My skirt rolled up my body and sat along my hips, and I couldn’t stop the shy protest.

I was exposed, Zuko licking his lips as he stared at my soiled panties like it was desert, “Zuko-”

“Guess.”

“I-I don’t know,” I cried.

I was trembling in my spot because I didn’t know what was going to happen next. Everything was happening so fast, willingly weak and submitting, as my thighs tried to close. But Zuko's effortless grip kept them from doing so.

His hold, overpowering despite not even trying, “You’re so wet, love; I can practically taste you in the air.”

My blush deepened, whimpering as he had no shame in staring. The fabric was sticking to my slit, outlining everything I had to offer. My hands were clutching the base of my chair, knuckles white as I fought to breathe.

“P-please tell me,” I whispered, and Zuko slowly leaned towards my knee.

His lips caressed the skin, a jolt running up my whole body. A mess, soft kisses, but he deliberately let me feel the drag of his fangs after each pull.

“We use them for mating.”

“Mating?” I repeated, and Zuko paused for a moment, nodding, “The person who we choose to spend the rest of our lives with. A bite of both our bottom and tops and it is a rather pleasurable experience.”

My brows pinched together because it didn’t make any sense. Hitching a breath as I felt his kisses just barely move up my thigh all while I tried to think-

“B-but you said that it hurts.” I rushed. My eyes shut as his fingers dug into my skin. Somehow spreading my legs further, luring me closer to his face.

If only I could pinch myself. It was shameful how proud I was in drawing a simple reaction because it meant I did something good. Since when was I so eager to please him?

“You’re right, my sweet human. But you see, what makes our bottom teeth so special is it releases an aphrodisiac.”

My eyes widen—an aphrodisiac.

I knew what that meant all too well, especially with it being peak season for valentines day. Customers were asking for orders of chocolate, strawberries, pomegranate and even figs. Setting the mood for us to cave in to our primal desires - sex.

“If we bite with both our teeth, suck each other’s blood, it leaves a mating mark. But-”

I gulped, not realizing how far his kisses had reached.

His face was right between my legs, causing goosebumps to rise because of the sensation of his heavy breath directing on my drenched panties. I bit my lip; it was embarrassing to see myself unintentionally buck. Zuko was laughing at my vulnerability.

“Some vampires like playing with their food. They give a quick bite to their humans with their bottoms, just enough to inject a small dose,” he spoke.

That cruel smile he wore. His tongue was purposely dragging along his bottom fangs as if teasing.

“But here’s the real treat,” Zuko growled, and this time, he let his hand wander right beside my heat.

“I’ve smelt how wet you get whenever you think I’m about to bite. How your heart races. You don’t care if it were to hurt because I found myself the naughtiness of humans. A lover of pain and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I bit you with both sets.”

“Zuko-”

“Just thinking about it gets me hard. I want to taste you; I want to see you a mess, lose your mind to pleasure. So tell me, love. Do you willingly submit to me? Let me take everything, do everything, and bite you.”

"Yes."

My head tossed back, arching as my hands fell over his hair.

My fingers were tangled with his locks, unable to stop the moans as my eyes closed shut for the overwhelming pleasure. It felt so good, trembling as Zuko’s beautiful fangs finally pierced my skin.

A sharp pain that turned into sweet torture. Feeling drips of rouge down his chin as he let satisfied groans. Swallowing and licking at the wound like it was the most exquisite taste he had ever experienced.

I was panting.

Every sense heightened as a flush washed over my skin. Sweating and unable to keep my eyes focused. Everything felt good, the hand that rested right beside my covered cunt now throbbing. Silently begging to be touched.

“Zuko, i-it feels- I’m so hot,” I whined, tears bubbling as he let his tongue run along the wound.

The low groan he breathed, “I’ll treat you so well, make you my mate.”

My hands fell over my mouth, squealing.

His hand bunched my panties upwards. The fabric tightened, slipping between my folds, and Zuko’s face quickly lapped at my juices. His tongue fat, teasing my clit over the thin barrier before prodding at my entrance.

I was clenching around nothing, humping his face as tears of utter ecstasy poured. My stomach felt so tense, my thighs shaking as I twitched uncontrollably.

“Z-Zuko-”

“That’s it. Be a good fucking human, mate, and cum for me.”

My eyes widened because I obeyed.

Convulsing, moaning, my vision turning white as I gushed. I couldn’t stop, not realizing that the screams, chanting of his name were coming from me. The whole time Zuko was humming like he was on cloud nine.

I never came as fast as I did whenever I touched myself, his lapping never stopping. Hearing him slurp as my cum dribbled out my twitching cunt. Pulling the fabric tighter, another wave already building before I could even process the first.

“We’re going to have a fantastic night, love," Zuko cooed. Baring his fangs, his eyes searching for a new spot to feast upon, "I hope you don’t mind if I stay the night.”

Copyright © 2020 Mystic-Kitten-Writer, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind are allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters besides any original characters I have created.

Cross-posted on Ao3/Tumblr/Quotev/Wattpad to discourage plagiarism.

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[loveislattes]

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

You can find Chapter 1 here!

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them.

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Depression, talks of death, smut, dom/sub, rough sex, Demon!Dark, demon-like anatomy, shadow tentacles, oral (male receiving), very minor breath play, teasing, pet names, dirty talk, minor degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, primal/power play, and multiple orgasms!

A/N: Other than the kink warnings, this one is safe to read! No gore/death. No beta- there may be a few errors.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

Tags: (If you want to be tagged in my writing, just let me know!)

@when-the-sun-goes-dark

@underthedark13

@fruitypieq

@another-thirsty-blog

@hcrystal02

@just-a-little-bat

“You’re sure? The doctor is sure?” you questioned earnestly.

“Yes! Yes! They say it’s like some kind of miracle. They expect her to make a full recovery after some physical therapy. Isn’t it great, Y/N?!”

You could feel your lips twist up into a bittersweet smile as tears poured from your clenched eyes. The taste of salt was bitter on your lips as you nodded asininely into the phone.

“Yeah, that’s- that’s amazing,” you whispered, “Listen, auntie, I’ve got to get ready for work but please keep me updated if anything changes.”

The phone fell into the fluffy blankets across your lap and you let out the choked sob that you’d been holding back. Wish number four had been a success. You’d done some actual good with your imminent death.

Despite the good news, the oppressive cloud around you didn’t dissipate; Unsurprising but disappointing nonetheless.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you hissed, smacking your cheeks a couple of times.

Suddenly, a terribly wonderfully awful idea popped up and there was a modicum of relief in your chest. You snagged up the coin from its perch on the bedside table and clutched it to your chest close.

“Dark, I think I know my last wish. Is it possible to wish for death?”

There was no immediate answer, nor did you die immediately. A tremor in the atmosphere of the room was the only sign that something had changed and you brought your head up in surprise. The sight of the debonair demon standing amongst your depression room instantly filled you with shame. Great. Just what you needed to be added to your already heaping pile of negative emotions.

“Hello, darling.”

You managed a weak little hello in reply as he began to stroll your way. You weren’t sure whether you should stand up to greet him or just allow him to come to you, but he quickly made that decision for you as he came to a stop at your side.

“I regret to inform you that you’ve managed to find one of the three types of wishes I’m unable to grant. Is there something els-”

“Please, Dark!”

He leveled you with narrowed eyes and stated factually, “I can’t kill you. Killing you negates the contract. That includes putting you in any imminently dangerous situations, so don’t try it.”

Finally, you found the power to stand and glared up at him through tears.

“Can’t you break the rules, just this once?! I give you permission to keep my soul after I die if you do it! I just- I can’t take this anymore! Maybe you don’t understand it because you all Mr. Powerful Demon but I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of being alone! I’m tired of hurting when there’s literally nothing wrong! I’m tired of not being able to do a damn thing to make it better or change anything or- or-”

You fell into a messy pile of limbs and blankets on the bed, wrapping yourself up as best as possible, sobbing into your hands to keep a modicum of your dignity intact. Much to your surprise, you felt fingers brush against your hair as sharp nails began to massage through your strands.

“I must say, you’re definitely one of my more interesting clients,” he hummed lowly, “Even so, I’m unable to bend the rules, even for you. There’s a lot at play here that you’ll never understand but the short of it is that even I do not play with Death’s dealings, darling.”

As he spoke, you could feel the first peek of daylight glimmering through the shadows of your mind. Whether it was from his odd praise or the sensations his fingers were provoking, you weren’t sure, but it was nice. Ever so slowly, you found yourself leaning into his touch, chasing the dopamine rush he provided.

He let out a humored chuckle as you nearly fell off the bed in the pursuit and you could only manage a subdued apology in reply.

“Don’t apologize for being adorable, pet,” he teased.

Cheeks warming harshly under the sudden pet name, you buried your face in your hands and groaned slightly.

“Now that that’s sorted, I will leave you be. When you’re ready to make your last wish, you know how to reach me.”

There was a strange catch in his voice that you couldn’t quite place but it was enough to put you into action.

“Wait!” you called out when he turned away.

Carefully wiping the tears from your face, you stood up and took a steadying breath before reaching out to him. It was such a simple request but you could see the curiosity and confusion plain on his face. Nonetheless, he took your hand and allowed you to pull him in close. It had been so long since you’d even held someone else’s hand. More of the demons in the back of your mind were backing down, the sudden influx of serotonin of skin-to-skin contact turning them away.

“Okay, I get it, you can’t kill me,” you murmured, licking your lips nervously, “But you said you find me… interesting, right? Erm, do you think you would be able to do something else for me instead?”

It was like you had flipped a switch, the way his eyes clouded over with the devious smirk that curled up his lips and how his head tipped to the side in obvious inquiry.

“I’ll need you to be more clear on what you’re asking for, pretty little pet,” he cajoled, “It would be quite remiss of me to act without being completely sure what you want from me.”

Oh, the asshole! He was going to make you say it out loud! It was obvious in his gaze that he knew he had all the power here, in every sense of the word, and he was using it to his advantage… and you couldn’t deny that you loved it.

Face hot with mortification, you chewed on your lower lip before whispering, “I- I can’t. I can’t ask.”

Fangs peeked out in a grin as he leaned down, tipping your head up until you were nose to nose with him.

“Do you want me to kiss you? Touch you? Fuck you?”

Gods, he made it sound so dirty, so sensual. Shivers rolled through your bones as he teased the apex of your jaw and throat with his sharp claws.

“I need to know.”

You gathered every last drop of confidence and finally stammered out, “Fu-Fuck me, please?”

“With pleasure, darling,” he hummed softly, “But first…”

Fingers tangled in your locks once more, jerking your head back and his mouth slammed against yours. A choked sob passed from your mouth to his as he guided you back onto the bed, following with the grace and ease only an inhuman being could manage.

“If it gets too intense, just tell me to stop,” he breathed out as his lips fell to your jaw, “It’s been some time since I’ve allowed myself to indulge with a human and you are just so damn breakable.”

A sick thrill shot through your body at the warning. Why did a part of you want that? It was terrifying, thinking of a demon losing themselves and going feral on you, and yet it sounded so deliciously taboo.

“Okay,” you finally replied when you realized he was waiting for an answer, “I will.”

“Good girl.”

Oh. OH. It felt like all the air left your lungs and you couldn’t stop the tiny little noise that escaped your lips in embarrassment and desire.

His lips curved up against your throat as they slowly moved. Nibbles and kisses blazed a path up the sensitive column of your neck until teeth toyed with your ear lobe and he let out a little chuckle.

“You are going to be so much fun, pet.”

Your hands found his hair and held on for dear life as his fangs dug into your neck; not deep enough to draw blood but rough enough to tear a pained scream from your lips. Throbbing agony blossomed through your skin and still, you found your body arching into his, silently eager for more of what he could give you. Oh and the endorphin rush! The moment he released your abused flesh, it was like your body was on fire.

Moving without thought, you guided him by the hair into a frantic kiss, hoping to convey your need without words. Thankfully he didn’t seem offended by your little takeover of power and allowed you to soak in all you needed until he finally put a stop to it with a nibble on your lower lip.

“Enough, it’s time to prove that you really want this, darling,” Dark purred as his fingers dug into your cheeks symbolically.

You nodded the best you could and followed his lead as he pulled you to your feet. With a snap of his fingers, suddenly his clothes were gone and you were left staring at him in awe. While he looked incredible in the suit, it did a complete disservice to the glorious form hidden beneath. Black tattooed tendrils encircled his arms and legs, tapering out somewhere on his back, creating the most tantalizing contrast of shades against his toned limbs as he flexed them teasingly.

As your eyes traced the designs down his solid form, he suddenly gripped your shoulders and pushed you down onto your knees, tossing one of your pillows down after.

“If you’re going to worship me in such a way, you might as well do it from in your rightful place on your knees,” he purred.

Lips parting in surprise, you felt your insides curl up with embarrassment as you slipped the pillow under your knees and nearly apologized, but then he was stepping closer and you lost all thought.

Fuck, was he ever right; It was akin to staring up at a god! Not only were you given the best view of his body, but the way he stared down at you with desire and complete superiority had you trembling with need.

“Now, show me what that pretty mouth can do, pet.”

Oh, that, that you could do. Scooting in closer, you reached out to grab his cock but your hand was smacked away instantly. It stung more than hurt but it was surprising nonetheless.

“What-”

“Hands behind your back,” he demanded.

Cautiously, you did as he asked and were rewarded with a much softer smile.

“Good girl.”

Those words again. It was like they had a direct line to your cunt. Clenching needily around nothing, you let out a soft whine and let him pull you back in. As his cock neared your lips, you were finally given the chance to look it over closely. Despite being only half-hard, he appeared average length and a bit thicker than most you’d encountered. It was also darker than the rest of his skin but what set it apart the most was the ridges encircling it. Every inch or so down his cock were these ridges, smooth but creating quite an obvious size difference.

As you pondered over the way it would feel inside you, you let your tongue tentatively trace the tip and moaned at the familiar taste. He let out an encouraging sigh and tightened his hold, subtly pulling you closer until you threw away hesitation and took him in your mouth as far as possible.

“Mmmm, that’s it pet,” he praised huskily, “Get me ready to fuck you.”

Clenching your thighs in hopes of relief, you shifted higher onto your knees and followed the pace he set. Another difference you began to notice was the massive vein on the underside of his cock, the way it throbbed against your tongue with every swipe quickly became an addicting sensation. It was like his body was praising your efforts in its own way.

“Take a breath,” he warned.

You barely got a lungful in before he arched into your face, hastily fighting back the urge to gag as he slid into your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as saliva pooled in your mouth. You were mortified as both spilled out the instant he began to fuck your mouth. Embarrassing noises escaped your throat, far beyond your control with each thrust of his cock, but it didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

“Look at you,” he rumbled out huskily, “What a good little pet you are, swallowing my cock like you were made for it.”

As suddenly as he had started he stopped, releasing his hold on you so fast you nearly toppled over as you coughed for breath.

“Impressive, now get up here.”

Once you felt you were stable enough, you climbed to your feet with his assistance and were immediately thrown back on the bed. As your skin rubbed against the cool sheets, you were suddenly made aware of your lack of clothes.

He apparently sensed the shock in your expression and offered you a sly grin.

“What can I say, pet? There are some things I am impatient over.”

Dark kneeled on the bed and gripped your ankles, spreading your legs so he could easily fit between them. Rather than climb over you as you had expected, he instead traced gentle lines up and down your legs, slowly bit by bit growing closer and closer to your cunt but never actually touching. It was maddening. You could feel yourself quaking and twitching uncontrollably under every pass of his claws; your silent pleas coming out louder and louder each time until you were nearly sobbing with need. Teeth soon joined in the effort, searing bite marks into the meaty parts of your thighs while his tongue lavished the wounds fondly after.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re dripping wet for me,” he groaned quietly as he traced the crease between your sex and thigh, “Imagine what a mess you’ll be once I’m finally inside you.”

Desperation tore from your chest in the form of a whimper at the mental images burning in your mind. Your heart nearly flipped on itself in pleasure as he finally moved up the bed.

“You look like you’re struggling, darling,” he teased, “Is there something you need?”

You nodded frantically and whimpered out, “Please!”

Tantalizing shocks ran through your core as his fingers oh-so-tenderly ran over your lips, ghosting just where you needed him the most. Frustration began to well up like the sweat beading your forehead and you couldn’t help the huff that escaped.

“Tell me that you need to be used,” he breathed, ghosting sharp canines along your throat, “And I’ll give you what you want.”

“I- I need to be used,” you gasped out.

His responding moan was pure ecstasy as his fingers finally found your clit; the way his cock twitched again your leg an overwhelming aphrodisiac. The scrape of his facial hair prickled against your chest as his head ducked down and his lips pressed chaste kisses along your breasts. Swallowing hard, you bit back the overwhelming urge to demand him for more and were rewarded with the gratifying sensation of his tongue across your nipple. Pain and pleasure coalesced into one as he mercilessly sucked and bit into your flesh, drawing louder and faster moans from your chest by the second. When he finally pulled off with a pop, your entire body felt the bombardment of endorphins.

“And who do you want to use you?”

Pride shone through his playful teasing as you attempted and failed to whimper his name multiple times, ruined over and over again with each pass over your clit.

“Hmm? I can’t seem to understand you. Who do you want to ruin you?”

Thighs shaking and heart pounding, you fought through the onslaught of pleasure coiling in your belly to gasp out, “You, Dark! Please, fuck- fuck me!”

It was too much, not enough: The ache in your throat, the rawness of your lips, the imprints of his teeth burned in your flesh, the throb of your cunt under his fingers.

When he finally slipped his fingers in your core, you cried out. Relief! It didn’t take more than a few seconds for his stretching and thrusting to put you right on the edge of no return. Unfortunately, he jerked away before you could fall and, before you could even complain, you were tossed over onto your stomach with a sharp slap to your right cheek.

“Perk that pretty ass up for me, pet,” he demanded, gently guiding your hips up.

As you came to rest on your knees, you let your face rest on the pillow and arched your back until you could feel his cock brush against your cunt. Instinctively you pushed back against him with a little moan and were immediately rewarded with fingers to your clit.

But… his hands were on your hips…

“How-?”

When you stilled in thought, he let out a husky chuckle behind you.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he crooned lowly, “Sometimes they just have a mind of their own.”

Lifting up just enough to peek under your body, you were both startled and aroused to find black shadow-like tentacles where you expected fingers to be, and in turn, his legs were now free of those pretty tattoos. Realization hit hard and a pathetic moan fled your lips as you buried your face in the pillow.

“Glad to see you approve, darling.”

In the next breath, he slammed forward and yanked you back simultaneously. You were immensely grateful that he had taken the time to prep you as he sunk in, inch by inch, stretching you open like none ever had before. A wicked thrill sent a tremor through your body as you realized you could feel each and every ridge as it pushed into you.

When his hips finally came to a stop against yours, the noise he let out had your hair standing on end. Animalistic, inhuman, primal. You wanted to hear it time and time again.

He finally started rocking his hips, taking his time with deliciously languid strokes, until you begged him for more. It was with a cruel laugh that he gave into your desires.

“Oh fuck!” you whined, fingers snarling in the blankets for balance.

There was no more hesitation in his movements, gentleness abandoned in exchange for all-out fucking you in a way that made your toes curl and tears fill your eyes.

“You are so fucking wet,” he snarled out between breaths, “Taking me so well.”

A noise of agreement escaped your lips as you arched back to meet his thrusts. You couldn’t form words even if you wanted to, too focused on the raging storm brewing in your core.

Pain blossomed through your hip as one of his hands squeezed tighter, his growls and panting growing in volume to rival your cries, while the other found your hair and yanked your head back. Your body reacted instinctively, clenching down hard around him and startling a moan from you both.

“You feel so good! You going to come for me, pet?”

Reaching back, your hand found his and your nails found purchase, returning a sliver of the savage pain he bestowed upon you. All the while you bounced back harder on his cock, chasing the edge that was just out of reach. The tendrils between your thighs suddenly came back to life once more, their cool touch contrasting so perfectly with the heat of your bodies as they swirled around your clit in time with his thrusts.

“A-Ah! Dark, yes, pleeaaasse! Fuck- Fuck!”

“That’s it. That’s my good girl. Come for me and let me claim you, pet.

As if mimicking the hold on your hip, another tendril slithered up your back and encircled your throat. The unexpected pressure elicited a tantalizing response, your body suddenly feeling both free and trapped in the best of ways as he bound you to him

“Mine. All mine. My filthy little slutty human whore.”

Something in your psyche broke at those words and ecstasy rushed forward like a tidal wave. Every inch of your body trembled with pleasure as you screamed his name, voice cracking under the duress of it all. You could feel the proof of your indulgence dripping down your inner thighs, the sounds of your debauched pleasure growing louder with every slap of his hips against yours.

“Fucking hell!” Dark bit out harshly, “Good girl. Good fucking slut. Who do you belong to?! Say it!”

“You! Only you, Dark! O-Ooh, f-ffu-fuck!”

With inhuman speed, he slammed into you, over and over until the smack of your bodies was almost continuous. His choked roar filtered through your senses but it was was easily washed away with your second climax teetering on the edge. There was a sudden torrential shift of energy, pulsing eerie screeches filling the room as his voice echoed off the walls when he finally buried himself as far as possible inside of you. Any pain was quickly washed away by the thunderous roll of pleasure brought on by the touch of his tendrils mixed with the throb of his cock releasing deep in your cunt. Claws trailed down your spine as he practically purred your name, leaving behind five raw lines that stung under the combined sweat of your bodies, and somehow you found yourself okay with it; loved it, in fact, knowing that his marks would be on you for quite some time.

Quaking with bliss and exhaustion, you collapsed to the bed the instant he slipped out of your core and let out a little delighted whimper. You reached out blindly for him and were appeased when he laid down beside you, pulling you against him so your face was resting on his chest.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” you murmured, fingers tracing up and down the little scar in his abdomen, “It goes without saying but that was fucking phenomenal, so thank you.”

Your head bobbed up and down with his laughter and you couldn’t help the grin that turned up your lips in return.

“I have to say I’m in agreement, pet,” he hummed back, “It’s been far too long since I’ve been able to let go in such a way.”

With a hand on your bicep and the arm under your head, he pulled you up and shifted you over his hips until you were perched on quaking knees. You almost questioned him but were silenced when he leaned up and captured your lips in a stinging kiss. It started out rough and slowly devolved into a passionate tangle of tongues.

It wasn’t until he pulled back for a breath that the reality of what was to happen started to sink in; the serotonin in your veins being replaced with anxiety.

“So, does this mean I die now? You have to take my soul, right?” you asked softly, “Since I made my last wish?”

“Hmm? I never heard you make a wish, pet,” he replied as he stretched back languidly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you let your confused expression convey your thoughts as one of his hands began to travel down your curves.

“But I asked-”

Your words were cut off by your own gasp when you felt his cock rising between your thighs. Wide-eyed and warm-faced, you gaped at him in shock. Apparently, a very short cool down period was also a demon perk?!

He smirked at your awe as a thumb traced your lower lip seductively.

“You asked and I gave freely,” he explained, fingers dipping to trace sharp claws along your throat, “You still have one wish remaining. Although, I’d suggest you save it for later. I feel like we have much more important things to attend at the moment, darling.”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (2) || atz

“All the dried fruit has been accounted for.”

You fight down the yelp that had almost left your mouth, trying to quieten your breathing as much as possible. Two men, from the sound of their voices, are inspecting the food stocks. You’re going to be found.

“How much salted fish?” The deeper, lower voice you heard giving commands earlier asks his partner, and you pick up the sound of a pen scratching across paper.

“Enough to last us two weeks, if Jongho doesn’t eat them all by the first.” The second voice, softer and gentler, quips and they both share a laugh.

“That kind smile hides a darker mind beneath, Seonghwa-hyung.” The speaker with the deeper voice comments with a rolling chuckle. You’re still frozen in fear as they continue to take inventory, but them finding you is inevitable.

“How much alcohol did we get?” The person she assumes to be Seonghwa asks and you hear the sound of barrels shifting. “San needs some of it to treat the wounded.”

“Enough rum to last us till Tortuga and some wine and beer on the side.” His partner replied, writing some more things down. “I’m sure we can spare a barrel or two, not many of them got injured.”

“That’s a relief.” You can hear the worry leave Seonghwa’s voice, but your panic levels are jumping as you hear them move ever closer to you. “I heard Yunho didn’t have a scratch on him.”

“Neither did Jongho.” The other man snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already down here, chomping his way through the apples. Look, the sacking fell. I’ll get it.”

And suddenly the sackcloth is pulled away from your head.

You don’t have time to think. Lunging forward, you headbutt the man who removed the sackcloth from you in the face and you hear him let out a howl of pain, letting go of the sacking to clutch his bleeding nose. Your eyes dart around desperately for an escape route, but before you can move, someone slams you against the wall, the tip of a razor sharp knife pressed to your throat.

“Don’t move.” It’s the softer man, Seonghwa, although his grey eyes are hard as stone now. You can’t look away, transfixed, and he continues to speak, eyes never leaving yours. “Mingi, you alright?”

The man he addresses has a long, face with strong, defined features and narrowed eyes, tiny braids done in his cerulean blue hair. He’s tall, taller than you by about a head. He gives you a resentful scowl. “I think he broke my nose.” The words come out thickly as the man you now know to be Mingi cups both hands over his face, trying to stem the flow of blood.

Then it hits you.

He?

It’s true you’re not especially curvy and your chest has been bound by strips of cloth, but you didn’t expect to fool people so easily.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to choke out. Seonghwa and Mingi exchange surreptitious glances.

“You should get San to look at that, Mingi.” Seonghwa advises, worry written all over his face. Mingi nods wearily, blood falling through the cracks in his fingers and staining the ground.

“Let’s get this kid to Hongjoong-hyung first.” The taller man sighs, grabbing you by the shoulder with a bloody hand and pushing you towards the stairs you had tumbled down from. Pain lances up your ankle, but you steel yourself and step on it anyway.

It’s excruciating, but you don’t dare to show any weakness. They might toss you overboard. Or feed you to the sharks. You don’t know and you really don’t want to find out.

You bite on the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, but you manage to make it onto the main deck. Many faces turn and look upon you with surprise, then they see Mingi bleeding from the nose and their expressions turn threatening. One even draws his sword.

You flinch back into Seonghwa, who steadies you by the shoulders, while Mingi addresses the crew.

“I’m fine!” He shouts through his bloody nose, which obviously isn’t fine. “Everyone back to work, please.”

There’s a disconcerting silence as if they’re still planning on how to kill you in every way possible, but they eventually turn back to their work cleaning the cannons and securing the sheets. Mingi turns back to you.

“This way.” He says gruffly, pulling you up another flight of stairs, Seonghwa at the rear. You bite back another whimper of pain, but Seonghwa hears it.

On the quarter deck, you catch sight of a man at the wheel. He’s young, almost your age, dressed all in red with patchwork black pants. His ash blonde hair falls into his eyes and the back is done in a neat mullet. But the most eye catching thing about him is the black eye patch he has over his right eye, the confidence he stands with despite his age and how he’s steering the ship as if the oceans bow at his feet.

Something in him calls out to you.

“Hongjoong-ah, we found a stowaway in the cargo hold.” Seonghwa calls over you shoulder as Mingi forces you to your knees. The man at the wheel doesn’t take his eye off the sea for a moment, pulling a length of rope from around his waist and lashing the wheel in position. Only then does he turn around.

“Mingi, take the helm- What happened to you, Mingi?” The helmsman’s voice is almost an entire octave higher than Mingi’s, almost too cute to be a pirate’s. His eyes rake over the bloody nose on Mingi’s face, before his expression settles into a frown.

“Got headbutted by our stowaway here.” Mingi jerks a thumb at your face and Hongjoong’s one eye follows it down, coming to rest on you. His fingers dance on the hilt of one of the two cutlasses hanging at his hip.

You gulp. “I said I was sorry.” You mutter under your breath.

Hongjoong’s eye drills into you, a calm, unbothered smile on his face that terrifies you more than if he were furious. “Well, I guess I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” The side of his lips pull up in a smirk. “This ship is the Treasure and we’re the pirate band ATEEZ. I’m Kim Hongjoong, the helmsman and captain of this ship.”

At that, your mouth falls open. This man can’t be any more than twenty two, but he’s the captain? Hongjoong nods at the dumbstruck expression on your face, the chilling smile never leaving his face. “What about you, Royal Navy scum?”

Seonghwa and Mingi’s expressions change to shock in seconds and Seonghwa even begins to draw that wicked long kitchen knife from his belt.

You pause at that. “Royal Navy?” Your lips pull downwards in a frown. What is the Royal Navy?

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Hongjoong’s not smiling now and you feel the air drop several degrees. Your teeth want to start chattering but you force a terrified smile on your face. Hongjoong’s eyebrows lower into a frown.

“The coat you are wearing is of Royal Navy make. An officer’s, I might add. It may be beaten and torn up, but I’d recognize that rose insignia anywhere.” He jerks his chin at the red patches on the shoulders. Sure enough, you can see the rose stitched into the fabric. “So what is your purpose here? If you answer truthfully I might simply shoot you instead of having you flogged to death.”

He doesn't sound like he's joking.

Goosebumps race along your skin and you know that your face has drained of colour. You don’t even remember your own name, how are you supposed to remember where you got this stupid coat? So you start rambling.

“Okay actually I just woke up this morning in the prison of the town you guys just looted like a while ago and I kind of don’t remember how I got there so like they were talking about bringing me to the gallows for some kind of public hanging and I don’t really know why they wanted to hang me so when you attacked I just tried to escape and ended up in the harbor so I ran up the first ship I saw which was your ship and tried to get away from the fighting so I went into the cargo hold and fell asleep there so yeah.”

There's a pause.

“What?” Mingi blinks. You open your mouth to repeat it when Hongjoong holds up a hand. You close your mouth with a clop.

“Seonghwa, go help San take care of the wounded.” He orders and Mingi stiffens as if they’ve breached some kind of taboo conversation topic. The other man visibly relaxes and exhales shakily, nodding. “Yes, captain.” Then he turns around and makes his way down to the main deck.

Hongjoong turns back to you with a calm gaze. “So, according to you, you can’t remember why they would throw a Royal navy officer such as yourself into prison?”

“I’m not a Royal Navy officer.” You retort with a scowl, meeting his gaze angrily. When he raises an eyebrow, you catch yourself, swallow and lower your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Well this is certainly the most interesting story we’ve heard from a captured Royal Navy officer, haven’t we, Mingi?” Hongjoong muses to himself, running his tongue across his lips. Mingi nods apathetically.

“He’s also the youngest.” The quartermaster adds on to the back unhelpfully.

“Tell me, what exactly did you intend to do after escaping onto my ship?” He leans back with a smile, as if expecting some silly answer. You don’t have any smart ones, so you answer honestly.

“I really wasn’t thinking that far.”

Sighing dramatically at your lackluster answer, Hongjoong nods again. His one eye is a vivid green, like a poisonous snake’s that could sink its fangs into you at any moment. He seems to be contemplating something. Then he lifts your chin with a finger so that you meet his eyes even as you try to squirm away.

“Well then, Mister I’m-Not- A-Royal-Navy-Officer.” The young captain wears that same chilling smile again, and it doesn’t make you feel any better. “How about this? We’ll tie you to the mainmast so everyone can keep watch over you and we’ll feed you enough to survive, but the moment we stop at Tortuga, I’m tossing you onto shore. If I find out that you’re one of the Royal Navy swine at any moment...”

There’s a click and suddenly there’s a musket pointed at your temple. Your body seizes up in rapid panic, blood freezing over in your veins. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“I’ll gut you like a stuck pig.” His voice is warm and smooth, right next to your ear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until he steps back, holstering the musket in his belt with an amused smile on his face. “I’d shoot you for breaking Mingi’s nose like that, but I suppose that it won’t matter if I’m going to kill you in the end anyway. Mingi, secure the boy to the mainmast and make sure not a single man on board touches him, then get San to look at your nose.”

“I got it.” Mingi sounds almost annoyed at being babied with the repeated advice, but Hongjoong just laughs.

“I’m interested to see how long you can keep this facade up, pretty boy. Don’t worry about anything.” Hongjoong’s grin is terrifying, wild like the raging sea as he strides back to the wheel, boots clicking on the deck.

“When it finally breaks, I’ll be the one to end it all for you.”

That’s the last thing you hear before Mingi marches you down to the main deck.

You’re still freezing from the chilling encounter with the young pirate captain as Mingi pushes you towards the main mast. Even the pain in your ankle doesn’t seem to compare with the numbing terror of Hongjoong’s threat. You slump in shock against the main mast as Mingi looks upwards into the rigging.

“Yunho-ah, toss me some rope!”

Seconds later, a coil of rope slithers down the mast and Mingi wraps it around your upper torso securing your arms and torso to the mast. It’s loose enough not to cut off the circulation in your arms, but tight enough to ensure you won’t be going anywhere. And honestly, where can you go? As far as the eye can see, it’s all ocean.

You thought that escaping the gallows had been a smart move. Now it seems like you threw yourself from the frying pan into the flames.

Go home, the voice in your head whispers. You tell it to shut up savagely.

Mingi finally announces to everyone that they are not to make eye contact with you, speak to you, or have any form of interaction with you as he finishes off with several skillful knots at the back.

“That includes physical contact like beating or throwing things at him.” Mingi adds on and there’s a collective sigh of disappointment from the crew.

“You sure, quartermaster?” One of the men at the cannons pulls out his musket. “An eye for an eye, he did make you bleed!”

The rest of the crew shouts agreement, but Mingi shakes his head firmly.

“We’re pirates, not barbarians.” He chides, wiping his nose once more. The blood flow seems to have slowed to a steady trickle at least. “It’s my fault for being unprepared. Besides, these are Hongjoong’s orders. Any of you want to answer to captain?”

“Absolutely not!” The crewman declares and the deck breaks out in carefree laughter. Mingi gives a tiny smile as he straightens up from tying your bonds.

Something in your chest tugs painfully.

“Well then, don’t get me into trouble with captain.” He waves them back to their work and they do so cheerfully, all the tension in the air gone. Then Mingi turns back to you with a stern scowl.

“From what you can see, the crew isn’t exactly happy with you.” He gestures at the deck with one of his long arms. “I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to make it to Tortuga alive.”

And then he turns and leaves you alone with your thoughts, a lonely stranger on a foreign ship.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Jungkook

When your vampire boyfriend admits that he doesn’t know what he looks like, you’re completely flabbergasted. I mean, it makes sense, he doesn’t have a reflection. But you’ve never thought about how he just hasn’t ever seen himself-not in a mirror, or a picture, or even a passing car window. And suddenly, you have an important mission-though you’re no artist, not by any means-you’re determined to draw him as you see him. So he can see himself for once, even if it’s just through your eyes. 

Tags: BTS. Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Fluff, Vampire!BTS, Vampire AU, Vampire!Bangtan, Boyfriend AU, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Jeon Jungkook, Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook x you, Jungkook x you, Jeon Jungkook x reader, Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff

Title: Through Your Eyes

“Wait, wait, wait.” You sit up, eyes wide, mouth still open, voice laced with honest and shocked surprise. You glance down at the boy still lying on the living room floor beside you, watching you with a slightly amused expression on his beautiful features, and cannot believe you head him right. “So you really honestly have no idea what you look like.” 

Jungkook shrugs casually, as if it’s no big deal. “Nope.” 

But it is a big deal. 

“So you’re telling me-” You cross your legs beneath you and stare down at him hard, trying to compute what he’s telling you and how he’s so relaxed about it all. “You’ve gone your whole life never seeing yourself.” 

“Correct.” Jungkook does that cute, quick little nod of his head that you love, the one that purses his full lips and sends his dark hair bouncing into his caramel eyes. “Vampires don’t have reflections, babe.” He grins at you, the smile lighting up his face, as if he wants to laugh that you haven’t realized this and put two and two together. 

“I know, I know.” You wave your hand in an agitated motion. “I’ve heard that. I know that. But-” You stop for a minute, brows furrowed and lips pursed as you continue to mull over what your boyfriend has just told you. “I’ve just never actually thought about what that meant.” 

Jungkook sits up beside you now, a slight smile still curling his pink lips, and mirrors your position, crossing longs beneath him as he faces you, reaching out to take your hands in his own as he squeezes your fingers reassuringly. “It’s fine, babe. It’s not a big deal. I’ve never been curious enough to care.” 

You cannot believe him. 

Not wanting to know what you look like? Impossible. 

And yeah, maybe you care a little bit too much about what others think about you, but still, Jungkook is being way too nonchalant about this. Right? 

“But you’re so pretty.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, admiring the way his black hair falls across his forehead, the perfect flow of his flawless tan skin across his bone structure, the contrast of his white straight teeth and pointed fangs against the rose, plump skin of his lips. 

“Ahhhh, babe.” Jungkook replies teasingly, reaching out to poke the end of your nose with his pointer finger, as he flashes you another white, blinding grin. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“Shut up. This is important.” You snap back, and he tries to hide the smile behind a dramatic serious expression that has you fighting back your own desire to giggle and grin. 

A light bulb clicks on in your brain, and has you scrambling to your feet, leaving Jungkook looking after you with a slightly surprised expression on his beautiful face, as you dart down the hall to the bedroom, calling over your shoulder, “Hold on. Stay right there.” 

You reemerge a moment later, a notebook and pen clutched in your hand, and settle back onto the floor facing him, movements determined and focused as you whip open the book to a clean page of paper and click the pen into a ready position. 

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, thoroughly bewildered. 

“Shhh.” You hush him, and reach out to take his chin in your fingers, positioning his head in such a way that it’s easier to see all his features in the sunlight coming in through the apartment window. “Hold still. Don’t talk. Don’t move.” 

Your boyfriend does as he’s told, clamping his jaw closed and sitting as still as possible. 

There is silence in the room for what feels like hours, as you attentively focus on the page before you, swirling the pen across the blank canvas, and only sometimes glancing back up to your muse before you resume your work. 

Jungkook-to his credit-doesn’t ask anymore questions, and is actually a pretty good model-remaining in the same position-until you finally click the pen closed and sit back with a sigh. 

“Done.” You announce, hiding the page from his view, as you glance once more over your labor of love. 

You’re not an artist-not by any means-but as you let your eyes flick from the page to the boy in front of you, even you have to admit, you didn’t do a half bad job. 

The drawing on the page is most definitely one Jeon Jungkook

“Shit, I thought my jaw was gonna clench up if I had to sit still for one more minute.” Jungkook lets the words explode from his mouth as he releases the breath he had been holding, reaching up to massage along his sharp jawline with his fingertips. “Are you gonna tell me what that was all about?” 

“You’ve never seen yourself.” You say mysteriously, and bite back a smile as Jungkook rolls his eyes in a good natured sort of way at your vague statement. 

“Right.” He leans back on his hands and stares at you, one dark brow raised in your direction in an obvious expression of bemused exasperation. “We’ve established that.” 

“So-” You glance down at the paper once more, held close to your chest, before you sigh and push it in his direction. “I wanted to draw you. So you can see yourself. At least once. Even if it’s just through my badly rendered impression.” 

Jungkook’s large eyes widen even further if possible as surprise flashes across his face, long fingers brushing yours as he reaches out to take the shyly offered piece of paper. His mouth parts slightly-revealing the sharp tips of his fangs-as if he wants to say something, but can’t think of the words, so he simply lets his gaze drop to the drawing instead. 

You watch him carefully, feeling your cheeks flush slightly, as he intensely studies your caricature in pregnant silence, dark eyes sweeping slowly and meticulously over each detail. 

The large, doe eyes-almond shaped and rimmed with dark lashes-that you love so much, because you can see every emotion he’s ever felt swirling within the black of the blown pupil-as if they’re a window to his heart and soul. 

The perfect slope of his nose that ends just above his full, plush, pink lips-the same lips that part to reveal white, gleaming teeth. 

The same teeth that are one of your favorite parts of him, because when he smiles, they push forward like an adorable bunny, a testament to his happiness and the joy he feels in any given moment. 

The dark, thick hair that falls across his forehead like he has been sculpted by marble-soft and shiny and so fluffy that you always want to have your fingers buried in it-only slightly softening the sharp angles of his high cheekbones and knife like jawline. 

Your heart is pounding now, because it’s been several moments of silence, and you’re worried suddenly that Jungkook thinks you’re crazy, drawing him in such a way that clearly and loudly screams Hey, I’m insanely in love with you!

“Do you-” You start to say, and your words stutter to a halt, because he looks up at you sharply, as if he’d forgotten you were there. You force yourself to continue, swallowing hard. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, and the word is muted, as if he can’t quite get it to leave the tip of his tongue. He glances down once more at the paper held carefully in his hands. “Do you really see me like this?” 

“I mean-” Your cheeks flush hot and red, and you flick your gaze away from his own as he meets your eyes once more. “I did my best to be accurate but I’m not an artist and I’m not sure if I did a good job-” 

“(Y/N).” 

Your eyes startle upward to his at the serious use of your first name, and it is so rare for him to say it, that you have to remind yourself to breathe as your eyes meet his own dark, unreadable ones, fingers twisting nervously in your lap. 

“Yes?” 

He cocks a brow at you, and holds up the drawing, and you can barely bring yourself to look at it now. “I didn’t ask if this is accurate. I asked if this is really how you see me.” 

“I-” You try to think of how you can play it off, how you can make it into a joke, but the way he’s looking at you makes you answer simply and honestly. “Yes.” 

There is another brief pause in between the two of you-as if the world is holding its breath-and you know, you just know in your gut, that Jungkook is going to call you out, going to acknowledge the fact that the drawing-still held in his hand-lays bare all of your unsaid feelings for him. 

But instead, his eyes crinkle, and his lips part, and his bunny teeth emerge in a large grin, as he glances once more at the picture, before saying lightly, “Wow. I really am pretty.” 

You laugh-and it’s breathless and slightly relieved-and nod. “See. I told you.” 

Jungkook stands, reaching out his free hand to help you up off the floor. “I love it. Thanks, babe.” He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, and you let yourself relax into him for just a second, content in that moment, that he knows everything now, including what he looks like. 

“You can throw that away.” You say shyly, cheeks still warm, as you glance down at the paper still held in his other hand. 

“Are you kidding me?” Jungkook glances over at you with wide eyes. “This is the only portrait I’ll ever have of myself.” He tugs you toward the door, already reaching for the car keys where they hang on the wall. “Shit, we’re going to Hobby Lobby right now to get this masterpiece framed. I’m gonna hang it on the wall in our bedroom.” 

You laugh and he shoots you that adorable grin you love, all front teeth and fangs, and you’re giddy almost, with the fact that Jungkook seems to be happy with the fact that he has now finally seen himself. 

Even if only through your eyes, and the love that lives there. 

[johaerys-writes]

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania  Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 5: Draw, is up! Where Alucard is trying hard to mind his own business (really, he’s trying so hard), but he absolutely cannot do that when Trevor invites him to a duel. A friendly one *wink wink*

Read on AO3! Read from the beginning

“Just do me a favour, will you, Alucard?”

The dhampir lets out a slow, exasperated breath. “What would that be, pray tell?”

Trevor turns to glance at Alucard over his shoulder. He is standing at the far end of the large, circular room that serves as his training room. It is filled with weapon stands, heavy with blades of every possible length, width and shape. Many of them Trevor knows of or has used at some point or other— epees, rapiers, bastard swords, greatswords, halberds and spears. Others, he has only seen in books, like the wide, flat blade that curves at the end, that’s hanging from a peg on the wall. Some of them he has never even beheld before, like that spear with the ivory-worked handle, sporting blades at both ends.

Now that is a weapon Trevor would very much like to use on that tall stickler of a man who is regarding him with thinly veiled contempt from across the room.

The pale grey morning light streaming in through the window illuminates  Alucard's sharp features, casts dark shadows around his eyes, catches in the highlights in his golden hair. Alucard is gazing at him with a look of infinite boredom and forced patience, but underneath it all Trevor can see a faint twinkle of amusement.

“None of your little floating tricks, if you don't mind," Trevor says as he turns to face him. "They’re a bit unnerving.”

Alucard quirks a brow. “Unnerved so easily, Belmont? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Do whatever you like with that information, just please. No flying around, or floating above the ground. I’d hate to see you falling from a great height after I kick your arse.”

Alucard clicks his tongue in disgust and rolls his eyes, and Trevor grins. There. That’s the spirit. Anything but that ice cold facade he’s been putting on ever since he and Sypha have stepped foot in that castle. Trevor knows there’s something there, underneath the surface, and he’s determined to pull it out of him.

“Are you quite done boasting, Belmont? Or are you planning on ending me with terrible jokes? I have to say, it’s working. I’m feeling rather faint.” He flicks his finger ever so slightly, and one of the swords that are hanging from a peg on the wall slides from its scabbard, flying directly into Alucard’s hand.

The sword in Trevor’s own hand, the one that Alucard gave him as soon as they walked in, is an unfamiliar weight. He slashes at the air a couple times, the blade hissing. It is a good sword, all things considered: freshly whetted and oiled, expertly balanced. Not as good as his own, of course, which is lying in its scabbard in his room, but good enough. Alucard is an irritating prick, but he does have a good eye for swords. Trevor was a bit surprised at first that Alucard gave him a sword that’s good enough to match his own, but he knows now that he shouldn’t have been. Alucard would never have given Trevor a sword that would have been less than a match for his own. If there’s one man that appreciates a challenge, an opportunity to show off how skilled he is, how smooth and how graceful, to have his flowy hair ripple as he moves, and his coat flutter in his wake, and perhaps even break out a bit of a sweat, just for the hell of it, just to make a fine performance out of it all, then who else other than bloody Alucard himself?

“That’s a nice sword you gave me,” Trevor remarks, pointedly ignoring Alucard’s earlier comment. “Did you polish it yourself? It’s very well done. Is that how you spend your time these days? Polishing swords?”

“I understand your powers of observation are… disappointing at best,” the other man replies acridly as he gets into position, body melting to the side, “but have you seen anyone else in this castle, all the while you’ve been here?”

Yes. The people hanging out on stakes by your front door, Trevor thinks. The question is right at the tip of his tongue, but Trevor holds it back. For all intents and purposes, Alucard behaves as if they don’t even exist. It’s a mystery if Trevor ever saw any; and he does not like mysteries he cannot solve. But Alucard is reticent, more reticent than he remembers. Unpredictable. Trevor still isn't sure whether he's the same person he and Sypha left behind. One wrong move, and they might both find themselves in trouble. It's best, he decides, if he takes things slow. Test him out a bit. Push him, just the right way.

Trevor gives him a small smile. “Not really, no. But one can never know with you vampires.”

Alucard’s eyes flash with indignation, but it’s quickly reined in as he takes a step forward, his sword singing in the air. Trevor brandishes his own weapon, his body melting in a defensive stance. The wound nips just a little under the bandage; he will have to be careful.

He lifts his sword when Alucard lunges for him. Their blades clash, small sparks flying when the metals collide. Alucard is fast— too fast for Trevor to fully engage him in his condition, but this is supposed to be a friendly training session, anyway. He immerses himself into the rhythm of the fight, getting a bit of satisfaction every time he swerves past Alucard’s attacks. He smiles when he sees the tiny flickers of frustration in the dhampir’s eyes, the pinch of concentration in his features. Even in his current state, he’s more than a challenging opponent.

Alucard falls back for a bit, letting him catch his breath. He swings his blade to the side, rolling his wrist to relax it. “You think you know so much about vampires?” he asks idly. There is a bit of an edge to his voice, and it’s lower than usual.

“I know that I’ve killed a good deal of them,” Trevor says. His pulse is thrumming in his throat, and he can feel the pleasant buzz of exertion already. “They’re an irritating lot, to say the least. Don’t you think?”

Alucard isn't looking at him. His features are calm, but Trevor can see the tension climbing up his shoulders underneath his snug-fitting coat, the tendons in his pale neck. “I think,” he says, “that people make a lot of assumptions about vampires. Some of them are true. Some are not.”

“So they’re not… irritating?” Trevor asks with feigned puzzlement, squinting at him. “Judging by you, I’d say they’re really bloody annoying. So much pomp and circumstance, and not much substance underneath.”

“Perhaps that’s just my human side showing,” Alucard says. “Have you ever stopped to consider that?”

Before Trevor has time to respond to that, Alucard lunges at him, aiming for his sides. Trevor evades the blow, stepping away, but only by a hair. He slashes at him, and misses, again and again. Now that he’s fully warmed up, Alucard is quick and agile, and Trevor is still weak from his injury. It’s perfectly clear that Alucard has not been idle while they’ve been away.

“Human?" Trevor pants, grinning. "Please. My horse is more human than you are.”

“Is that the ‘thank you’ I get for helping save your life? How lovely. I could have just left you outside, you know.” The dhampir floats backwards, regarding him with detached amusement and something -almost- sad.

“Hey. I told you: none of that floating business, yeah? One thing. I ask for one tiny, simple thing—” Trevor sighs and threads his fingers through his hair, scratching his head, then lets his hand fall. “Alright. You got me. Perhaps... I should have started with that.”

“With what?”

“With the ‘thank you’.”

Alucard tilts his head to the side. “For…?”

"For saving my life," Trevor groans and rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Alucard. Much obliged. You probably didn’t have to, but you did it anyway. You could have left me to bleed out on your front door, but you did not. How very kind, how noble, how magnanimous of you.” He gives him a sweeping bow, with a hand flourish. “I am entirely in your debt. Or, well, perhaps I would have been, had I not literally saved your sorry hide a few times myself, but who’s talking about that, right? It’s all ‘Alucard this’, and ‘Alucard that’, and ‘oh, look at me, I’m so pretty with my hair flowing all over the place, and so serious and broody, and I like to wear my shirts open to my navel because I’m just so sophisticated, it’s practically oozing out of me, and’—" Trevor stops when he notices Alucard's eyes widening in shock. "Oh, sorry. Did you want to say something?”  

Alucard gapes at him for a moment. The quiet laughter he lets out is sudden, a bit startled. He seems more surprised at the sound of it than anything, as he blinks at Trevor. “That was… that was quite a performance. I didn’t know you had it in you, Belmont.”

“Is my gratitude accepted, then? Sypha will probably kill me if it’s not.”

"Did... Sypha ask you to thank me?"

"You know how she is. She wanted to make sure you know we're both grateful."

Alucard’s throat bobs as he swallows. He looks very uncomfortable all of a sudden, out of place. "Oh."

“What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Trevor asks. He brings his sword up, the edge of the blade glimmering between his eyes. “Will I have to beat an answer out of you?”

A huffed laugh escapes Alucard's lips. "If you can." His eyes flash red, then he disappears.

Trevor rolls his eyes. "I said: no vampire tricks." He spins on his heel, searching for him in the shadows that stretch around him. A whisper of fabric behind him— and Trevor brings his sword up only a blink of an eye before Alucard’s blade collides with his. He grits his teeth, holding the sword steady. Alucard has gotten closer to him than he would have liked. They are now staring at each other, the blades trembling between them.

“I’m not used to others being grateful for what I do,” Alucard says. His hand that is holding the sword is shaking, but his voice is flat like a cool, still lake. “If it was one of your tactics to get me off my guard, it worked.”

“Tactics? Oh, no,” Trevor grunts, giving him a toothy smile. “It’s the infamous Belmont upbringing you so like to sneer at.”

Alucard lets out a small harrumph, and the breath that brushes Trevor’s cheek smells faintly of almonds, a hint of clove. “I’m not used to being called pretty, either.”

Now it is Trevor’s turn to gape. He blinks at the dhampir, and if it weren’t for his sharp reflexes, he would have lost his balance. “That wasn’t— that— It was just a figure of speech.” He narrows his eyes, just to preserve some of his dignity while warmth is creeping up his cheeks. “Please don’t let it go to your head. You’re insufferable as it is.”

Alucard quirks a brow, and the look he gives him is more piercing than one of Sypha’s ice bolts. “Hm.” The pressure from Trevor’s blade eases away as Alucard steps back, floating out of his reach.  

“Jesus,” Trevor grunts, ignoring the light pain in his sides as he straightens, “how many times do I have to say it? No vampire— oh, fuck it.” He lunges forward, slashing at Alucard as quickly as he can, in a flurry of quick strikes. One of them manages to graze Alucard’s shoulder, another tears slightly at the fabric of his shirt. The thrill of those small victories rushes through Trevor, and he grins in triumph as he starts gaining ground. He’s still careful to keep his strikes light, though, to simply graze and not to wound. This is only a friendly bout, after all. “You’re lucky I don’t have my whip with me.”

A soft, throaty laugh echoes in his ears. Alucard’s eyes flash red, then he disappears again.

“Ah, damn you,” Trevor grunts, glancing about him. He will never get used to this.  

The brush of air against the side of his face is the only sign betraying Alucard’s presence, before he strikes in earnest. Their swords clash, the din of steel meeting steel filling the room. There is a strange vivacity in Alucard’s gaze, a sort of joy, a hint of a blush staining his cheeks. A part of his mind, the one that isn’t fully absorbed in the exhilaration of their fight, finds that almost… endearing.

The wound tugs at Trevor underneath the bandage, and he can’t help the sharp hiss that escapes him when he rolls out of the way of one of Alucard’s attacks. He tilts forward without meaning to, and presses his palm to his sides.

“Fuck,” Trevor breathes, wincing.

Alucard's blade stops only a few inches away from Trevor before he drops it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and for a split second, Trevor thinks he sees genuine worry in his gaze, underneath his icy facade.

It startles Trevor, but only for a moment. He takes the opportunity and dashes for him. Their blades clash with a sharp, high-pitched clang that echoes through the large room. Trevor grins when his swift attack presses Alucard back.

“Never let your guard down,” he says with a smirk.

Alucard recovers quickly, much more quickly than Trevor expects. His surprise melts into a frown of determination, brows drawn together in utmost concentration. The bastard parries his blows like he’s meant for it; it’s not long before beads of sweat start arcing down Trevor’s brow. He had forgotten how quick Alucard’s reflexes are. If Trevor weren’t in such bad form, and if he had his whip as well as his sword, their odds would have been far more even, but as it is, he's barely holding his own.

He growls in frustration when, after a daring move that got him close enough to graze the dhampir’s cheek, his sword is knocked out of his hands.

Alucard smiles, a flash of sharp white teeth behind pale rose lips. It’s friendly enough, yet it still manages to look threatening. Trevor can only gaze at him in defiance, nostrils flaring as he pants, when the tip of Alucard’s blade is pressed under his chin.

“What’s wrong, Belmont? No more tricks up your sleeve?”

“There’s a few that come to mind.”

Alucard quirks a brow at him. “I do hope it isn’t another kick in the balls. We both know how well that went last time you tried it.”

Trevor huffs a laugh. “Nope. I tend to learn from my mistakes.” His gaze never leaves Alucard face as he reaches into his coat pocket. As expected, Alucard’s eyes flick towards the motion, pupils widening like a hunting cat’s. With his attention diverted, Trevor ducks to the side, escaping the sharp edges of the blade under his chin, then kicks Alucard’s feet from under him. The dhampir falls back with a surprised huff, and, before he can move or fly away, Trevor pins him to the ground, one hand holding his wrist down, the other pressing the tip of the dagger that was hidden in his sleeve against his heart. “You, however, do not.”

Alucard glares up at him, unblinking. He is completely still in Trevor’s hold, unnaturally so, not even a muscle moving. His hair is spread like a golden halo around his head, his skin gleaming bone white against the dark stone floor beneath him.

“You know I could still teleport and stab you in the back. Yes?” His voice is slow, his tone flat, not an inkling of emotion showing. It sends a slight shiver down Trevor’s spine.

“I suppose so. But you won’t. Because that would be cheating, and you don't do that, right?” Trevor lets the corners of his lips curl in a smug smile as he leans forward, holding the dhampir’s gaze. “I believe that means I am the victor of this match.”

Alucard’s gaze never leaves Trevor’s. From this close, Trevor can see the flecks in Alucard’s eyes, different shades of gold glittering in the light trickling through the high windows, the thin crease between his eyebrows, the tension at the corners of his lips. Alucard is holding his breath, it seems, his chest barely moving under Trevor’s blade.

Something bright, something feral flashes in Alucard’s eyes before he surges up.

Trevor freezes when their lips meet. For a moment —a brief one, a blink of an eye— he’s sure his heart has stopped beating, yet it’s not long before he can feel his pulse in his throat.

If he could move, he would have pinched himself, because this is surely not happening. Alucard’s lips are on his own. Alucard's lips, on his lips. They are slightly cold to the touch, but not by much. Soft. Softer even than Sypha’s, which are often chapped. His skin smells of almonds, of berries, a hint of woodsmoke.

A sudden spike of fear rushes through Trevor when he feels the edge of a shortsword pressing against his sides, through the fabric of his tunic.

“How did you put it before, Belmont?” Alucard whispers, edging back. His eyes are blazing with smug satisfaction underneath his fair eyelashes, but there’s also a hint of surprise there, that Trevor suspects matches his own. “‘Never let your guard down’?”

Trevor swallows thickly. They’re not touching anymore, not like before, but Alucard’s mouth is still frustratingly close to his own. “A hell of a cheap trick, that was,” he mumbles, trying as best he can to keep his composure.

“No cheaper than yours, surely.”

Trevor gapes at him for a long moment, unsure what to say. His pulse is still beating in throat; he wonders if Alucard can hear it. He finally lets the dhampir go with a huff and stands up, and the fact that his legs are a little weak now does nothing to lessen his frustration. “I’m still the winner of this match,” he says petulantly, to which Alucard laughs.

“That was most certainly a draw.” Alucard pushes himself up, sliding his shortsword smoothly into the scabbard hidden in his boot. “But you can keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better.”

“You really are one smug, arrogant bastard, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse."

"Always so dramatic,"  Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “With your agreeable disposition? That's hard to believe." He sheaths his own dagger without looking at him, then goes to pick up his sword that was knocked to the far side of the room. He busies himself with returning it to the weapon stand where it belongs, in hopes that the warmth that has crept up his cheeks isn’t too noticeable.

Why is he blushing, anyway? Trevor really isn’t in the best shape today, that’s for certain.

Trevor turns to glance at him over his shoulder. Alucard is boredly brushing the dust off his coat sleeves, thoroughly ignoring him, but Trevor finds himself gaping at him like a fish.

The front of Alucard’s shirt was ripped by one of Trevor’s attacks during their swordfight, but it must have ripped even further with his tumble, leaving his chest and stomach exposed. Deep, criss-crossing scars interrupt the expanse of smooth pale skin, red and angry against its alabaster-like whiteness. They’re not quite as deep as the one in the center of his chest, a souvenir from his fight with his father, but they look no less menacing.

Trevor’s stomach sinks at the sight.

“God,” he breathes. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Alucard glances up at him in curiosity. He freezes when he realises what Trevor is staring at. His spine straightens, his features turning as rigid and cold as ice. “Nothing,” he says, buttoning up his coat with lightning quick motions. “Nothing happened to me.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” Trevor takes a step closer, reaching out to stop his hand. “Who did this to—”

“I said: it’s nothing.” Alucard steps back as if by instinct, out of his reach. His expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts, but the way he avoids Trevor’s gaze has his stomach clenching even further.

This doesn’t seem right. Nothing about this seems right.  

They both linger in tense silence for several moments. It’s Alucard’s magical sword that interrupts the quiet, when it lifts off the floor and slides into its scabbard on its own.

“I would suggest you get some rest,” Alucard says flatly. “Your injury requires it, if your current fighting skills are anything to go by.” He turns around and leaves without a word.

There are several scathing responses that spring to Trevor’s mind, but they all die at the tip of his tongue as he watches Alucard walk away, spine straight and rigid as a plank.

~

When Trevor returns to their room, he finds Sypha curled up on the armchair next to the fireplace, a large leather-bound tome open in her lap. She beams at him when she sees him coming in.

“Well? How did it go?” Her smile falls considerably when she notices Trevor’s expression. “Oh, no. That bad?”

Trevor walks over to the bed and sits down slowly. Sypha is watching him with wide, questioning eyes, and he isn’t quite sure what to tell her.

“I invited him to a duel.”

Sypha’s eyebrows climb up her forehead. “Oh.” She lets the book fall closed and sets it on the low table before her. “Odd way to thank someone for their hospitality, but do go on.”

“It was a friendly one. We were just... practicing, I suppose.”

“Alright. Who won?”

“I did. But then he kissed me.”

“He what? ” Sypha’s eyes widen even more, her mouth falling open on a gasp. “Damn it! I knew I should have been the one to go and speak to him today.”

“What?!”

“What?” At his bewildered stare, she lets out a small laugh. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve never thought of it before.”

Trevor stares at her in affront. “I have not!”

“That makes one of us, then,” she mutters, and it could be Trevor's imagination, but her cheeks get slightly flushed.

“You’ve thought of kissing Alucard?”

“Once or twice. Alright, perhaps a few more times. I mean, he’s gorgeous, right? That's just a fact.” She leans forward on the armchair, setting her chin on her fist. “So, how was it? Is he a good kisser? Did he make the first move, or did you? And what weapons were you using for the duel? I want to know all about it. If I knew you would have got on this well, I would have come to watch.”

Trevor blinks at her, then drags his palm down his face. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,” he groans. He’d forgotten how relaxed Speakers are when it comes to romantic relationships. There’s usually no such thing as strict monogamous relationships in Speaker clans, unless a couple wishes it to be so; members of the clan are free to sleep or flirt with others, and no one bats an eye. Trevor himself isn’t particularly possessive or jealous of Sypha in that way, and he thinks that the Speakers might be doing something right there, but there’s something about the fact that she has thought of kissing Alucard that has this very frustrating blush creeping up his cheeks again.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says hastily. “He did it to distract me so he could win… I didn’t expect it.” He shakes his head, “He drew a knife on me, the sneaky bastard.”

“Oh,” Sypha says, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Well, I still wish I was there to see. Anyway. So, did you talk at all? Did he tell you how he is, how he’s been doing? Did you ask him about the…?” She raises eyebrows in question, tilting her head towards the main entrance.

“No. I didn't get the chance. But…” Trevor frowns as he let his words trail away. A tendril of worry coils in his gut, same as before. “Sypha, there are scars all over him. I don’t know what caused them, but it must have been some sort of magical weapon… or something consecrated. Something that is used specifically against vampires.”

“Consecrated?” Sypha sits up in her chair, her expression darkening. “Like the ones you have?”

“Must be. Anything else, and those marks would have healed long before.” He rubs the stubble on his chin, taking in a slow breath. “If it was those people out front that did it…”

“Then they were trying to kill him,” Sypha whispers. Her lips tighten in a line, and her brows furrow in thought and worry.

Trevor nods, “Perhaps. Perhaps this is what happened. It could be the reason why he’s been so… so much more ‘Alucard’ than usual.” His frown deepens. “It still doesn’t explain why he mounted them on stakes. It could be that we have it all wrong. We shouldn't jump to any conclusions.”

“Then there’s only one thing for us to do.”

She stands up, and Trevor follows her with his eyes.

“Next time we see him,” she says, that same determination Trevor knows so well burning in her gaze, “we’re doing things my way.”

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Once More, Again” Gen, Reincarnation, Yunmeng Reconciliation, Fluff and Angst, Creepy Frogs, Promises of Cats

__________

The night hunt wasn't supposed to be a big deal at all. A flock of possessed birds had scared a caravan of travelers away from their camps. A simple cleanup job, one that didn't really even need him.

Then one of his disciples comes running up in a barely concealed panic.

"Jiang-zongzhu, we have a... problem."

Coiling up Zidian to return her to her ring shape, Jiang Cheng scowls at the man. "What kind of problem? Is there another flock?"

"Ah- no... it's..."

A loud wail breaks through the trees, the source easily pinpointed as the small, dirty girl one another disciple is gently trying to shush as she guides the child into the clearing.

"That's our problem," the first disciple says, scratching the back of his head. "We found her in what was left of the camp, but none of the caravan members claim her."

"No one at all?"

"They say they have no idea who she is. She doesn't feel like she's connected to the birds, but-"

Scowl deepening, he goes to the child and crouches down. Surprisingly, she stops crying the moment she's aware of his presence. Scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she raises her head to stare at him.

He involuntarily sucks in a sharp breath.

The shape of her jaw and nose, the tilt of her brow, the spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks, those are all different, but looking into bright silver eyes, he knows- he knows it can't be anyone else.

Sniffling quietly, Jiang Yanli reaches for the hem of his sleeve and clutches tight.

Little Meilin has been fed and bathed and safely ensconced in a veritable nest of blankets in the guest room closest to his own before he feels like he can breathe again.

Asleep and smiling, her hair shining from the oil one of the aunties had put in it, she looks like she has been living in Lotus Pier her whole life.

Or like she never left.

He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall.

No. No that's not fair.

He won't make her live in someone else's shadow. Even if she carries the same soul, she is Meilin, not Jiang Yanli and must be treated as such.

He briefly considers not telling Wei Wuxian. Wouldn't this fall squarely into that "past life" bullshit of his?

He sighs. Again, no.

Maybe it's a sign of weakness on his part, but he summons up a butterfly messenger. With a short succinct "A-jie reincarnated and is staying in Lotus Pier," he sends it off. He will contact Jin Ling properly in the morning.

---

"This better not be a trick, Jiang Cheng. That'd be low even for you."

Jiang Cheng freezes like he's been stabbed. He stares at the other man, looking for any sign of one of his usual bad taste jokes, but Wei Wuxian is pale and disheveled and angry and... oh. He really does think Jiang Cheng would lie about this to lure him back to Lotus Pier. After everything, he still...

He can't muster up any anger for this. He just feels tired all of a sudden, all the way into the marrow of his bones, and he doesn't want to be here anymore. "Liu Jiao will show you to her rooms," he says dully as he motions one of the maids who has been helping with Meilin forwards. Then he turns and leaves without waiting to see what kind of reaction Wei Wuxian has to that.

He's fleeing and he knows they can tell and he can't bring himself to care.

He tries to throw himself into work as a distraction, but quickly finds he can't concentrate for shit. After his fourth failed attempt at penning the necessary letter to Jin Ling, he decides he might as well give up.

Pointedly avoiding both Meilin's room and the area where he'd left Wei Wuxian and his ever-glowering husband, he heads out to one of the lesser-used piers. Workers gathering the autumn flowers wave in greeting, but thankfully give him space, and he settles in to watch and hopefully not do too much thinking.

---

It's nearly sunset and he's starting to doze a little when the pounding of tiny feet against the planks of the pier startle him fully awake. A giggling squeal of "Cheng-ge!" is all the warning he gets before his lap is suddenly full of squirming child.

"Cheng-ge? Who's Cheng-ge? Are we so familiar, now?" he chides with no actual bite at all as he flicks a button nose and her grin only gets even bigger. "Someone's been teaching you cheek, A-Lin."

"Can't possibly imagine anyone who would dare."

The flinch is entirely involuntary and he tries to smooth it over, but little fingers dig into his robe and he sees worry flicker over those bright eyes.

"Cheng-ge?"

"It's nothing," he says, patting her hair, then braces himself and looks up. It catches him off guard again to find Wei Wuxian watching him with a look of regret... maybe even apology.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Whether I say yes or no, you will anyway, so I might as well say yes." He'd intended it to come out sharp, the retaliation that he hadn't been able to manage earlier, but has much less heat and much more resignation than intended. Maybe it's because of that change that Wei Wuxian actually hesitates.

"If you want me to go-"

Leaning out of his lap, but refusing to get up or let go of his robes, A-Lin reaches out and tugs on Wei Wuxian's trousers in a clear demand.

Well... Maybe some things don't change, he thinks, rueful smile mirrored on his former shixiong's face as the latter obeys and kneels down beside them.

They sit in awkward silence, bound together by tiny hands holding a vice grip their clothing, until croaking songs begin ringing out from near the water and A-Lin perks up.

"Frogs! Cheng-ge, Xian-ge, can I catch one?"

He expects Wei Wuxian to automatically take over and say yes, but when he turns his head, the other man is just... watching him again.

He shakes it off and taps A-Lin on the forehead. "Boots off and let me tie up your skirts. If you get too muddy, the maids will throw you in a bath before they'll let you have dinner."

The girl wrinkles her nose, then nods and begins wrestling off her left. Practice born from another very squirmy child lets him work easily around her efforts, and she is shortly running off, laughter ringing behind her.

"You're... good with kids."

He scowls at Wei Wuxian. "That would be more of a compliment if you didn't sound so surprised," he says flatly.

"Ah." Wei Wuxian has the barest grace to look embarrassed, turning his gaze to the planks under him as he scratches his cheek. "Well... when I first met Jin Ling, he was such a brat, and then when I thought of who raised him-"

"Seriously not helping your case."

"Ugh, would you let me finish? Anyway, it turned out he was a good kid under all the thorn brambles. Which, again, considering who raised him-"

He really doesn't have the mental fortitude for this right now, he decides. Biting the inside of his cheek, he starts to get up, but a hand gripping his wrist stops him. "Wei Wu-"

"Please."

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Then he sits back down.

The hand on his wrist doesn't let go, and when he forces his eyes back open, Wei Wuxian is staring at that point of contact between them, thumb brushing absently against one of the tendons in an old familiar gesture. "When I got your message, I almost passed out," he finally says. "I was so afraid to let myself believe it. I thought I couldn't possibly be lucky enough for it to be true. I know I don't deserve for it to be true. I convinced myself you had to be lying, because somehow that actually hurt less than the possibility she was really here."

Jiang Cheng swallows back the pain that swells in his chest. His mouth tastes bitter. "Still not helping your case," he mutters.

But he still doesn't pull himself free.

Wei Wuxian laughs, the sound small and pained. "I know, I know."

"I did what you wanted," Jiang Cheng snaps, unable to stop himself. "This whole year, I-"

"I know." The grip on his wrist tightens and Wei Wuxian inhales shakily. "You did nothing to deserve it and I thought the worst of you anyway. I'm sorry."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, but he's saved from having to figure it out when a tiny figure stumbles along the docks, soaking wet and clutching one of the biggest lake frogs he's ever seen, short of a frog demon. "Did you fall in?" he asks, getting up again. "You look like a drowned-"

"He knocked me over! Look how fat he is!"

Big shiny eyes blink at him from the nest of her arms, then the creature makes a croak that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Maybe it is a frog demon.

A baby one, or something.

Wei Wuxian looks similarly nonplussed when he joins them, eyeing the frog with clear discomfort. "Eh... meimei, maybe you should let that one hop on home, yeah?"

"Aw, but he likes me!"

It does indeed seem to be very comfortable with being cuddled, which doesn't improve his opinion of it one bit. "We'll let someone look it over while you're In your bath," he says, subtly elbowing Wei Wuxian when it looks like the other might argue.

Fortunately, the other man catches on and nods. "Have to make sure he's nice and healthy."

"Okaaayyy."

---

"This is the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

Jiang Cheng can't argue with that, especially since the frog he's now definitely sure is some kind of demon is becoming creepier by the moment. Already, Wei Wuxian' prodding has caused it to turn from brown to a vague shade of greenish-purple and belch smoke.

When it opens a third eye, Lan Wangji has apparently had enough. "It should be exterminated," he says, starting to draw Bichen.

The frog hisses.

Hisses, showing off rows and rows of very un-frog-like fangs.

"Oh, fu-"

---

"Where is QiaoQiao?"

"You named it-"

"Escaped," Lan Wangji cuts in before Wei Wuxian can finish boggling at the choice.

"Yes, it escaped," Jiang Cheng says, mentally refusing to acknowledge that they agreed on the excuse. A-Lin pouts, and he gently ruffles her still-damp hair. "You can chase frogs any time you like, you know."

"But QiaoQiao was special."

That's... one way of putting it, he thinks as he tries not to shudder. "Why don't we find you something else special? What other animals do you like?"

"Hmnh... I like cats?"

"We can do cats. We'll find you the best cat," Wei Wuxian says, clearly relieved to hear no mention of dogs or more frogs.

Jiang Cheng allows it.

A loud rumble, far too loud for the tiny body that makes it, cuts into the conversation, and A-Lin hugs his sleeve to hide her face going bright red. "'m hungry," she mumbles into the cloth sheepishly, and he can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth as he crouches to scoop her up onto his hip.

"I think we're all hungry. Let's go see what the kitchens have in store for us tonight, hm?"

---

Having already seen A-Lin eat once already, Jiang Cheng takes more than a small amount of enjoyment in watching Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji openly stare as she inhales a fifth meat bun without chewing or coming up for air.

"What are you, a snake yao?" Wei Wuxian asks when he remembers how to work his jaw.

She puffs her cheeks at Wei Wuxian in an adorably offended huff. "I said I was hungry."

"No shi- kidding," Wei Wuxian quickly amends when Jiang Cheng glares. Then he grins. "How do you feel about spicier food?"

"You are not corrupting her with your chili oil addiction."

"It's not an addiction-"

"I wanna try. Can I try?"

His first instinct is to say absolutely not. But two pairs of eyes are giving him the soulful pleading look, and he sighs and fights the urge to roll his own. "Fine. But only a little," he says, picking up the bottle himself because Wei Wuxian wouldn't recognize the concept of "a little" if it bit him in the ass. "Chew this time."

"Well?" Wei Wuxian asks as she swallows the bite.

"It's okay."

He resolutely does not smirk at his former shixiong's crestfallen expression.

"Only okay?"

"Hot is good, but smoky is better," A-Lin pronounces with all the gravitas of a trained food expert, and both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian can't help grinning at that.

"Everyone's a critic," Wei Wuxian says as he elbows his husband, who has a sleeve over his mouth in a clear attempt to pretend he's not been charmed as well.

Jiang Cheng is absolutely not smug about that.

---

"So, what are you going to do?"

Dessert is long gone, Lan Wangji has retired to bed, and the three of them are left sitting in the main hall, A-Lin clinging to his robes with honey-sticky fingers as she sleeps.

"We'll put out word, but unless someone comes to claim her, she'll stay here." Wei Wuxian continues to stare at him with that inscrutable expression, and he finally sighs. "I'm not going to turn her into A-jie. Past lives should stay in the past, remember?"

Wei Wuxian flinches and looks away.

Good.

The silence stretches long again, then his former shixiong huffs quietly. "I don't..." he starts, then licks his lips nervously and changes whatever tack he was about to take. "How are you planning on raising her, then?"

He gently pets long hair, and A-Lin responds by burrowing against his chest and shoving her face against his collar. "To figure herself out. If she wants to cook, if she wants to cultivate... hell, if she wants to make a living catching frogs, that's up to her. She's already put in her duty to this family."

"Good. That... That's good."

Still petting soft, fine hair, Jiang Cheng considers his next words carefully. "Until she's old enough to travel easily, you know she's going to demand visits from her Xian-ge."

Wei Wuxian stiffens and his head snaps up. "And... you... You're okay with that?" he asks, a faint glimmer of something akin to hope in his expression.

"At least until you deliver that cat you promised," Jiang Cheng says dryly. "I'm holding you to that. In writing, if I have to."

"You would," Wei Wuxian replies, rolling his eyes, but there is no missing the relief in his posture.

Nor the loss of tension in the room.

[one-boring-person]

You Look Nervous.

David (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: Implied sexual content (very much implied) .

Requested by @theeblueehazee : "I have a request if you're still taking them? It's another David request because I'm vampire trash basically lol maybe a story about David really liking or evening the reader, and he wants her to meet the guys. But he's super scared of them embarrassing him in front of her or afraid that they'll scare her, period, because she's a nice but really shy person? So David makes the boys swear to be on their best behaviour but Paul and Marko don't know the meaning of it lol I just love your stories!❤❤

A/N: I'm glad you like my stories! That really makes my day 😅💛 and thank you for requesting! I hope this works for what you had in mind❤

Masterlist

"Stop picking."

I look up at the blonde biker as he reaches a gloved hand over, taking mine in his as he tries to pull my fingers from my sleeves, smiling slightly as he gives me a reassuring look, though there's something off about his behaviour. As usual, he stands leaning against his motorcycle, a cigarette between his lips as he watches the crowd, but his demeanor seems tense, his eyes flicking over the writhing hoard of people almost nervously, neck muscles taut as he cranes his head around, as if looking for something, or someone.

"Sorry." I reply quietly, casting a look over his posture again, my brow wrinkling in confusion.

Noticing my gaze, David fixes his piercing eyes on me, cocking his head a bit as he exhales a breath of smoke, eyebrows drawing together curiously.

"What?"

"Oh, well, you look kinda nervous." I inform him, biting my lip as I turn my gaze away from him, worried that I've brought up something I shouldn't have, my free hand instinctually lifting to my face, where I start to chew on my fingernails, trying not to wince when I accidentally catch one of the already bitten-down ones.

"I do? How come?" The platinum blonde queries, visibly adjusting himself, though this only proves my theory.

I go to reply, only to be cut off by the sound of loud motorcycle engines revving to my right, the blonde to my left tensing again, his jaw clenching barely noticeably as he catches sight of the riders, my own gaze turning to the newcomers. Upon seeing them, my eyes widen, weight shifting inadvertently onto the balls of my feet, as if ready to up and leave.

The closest is a tall, tanned brunette with dark eyes, his expression seemingly neutral as he makes eye contact with me, barely reacting to my presence at all, his quietness as well as the fact he is shirtless beneath his leather jacket slightly unnerving me despite the very brief flash of a smile he sends my way. Just behind him is a shorter blonde with curly hair, a broad smirk plastered across his face as he catches sight of me, his doe eyes boring into me with a mischievous glint, eyebrows raised at my presence. As if mimicking me, he lifts a thumb to his mouth, where he starts biting at it, keeping eye contact the entire time, even as he leans back to speak to the last of them. This one is a lanky Twisted Sister lookalike, his dishevelled hair and choice of attire leading me to think this, though my mind briefly short-circuits when I notice him blatantly raking his eyes over my form, the action drawing a deep blush to my cheeks as I shift again, pulling the sleeves of my jacket over my hands in slight discomfort. Seeing this, David moves so he is standing closer to me, gently pressing his chest against my back reassuringly, his hand at my hip protectively. Looking up into his face, I realise he is carrying an odd expression, as if warning the others of something.

"Damn, who brought the eye candy?" The Twisted Sister lookalike remarks in way of greeting, winking suggestively at me as he dismounts from his bike, lip between his teeth, "I'm Paul, by the way."

Swallowing, I try to fight the rising blush again, leaning back against David as much as possible for support, the solidness of his chest behind me reassuring me a little.

"(Y/n). It's nice to meet you." I make the mistake of offering him my hand to shake, surprised when the other, smaller blonde skips in ahead of Paul, scooping my hand up and lifting it to his lips, which he then uses to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. Shocked, I withdraw my hand quickly, the action far too intimate to have come from a complete stranger. Behind me, I feel David's chest vibrate as he lets out a cautionary growl of sorts, both of the other blondes giggling at this.

"I'm Marko." The short one informs me, taking my hand in his again as he uses it to pull me forwards slightly, Paul quickly slinging an arm around my shoulders as I'm helplessly dragged in towards them. I stiffen as I feel Paul nuzzle at my neck, the blonde deliberately sniffing at me, his breath hot against the skin there, though I don't feel it long, my instincts kicking in as I pull away again, accidentally knocking into Marko, who steadies me against his chest, drawing a surprised squeak from me as he smirks down at me.

"She smells great, where'd you find her?" Paul comments to David, whose jaw is clenched, his muscles rigid as he watches this exchange, reaching out to gently pull me back to him, wrapping an arm around my waist again, fingers pressing into me slightly in anger.

"Aww, come on! We won't bite..." Marko teases, bursting into a fit of giggles with Paul at some inside joke until their companion gives the latter a clip round the ear.

"Hey! I didn't make the joke!" He protests, rubbing his head a bit, clearly a bit disgruntled after this, though his friend can barely control himself.

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve it." The brunette points out, rolling his eyes in exasperation at the other two before turning back to me, "I'm Dwayne. It's nice to finally meet you, (Y/n), we've heard a lot about you."

"Y-You have?" I manage, still a little shaken after my encounter with the Terrible Two, surprised that they've heard about me at all: David doesn't seem like the type to share his feelings, seeing as he's barely told me anything about himself anyway.

"Oh yeah, we've heard all sorts." Marko butts in again, lifting an eyebrow at me as I feel my eyes widen.

"Yeah, David won't shut up about you." Paul chimes in, smirking at the platinum blonde behind me, who quickly tells him to shut up, though using much more colourful language to convey his point.

"L-like what?" Internally, I curse myself for stuttering again, knowing it's not helping my case at all.

Paul goes to respond, a smirk already pasted onto his face, only to be cut off by Dwayne.

"Nothing bad, don't worry." He confirms, looking over my head at David, who appears to send his friend a grateful glance, his icy blue eyes clouded with annoyance at the other two.

"Except that you're a bit quiet which I now see is totally true." Paul butts in again, chuckling and reaching over to tilt my head his way with one finger, admiring the deep red tinge of my cheeks, "You don't have to be. In fact, we know the perfect way to get you more...vocal."

At the insinuation behind his words, I flinch away from him, looking down as Marko and Paul erupt into fits of laughter, the two of them high-fiving each other triumphantly. A sharp crack and a grunt of pain informs me that Dwayne has once again delivered a whack around the back of each of their heads.

"Just shut up, will you? Show some respect." Dwayne scolds them, brow furrowed in irritation.

"Come on, (Y/n), let's go get some food." David finally says, having stayed quiet almost the entire time, except for the noises of anger that he let out every now and then, body becoming tenser and tenser behind me.

"Ok, sure." I agree, going to turn away from the others with a thankful smile at Dwayne, who seems the most controlled of all of them.

"Enjoy your bite to eat! Make sure you get something you can really sink your fangs into!" Marko calls after us, his laughter cut short by a screech of pain, Dwayne having finally stepped in, dragging the two troublemakers off by their ears. Beside me, David visibly stiffens, eyes closing momentarily, though I could've sworn I saw them flash yellow a second ago, the platinum blonde doing his best to remain calm as he directs me someplace else, clearly eager to get away from the others.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n), I wanted you to meet my friends tonight, but I didn't realise they'd behave so badly around you, though I guess I really should've seen it coming." David apologises, taking my hand in his as we walk, giving me a guilty look, "They're good friends when they're not being so inappropriate."

"It's fine, though I think they'll take some getting used to." I reassure him, squeezing his hand gently.

"I guess. That doesn't excuse their behaviour, though." He responds, frowning again, "I'm sorry, I should've warned you."

"About them being so physical, maybe, but not about them being typical friends. I'm sure I'll come to like them in time." I say to him, carefully coming to a halt beside the rear of one of the food stalls lining the Boardwalk, having figured something out, "That's what you were nervous about, wasn't it?"

"Hm? I wasn't nervous." David scoffs, smirking at me.

"You were! You were worried about how I'd react to your friends, weren't you?" I prompt him, crossing my arms over my chest with an unusual confidence I don't often feel.

"Of course I wasn't!" The blonde goes to argue, only to catch sight of my expression, rolling his eyes in defeat, "Fine, I was a bit concerned about how they'd act, and then about what you would think of them, but not a lot!"

"Sure, keep telling yourself that." I tease, squeaking when I suddenly find myself pinned against the wall behind me, his muscular body pressing into mine as he leans in close.

"Say that again, (Y/n)." He growls into my ear, his smooth voice making me shiver in anticipation as his breath fans hotly across my skin.

"Keep telling yourself-" I try to repeat myself, only to let out a quiet gasp of pleasure when he starts kissing at my neck, mouthing at my sweet spot as my hands snake around into his hair, his own gripping my waist, pulling my hips into his.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" David purrs against my jaw as he licks a stripe up the column of my neck, before he presses his lips against mine, deepening the kiss as soon as I reciprocate, knowing I won't be able to reply now, smirking against my lips in triumph.

What I didn't know (and wouldn't know until much later) is that he had made the boys swear to behave, only to feel a surge of possessiveness come over him when he sees Marko and Paul completely disregard their promises, now feeling the need to make it well known who I belong to, even if that means risking my dignity in public.

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII

Chapter 14

Your ears still ring when you feel a sudden weight pressing against your chest. With the forehead pressed into your sternum, Miranda's breath is hot and hasty through the thin layer of the shirt you’re wearing, and her blunt nails scratch your sides where she grips the fabric.

“Why did you follow me?” She growls in your chest, jaw clenched. Her voice urgent, angry, scary, and you feel compelled to give an answer. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” You reply sincerely, pressing yourself even more into the wall behind your back, as if you’re trying to put some distance between the two of you, while, in reality, you don’t crave anything but her closeness.

You draw in a long breath when she pulls away, falling on her haunches and then sitting beside you on the mattress.

“I’m sorry.” She says. It’s a feeble mumble, so soft and confused, in fact, that you even question if you’ve truly heard those words or made them up in your mind. “I’ve doomed us both.” She chuckles bitterly.

“You’re sorry?” You query, raising your eyebrows.

Miranda sighs sharply, lolls her head back, blue eyes glued to the ceiling, perhaps focused on the rhythmic and unchanging spinning motion of the air vent.

“Strangely enough, they’ll keep picking on you.”

“Because they think I’m easier to break than you.” You snort, matter-of-factly, wrapping your arms loosely around your knees. Sighing yourself, you rest your chin there, your gaze drifting off on the small creases on the floor. “And they’re probably right.” You add with a whisper.

“No,” again, Miranda chuckles bitterly; but she’s not just that: this time, she sounds even sad, “it’s not that.” She pauses.

You contemplate the idea of lifting your head in her direction, asking what she means, but in the end, you decide against it.

“Besides,” she clicks her tongue, and this time you can’t help tilting your head just slightly, catching the snide, yet reassuring glee in her eyes, “I want the pleasure of breaking you for myself.”

Despite the whole situation, your lips curve into a smile.

“I’ll try my best.”

There are a few minutes of silence then, both grounding yourself on the rhythmic buzz of the vent - or so you think - and finally, you stretch her legs, mirroring her pose, your shoes banging together before you move away, fearing that even that little contact is too much, right now.

You draw a small intake of air and scoff. “You know, it’s weird to have a man picking on me and you rushing to my defence, for once.” There’s a broken smile tugging at your mouth, but even if you’re trying, it’s impossible to hide the shadow of amusement behind those words. After all those months you’d consider this a small victory, if somebody were to ask.

Miranda smirks, you can see her looking at you with narrow eyes.

“You’ve established already that I care; in the ally, before all this. So don’t pretend to be surprised. ” She states softly, without much engagement. “I’ve made you able to defend yourself, but one simply cannot become perfect over a few weeks of training, and nobody can outdo a bullet. Besides, I can’t just let them waste my work now, can I?” She cocks her head, bares her sharp teeth. “The rest was-” she pauses, broods a little, then shrugs, “toying around.”

You know she’s talking about sex. You know she’s talking about the kisses, the teasing, you know she’s talking about all the tension she used to build, only to blow it off with a fight, of weapons or limbs, of anger or lust. You would never complain about that, never deny you liked that peculiar, thrilling relationship that nobody could ever put a label on.

“I know.” You nod slowly. “I just happen to suddenly wish that… I was more than a plaything?”

Miranda snorts.

“You weren’t supposed to fall for me.” She bites hard on one of her nails, tugs the splinter off and toss it across the small room.

“You’ve made that quite clear already.” You sigh.

Honestly, there isn’t much you can do or say right now.

Resting your head against the wall, you close your eyes for a few moments, anchoring yourself to the feeble sound of your own breathing. You want to curl up in that filthy mattress and fall asleep for days, but you also want to know what will happen next - if she thinks you’re going to survive, yes, but most of all, what's going to happen between the two of you. Whatever you had has shifted now, and not just because you said that you loved her, but because you’re both trapped in a cell, waiting.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that-” Miranda inhales sharply, and the tone of her voice - low, husky, sad even - makes your frown. “It’s not your fault.”

What is she even talking about? Everything is your fault: from letting her kidnap you that distant night, to being currently in that situation, without knowing you’ll ever get out in one piece and alive.

“Miranda?” You call, turning your head slightly in her direction.

“I told you that you made us vulnerable, but you just sped up the process.” She murmurs, her gaze stubbornly fixated in the corner between the wall and the ceiling. “I had plans.” She breathes out, and the words seem heavy when they leave her mouth. “I just wasn’t ready, not yet- because I wasn’t sure you-”

“Plans?”

“Mh.” She nods once, her head is low. Her curtain of dark, tousled hair hiding her face from you. “You asked me if we could disappear-”

“We?” You echo, cocking an eyebrow.

Her breath hitches; Miranda gasps, and as if she’s been awoken by a dream, she blinks, clearing her throat.

“It’s complicated.”

“Was it ever easy with you?” Despite the tension, you chuff out a chuckle.

Miranda lifts her head, the hair part on each shoulder, revealing her expression: she smiles; it’s a small one and it’s broken, but it’s there.

“I get agitated when things don’t follow my timings.” She breathes out slowly and by the way she clears her throat you can feel it’s not easy, for her, to confess such things that surely she considers a vulnerability, or weakness, and perhaps, judging by the turns of events, they really are.

You start to believe that you being kidnapped by Victor wasn’t just your fault, that maybe she has something to do with it too. But then again, no, everything was going fine before you decided to let your heart speak.

“Miranda, look- I’m sorry. I really am.” You sigh heavily. “I just needed to- I don’t know- tell you. It came out, like I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.”

“I did ask you, though.” Miranda replies with a bittersweet snort. “You’re so obedient, so eager to please… that when I asked you to speak up, you just had to answer me.”

Unconsciously, your head moves into a slow nod.

She’s not mocking, but she’s not praising you either. Just like most of the time, you don’t know what to think.

You swallow through a dry throat, drawing your thighs to your chest and hugging your leg to rest your chin on top of your knees once again. The position gives you comfort.

“Anyway, you’re right: I can’t take it back.” You mumble. “I can’t because I can’t, but also because I- don’t want to.”

Miranda chuffs out a chuckle. Before you can even register what’s happening, her hand has gripped the collar of your shirt, and she’s tugging you to her with surprising strength. Caught off guard, you can only let out a pitiful yelp when she collides against your mouth and pecks a kiss on your lips.

It has nothing to do with lust, nor passion: it’s similar to the first one ever, when she hovered on you, eyes blue and sparkling, fangs bared and dangerously close to your face, asking insistently if you’d ever leave.

You haven't left her then, you haven't left the apartment when you got the chance, and you won’t leave now, not even to shy away from something you should regret saying but you don’t.

Her breath fans your lips when she parts from you, and you search her face, her eyes, but she has them close. Her grips loosen.

“I’ll get us out of here, m’eudail.” She blows against your mouth.

“You said it already.” You feel her lips tugging into her smile against your own, but it doesn’t bring you any relief: if anything, a dull pang to your heart.

“I know.”

[anonniemousefics]

Make This Weird

Fandom: Carry On/Wayward Son | Simon Snow + Baz Pitch

Word Count: 2,111

Rating: Teen and Up 

Synopsis: Set in the unwritten in between of books 1 and 2 - Simon and Baz have the flat to themselves while Penny's studying at the library.

(It’s been barely a week since I finished Wayward Son, and I literally could not. I cannot recommend these books enough.)

BAZ

Ugh. Aleister Crowley. This fucking rain.

I pull the hood of my navy blue macintosh up over my head, hunching my shoulders like that’s going to do any good. I’m going to be proper drenched by the time I get to Simon and Bunce’s flat, there’s no way around it now.

The deluge dumps in sheets by the time I make a huddled dash for the front door of their building. Maybe I should have stashed our curry takeaway under my jacket. I hope it’s not wet and ruined, because Simon definitely needs to eat (he always needs to eat) and I’m definitely not going back out in this.

I ring the buzzer for their flat, and Simon (I’m assuming) buzzes me in.

“Holy shit,” Simon says when he sees me dripping onto their welcome mat. I probably look like a cat that’s just been drug out of a stream. But it’s cute when he swears like a Normal, so I grin back and hold our takeaway bags aloft in victory. Because the thing is, I’d do a whole lot more than stand out in the rain for him. I’d battle a fucking hurricane if it came right down to it.

Not that he knows that. I think I’d probably really freak him out if I said it. Affection can be a tricky thing with Simon Snow. Sometimes he’s like a starving man, desperate and devouring and all-consuming. Other times he’s like one of those scared animal shelter rescue puppies you have to coax out of the corner with a spoonful of peanut butter. (Sometimes literally. I’ve literally watched him eat peanut butter right from the jar with a spoon.) (And once without a spoon at all. I know. My boyfriend’s gross.) (Boyfriend. Simon Snow is my boyfriend.)

And it’s hard to know what you’re going to get on any given day.

I set the bags of takeaway containers on the kitchen counter while Simon fishes out forks from the drawer that tends to stick. It’s a small kitchen, and he has to curl in his massive red wings for us both to maneuver it safely. He’s in loose grey trackies and a dark green hoodie that makes his curly hair look more reddish – it’s been a minute since he’s had it cut, and the thick curls fall in his eyes sometimes. Like now. I want to push it back, see his eyes, probably kiss him until he’s not that scared rescue puppy anymore. But I know now that’s not how this works – not yet.

“Where’s Bunce?” I ask instead, and shrug off my macintosh to drape over a kitchen chair.

“She has a paper due Monday,” Simon says. “She’s went to the library to write.” He’s already eating straight out of a takeaway container, over the fucking sink. Honestly, it’s like he was raised in a barn.

“So I have you all to myself,” I smirk at him as I rake the rain-damp hair off my face. There’s an unmistakable spark of something in Simon’s eye when he shoots me a look up from his food, and it’s not rescue puppy-ish.

“I suppose you do,” he grins, and he leaves a quick peck on my lips as he shuffles out of the kitchen with his takeaway container.

Well, then.

I can’t help the stupid grin on my face he leaves in his wake. I’m such a hopeless case where Simon Snow is concerned. But at least I’m not fighting it anymore.

I plate my rice and my chicken tikka masala – like any decent human being should – and follow Simon into the little living room where he’s eating on their beat-up old sofa, stocking feet up on the coffee table. His red dragon wings are spread out wide over the rest of the cushions, his red devil tail draped over his lap. He’s watching some old episodes of Top Gear, and I think this is really all we need. Good food, fast cars, a little snogging. Nothing trying to kill us.

I really am living a charmed life.

“Push over,” I tell him, so I can sit in front of him on the floor, plate on the coffee table. This is the arrangement. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t mind when my fangs pop, maybe even thinks it’s cool, but I just can’t. I literally want to set myself on fire when he stares at my teeth. (Well, maybe not literally anymore.) (But I still hate it.)

So, we eat in front of the TV so there’s no awkward silence to fill. (I hate talking around my fangs. I sound like I have dentures.) I sit in front of him on the floor, and then I don’t feel compelled to cover my mouth with every bite.

It’s normal. Sort of. It’s normal enough, for now.

Today, when I sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he shifts behind me so that his legs are on either side of me. It’s cozy there. Like he’s a tree, and I’m sheltering under his limbs.

But it’s a different sort of feeling entirely when I feel him run his fingertip through the ends of my hair. My rain-damp, probably insanely matted hair. I’m seized with insecurity and run my own hand back through it again. Merlin. Should’ve checked a mirror. He’s probably going to laugh at it any second.

“Christ, Baz,” he swears instead. “It ought to be criminal for hair to look that good after it’s been rained on.”

Really? I raise my eyebrows. Now I definitely want to check a mirror. This must be my lucky day.

“Thanks,” I mutter around my fangs, mouth full of chicken tikka.

And fuck he does it again. His fingers lace through the ends of my hair, brushing against the back of my neck. It’s impossible to suppress the shiver that follows, and it makes Simon chuckle.

“Sorry.” He’s apologetic even in his amusement.

“Don’t be,” I say, and I cover my mouth so I can turn to look at him. So he can see my sincerity. “It’s nice,” I insist.

Which is a bit of an understatement. Because he’s Simon Snow, and he’s my boyfriend who thinks my hair looks so criminally good, he must touch it. It isn’t nice. It’s fucking incredible. It’s making my dead heart beat erratically.

That’s only the beginning. I turn back to my plate of food, and then, unexpectedly, Simon leans forward and rakes his fingers against my scalp. It catches the breath in my throat. And my eyes stutter shut. My neck feels like its going to go limp. He pushes his hand through one way, watching as the strands slip through his fingers slowly. Then he does the same thing the other direction.

I have to be going red in the face. (I did just drain a rabbit a half hour ago.) No one’s ever touched me this way before. Ever. I mean, maybe a barber now and then, strictly professionally. But no one’s ever just enjoyed my hair. (Well, I do, if I’m being honest.) (Why else does one grow out their hair?) (But I thought I’d be the only one.)

Simon’s definitely noticing the effect he’s having on me. I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I can feel the way he’s craning his neck to get a look at me, can feel his warmth behind me, so I shield my mouth with my hand again. I mean, Merlin and Morgana, I’m right in the middle of eating. He has the worst mealtime manners of any person alive.

Although, at the moment, I really, really don’t care.

“Feels nice, does it?” Simon asks, and I can hear the impish smile on his face. He does so enjoy undoing me. (I do so enjoy being undone, so it works out.)

“Mhmm,” is all I can mumble behind my hand.

And then he shoves his hands up the base of my scalp, gathering up all of my hair in his fist. Oh, Crowley, I will not moan. I will not make this weird.

SIMON

Am I making this weird?

I just –

Baz has, objectively, perfect hair. Ask anyone. (I’m pretty sure Penny would agree.) It’s dark and thick and shiny, and it falls around his face just so. I’ve definitely thought it for ages, even when I was sure we’d end up killing each other. (I’d just resigned myself to the fact that he was going to die with much better looking hair than me.)

Now I don’t just have to look at it. I can inspect it. I can marvel at it. And it’s full of his scent – all cedar and bergamot – when I hold it off his neck.

He seems to be enjoying it immensely, how my hands feel in his hair, so I don’t think I’m making it weird. And the scent of him hits me with a kick in the gut, full of memories and longing, and I’m drawn closer to him.

He draws in a deep breath – I can see how it darkens the hollow at the base of his throat. I don’t feel particularly hungry anymore. (Which ordinarily is cause for concern.)

With his hair gathered in my fist near his scalp, I tug him gently to the right. Baring the side of his neck to me. His lips slightly part just in time for me to spot the tips of his fangs retracting sharply, and he’s quick to pull his lips closed over them.

Eh. I bet I can make him gasp again.

And I do when I press my mouth against the bared curve of his neck. He’s so cold against my lips. (I used to burn hot enough for the both of us.) He draws in a quick breath when I do it again. And raises a hand to lightly cup the side of my head, holding me close. Slowly, he cards his cold fingers into my curls, and I trail my lips up to his jaw. Up to the lobe of his ear. Every inch smells like forest and rain.

“Simon…” he breathes.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he can hear how my heart is pounding.

BAZ

Aleister fucking Crowley.

I will sell whatever is left of my soul if it means Simon Snow will keep kissing me like this.

SIMON

I keep kissing him.

It’s really hard to stop once you start. (Especially when he’s sort of melting against me.) (Seriously, oh my God, could he be any more delicious?)

So, I just keep kissing him. The sharp edge of his jaw. The sandy stubble over his cheek. (He has to shave regularly now, and I’m really trying hard not to be jealous.)

But Baz catches himself as he starts to turn his face to meet my lips. He holds his damn hand over his mouth again.

This again? When will he get it? The fangs are wicked cool. I’m just going to kiss him until he gets it. I’m sliding off the cushions, turning him so I can crawl on top of him between the couch and the coffee table.

“Simon,” he says again, though, annoyingly, not in the same starved gasp I’m after. He’s saying it like he has something he wants to say. (It’s probably about his fangs.) (It’s always his about his fangs.) (Enough about the fangs already.)

“Shut up,” I insist. I’m straddling him, and Baz’s still got his hand over his mouth, the prat.

“My breath’s going to smell like curry!” he exclaims, looking a little wild-eyed as I’m hunched over him.

I can’t help it: I burst out laughing. It's just so unexpected - the absurdity of Baz Pitch worrying about what I'll think of him! The corners of his grey eyes crinkle up as the laugh becomes contagious. It means he’ll let me wrap my fingers around his wrist. Pull his hand away from his mouth.

“I love curry,” I reassure him, bending toward him. (And I really do.) And I cup his face in my hand and kiss him. I’ll kiss him until he sighs against my mouth and pulls at my shoulders. I’ll kiss him til he stops thinking about his fangs and his curry breath.

(Because curry isn’t the only thing I love.) (I’m gonna figure out how to tell him someday.) (I just don’t want to freak him out.)

BAZ

I’m going to pretend that, when he said “I love curry,” it was code for something else.

(Because it really seems – unless I’m delusional and I might be – that he meant me.)

(I hope he means me.)

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

Tagging a few people who’ve requested to be tagged in all my things/I think would be down for some Snowbaz content (if I’m wrong and you’re like, “Shannon - I don’t know what this fandom is, what am I even reading?” then just let me know): @loveyatopluto, @raging-bisexual-alert, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @annejulianneh111, @whosanxiety, @raeisgaeandahalf, @bookish-mind

[skyrimaddiction]

Farkas Becomes a Vampire

Here is a scene from my fan fic with my OC Syan.

Farkas and I are walking across a deeply snow covered path South East of Winterhold. We just slayed a dragon from ontop of Mount Anthor and are making our way back down to a main road. The wind whistled by me and sent a shiver though my body.

“The wind is picking up.” I said. I look up at the sky and see a nasty darkening sky out in the distance. “We better hurry and find someplace to shelter, a storm is coming.” I said. Farkas nodded in agreement.

“We are close to Winterhold, let’s go there.” Farkas replied. I nodded. He is more familiar with this area than I am, I’ve only been up this way a few times. We pick up our pace and continue towards Winterhold and the wind really starts whipping by us, painfully cold, and it starts snowing. The storm is approaching much faster than I originally thought. Farkas pulls me closer and positions me directly behind him, blocking most of the wind.

“Stay close, it is getting hard to see.” he said. We trudge along when we hear an ear splitting howl. I unsheathe my daggers and whirl around looking for the sound. The snow is falling hard and fast, making visibility poor. I hear Farkas draw his greatsword and feel him press his back into mine. We both look around us for the howl we heard. Then a shadow lunges at Farkas, it’s mouth open wide with a mouth of jagged teeth. Farkas shifts his blade to block the horrid creature’s bite, and it’s teeth clamp down on the blade instead of his shoulder. I go to turn to help him, when I hear footsteps running in my direction. I whirl back around and block an attack from a crazed woman. Her eyes glow in an unnatural way, and her lips part to display a fanged snarl.

“Vampires!” I shout to Farkas. He throws the hound off into the snow, when three more vampires descend upon us. I fight with the one woman and deliver a sequence of quick jabs with my daggers, finally piercing her heart and she collapses. A male vampire lunges at me and I roll away to dodge his attack. As quickly as I roll away I leap onto his back and wrap my legs around his waist. I look over quickly at Farkas to see him battling two other vampires, and one of them was clearly much more powerful than the rest. I couldn’t help him until I took care of the one I was latched onto. The male vampire is furiously clawing at me trying to get me off. I swiftly draw both my daggers across his throat and let go of him, delivering a hard kick to make him fall into the snow. He collapses and bleeds out before he had a chance to heal or use his magic against me. I whirl around to help Farkas, when i see the one vampire frantically trying to hold onto Farkas, as the second more powerful one bites into his neck.

“No!” I shout. I hurl myself as hard and as fast as a could, colliding hard with the powerful vampire. I unleash a fury of slices and stabs deep into it’s flesh, before finally shoving my dagger up through the vampire’s chin into it’s brain. I turn to find Farkas decapitating the last vampire. He is holding one hand pressed to his neck, trying to staunch the bleeding, while his other arm holding his greatsword goes limp, and he collapses into the snow. I rush over to his side.

“Syan.” he says in labored breathing. I panic because I don’t have any healing potions or cure disease potions, and I don’t know how to heal others with magic yet, because I only focused on destruction magic. I rip off some cloth and press it tightly to his neck wound and wrap more fabric around him tightly to hold it in place.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I hissed. “Can you stand? We need to get to Winterhold to heal you and make sure you haven’t contracted the disease that causes vampirism.” I say. Farkas tries to stand but falls back down onto his knees. He has lost too much blood and is too weak.

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry” he says. 

“Fuck!’ I hiss. The wind is howling worse than the hound was, and ice crystals are now starting to whip past and slice our skin like fine paper cuts.

“We need shelter now, and we can wait it out. You’ll be able to make it a day or so. The storm will pass by then.” I say. Farkas weakly nods and gestures in a direction towards Winterhold.

“There are ruins nearby. Called Journeymen’s Nook.” I nod, and muster every bit of strength I can to drag him through the snow. The snow storm is now a full blown white out, and I can’t see a damn thing, nor hear anything but the wind. I keep dragging Farkas in the direction he gestured, and my hope is fading, when finally a see a slight shadow of ruins. I haul him faster into the ruins. It looks like some bandits were staying here previously. There is a fire pit, sleeping bags, some weapons and food. I quickly lay him down on a sleeping bag and start a fire. Farkas is passed out, but still breathing. I sigh with relief. I look around to see if there are any healing potions, but nothing. I sit on the sleeping bag next to Farkas and wait, keeping a close eye on him. As time goes by, the storm shows no sign of slowing, and his condition worsens. I stay close and hold his hand. If his wounds didn’t kill him first, he was going to turn. I could see the changes in his face. His breathing became even more labored. I hung my head down in despair. I couldn’t do anything to help him. I am powerless and hopeless in this situation until the storm clears, and he didn’t have much time. I hear him take in another breath, and then stop. I panic and lean over to check on him, when I hear him take another deep breath. I thought I lost him for a minute. I quickly wiped the tear from my eye.

“Syan?” I hear him whisper.

“I am here.” I reply back. His eyes open, and by the nines he had changed. His eyes were still silver, but they were such an intense glowing silver they left me breathless. His face, more sharp and handsome than before, his hair, which was usually unkempt, was now silky smooth. He sat up slowly and removed his bandage wrappings, and the wound was healed. He blinked and looked back at me.

“I feel better, I feel great actually.” he says in a surprised voice. I nod as a look down at my hands.

“Because you have changed.” I repy back sadly. He blinks back in confusion. “You are a vampire now.” I say. I pass him a bowl of water. “Here, look.” I say. He takes the bowl and looks down at his reflection in the water and just stared with wide eyes for a few moments, before giving the water back.

“What does this mean?” He asks, unsure. I sigh.

“Well, you won’t be able to tolerate the sun anymore, and you are weaker to fire, you will need to drink blood to survive and stay sane. You will be stronger and faster than you are now, and will never age. There is no known cure.” I say.

“No, what does this mean for us? And my brother?” He replies back, fear and sadness were apparent on his face. I lean over and wrap my arms around him and pull him in a deep hug. I rest my chin on his head as I whisper into his hair.

“It changes nothing Farkas. I am still here for you, and your brother will be too. Sure he is going to be furious and scared like all of us, but you are his brother and that will never change. Werewolf, Vampire, whatever.” I reply. His arms wrap around me tightly, and I hear him take a deep breath and exhale. He hums.

We stay in the ruins for another day and the storm finally passes. Under the cover of night, we make our way Whiterun to talk to Vilkas and the other companions about what happened and what to do next. I know the Dawngaurd have already been recruiting to kill vampires throughout Skyrim, perhaps I can arrange a deal with them to help find a cure for Farkas. He is going to need all of our help and support with his new change. All I know is for certain is that I would travel all of Tamriel and the realms for Farkas.

[interstelleo]

But Sometimes it’s Sour - A Good Sweet Part 2

Jack has to deal with being a vampire on tour, and Alex notices something is wrong. 

-  Jack runs out of synthetic blood before break. 

I know the timing doesn’t line up still, but I really wanted it to happen early on so-

3,067 words

//

Jack woke up cold. Or more-so, he woke up to a cold space next to him. Usually that space was warm and smelled like vanilla and sweet. Usually he woke up next to Alex. This had already been true, but ever since Alex made that boyfriend material comment after they had sex that first night, he’d pretty much become a permanent fixture in Jack’s bunk. Not that he minded. The aspect of the situation that did bother Jack was the unspokenness of it. 

“Now, show me if you’re really boyfriend material by taking a shower with me. I’m gross and too tired to do it myself,” Alex had teased with a lazy smile on his lips. 

Jack paused at this statement. Boyfriend material? He knew they liked each other, but they hadn’t talked farther than that. Does Alex want to be his boyfriend? Was it a joke? Was he just hoping to benefit them both with a strictly full moon sex schedule? 

Despite his rapidly increasing thoughts, Jack forced a small smirk. “If this is gross, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself when you’re hot.” Not waiting for an answer, Jack rolled over and off the bed before putting out a hand to help Alex up.

The two hadn’t discussed their standings past that. Sure, they kissed more, cuddled often, overall acted like boyfriends, but they always did that. It was their thing, and Jack couldn’t figure out if the excess of it was because they were official or a side affect of them knowing the other actually liked it. 

There had been another full moon since then, a little less than two weeks ago. There was maybe thirty total seconds where he had to consider if Alex wanted to be his victim again. Alex, as Jack quickly realized was looking forward to the day. His first words, while whispered into Jack’s shoulder where Alex had been nipping and sucking to wake him up, were clear as day. “There’s a full moon tonight, Jacky. We have an hour before Matt gets up.” It was only then that Jack felt the hardness pressing against his thigh. 

At the thought of drinking from Alex, Jack was brought back to his current situation. See, while packing for tour, Jack hadn’t thought to actually count the packets of synthetic blood he’d need while on the road. Turns out, he was short. He’d drank his last one about a week ago and wasn’t really sure what to do. 

He looked up what would happen, which was essentially the same as what happens on full moons, except the longer he went without drinking any kind of blood, he’d be weaker and weaker. There was also a chance for malnutrition and withdrawals. A mix of things that he definitely did not want to experience together. 

Yesterday, Jack had felt a little off. He was thirsty, mostly, but with the amount of water he drank just to unsuccessfully fix it, there was only one explanation. This morning, he felt lightheaded. It was instant. And he was still thirsty. If he had to describe the way he felt, he’d say it was the start of withdrawals. Fuck. 

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes for a moment, contemplating what to do. There was really only one thing he really could do about this, though. They had a show tonight, and it wasn’t like he could go to the hospital and say, “I’m going through blood withdrawls, I’m a vampire.” He sighed, and opened up the curtain to his bunk. He got out, trying to move slowly incase something bad happened. He noticed that Alex’s bunk was open, at least meaning he hadn’t just left Jack to sleep by himself. 

When Jack made it out of the bunk area, he went to lick his lips. He got blocked by his fangs, and that was the moment he realized that he really needed Alex. He couldn’t go all day not speaking, although, he doubted he’d be able to be out and about like this anyway. He spotted Alex sitting and talking with Rian on the couch. He also vaguely noticed Matt in the kitchen and Zack doing push ups, but he it wasn’t more than a passing observation. 

Quietly, Jack shuffled over to sit behind Alex. He kept his eyes down, unsure of if the color would be normal or not. He felt Alex tense a little as he put his arms around him, and then relax as he realized who it was. “Hey, J-”

Jack whimpered, involuntarily cutting him off. He had pressed his nose into the crook of Alex’s neck and felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, likely from the normally comforting scent of Alex’s blood. 

Alex frowned and tried to turn towards him in concern. He stopped as he felt Jack’s fangs brush against the back of his neck. Alex would’ve shuddered at the feeling, had he not been worried about it. Jack never had his fangs out when it wasn’t a full moon, and it wasn’t one. He knew that. “Jack? What’s-”

“I need you,” is all he said. He used a small, scared voice, one he only used when he was really sick, and only ever with Alex. He didn’t want to tell him what the matter was, but he knew he had to. The possible outcomes if he didn’t get something into his system soon were not ones he wanted to test out. 

Alex instantly wanted to start panicking. Something was not right with Jack, and he hated the thought that it was something he didn’t know how to solve. He stopped himself. He needed to have a level head right now. “We’re gonna be in the back,” Alex stated to the room, “give us space.” 

Carefully, Alex stood up and took Jack’s hand. Their eyes met, and Alex felt his heart rate pick up. Jack looked bad. He was pale, paler than normal. It was like he was drained of any color. His eyes were frighteningly dull. They were bordering on grey, and surely that was bad. “Oh Jacky,” he said sadly, guiding him up and down the hallway. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” 

Jack followed obediently, not that he had much mind not to. He did need Alex alone, after all. He shook his head. He couldn’t say it here, and he really didn’t want to speak in the first place. It made his head hurt. He simply let Alex shut them into the back lounge, and lock the door. 

“Jack,” Alex said again, turning to look into his eyes.

He avoided the gaze and looked down towards the base of Alex’s neck. With the back of his hand, Jack wiped the make-up off of the bite marks there. After their first time, Alex had stopped at CVS to get some concealer to avoid any questions from the guys and anyone else who might happen to notice. He’s put it on consistently every morning before the other’s woke up and Jack couldn’t be more grateful for it. Once he’d removed most of it, Jack finally met Alex’s worried look. He glanced down at the marks, silently trying to convey his plans. 

Alex barely hesitated before nodding softly. Jack seemed to know what he was doing despite the shallowness of his movements. 

Almost as a reflex, Jack sunk his teeth into Alex’s soft skin. The quick movement of his head caused a pain spike, but he barely cared. He registered Alex gasping in the back of his mind. The rest of his thoughts were about how good this felt. So sweet, so rich. His thirst was waning slowly as he drank faster than he ever had. It feel like a primal need to keep going, keep going, keep going. Suddenly, Jack was being practically thrown back. Most of the force was on his head, some on his chest. His senses came back soon after. 

Alex held onto the doorframe as best he could and leaned back against the door as support. At first, he’d just been kind of shocked at how fast Jack moved. Then he realized how badly he apparently needed to drink. The other two times Jack drank from him, Alex couldn’t feel his blood draining. This time it was the first thing he noticed. He was going to leave it, but after a couple minutes, he started feeling achy. He couldn’t determine where or what the ache was until it started to hurt. It was painful, really painful very fast. He was biting back a pained scream after another minute. It was then when he realized what was wrong. Alex grit out Jack’s name a few times, trying to get him to back off, but it wasn’t working. Then he resorted to pulling his head back by his hair to dislodge his fangs while shoving him off in a danger induced adrenaline high. 

Both boys looked at each other, breathing heavy for a moment. Jack was confused. His body was firing off different senses from the blood intake. Alex was panicking. Was he okay? Was Jack okay? Was he okay? The pain had dulled when he got Jack off, but it was still there. Was that bad? Normal? 

A sharp pain shot out from the bite suddenly, drawing a loud “fuck,” out of him. He let go of the door frame in favor of his neck. This drew Jack’s eyes down to the mark on his neck. Something didn’t look right, and then it dawned on him. Alex wasn’t bleeding. Alex bled for a few minutes after Jack stopped drinking from him. Jack had drained him. 

Because Alex had not dropped dead, Jack knew he wasn’t completely drained. He had enough blood that if Jack got some of it back into him, he’d be okay. Luckily, he knew how to do that. He just had to make himself bleed before all of Alex’s blood was transferred to wherever it went after drinking. Also luckily, fangs were very sharp. 

Jack sprung into action all of a sudden, not having the time or desire to watch Alex die a painful death. “Stay with me, baby. Stay with me,” he whispered desperately, pulling him to the floor. He could’ve been more gentle about it, but Alex was in pain anyway and it was much more important to transfer his blood back than worry about him having a bruised back for a little while. 

Jack crawled onto his chest and straddled him before sitting up and taking a deep breath. In a smooth motion, Jack swiped his wrist over the edge of his left fang. He barely kept a pained sound in at the feeling of his wrist slicing open. Breathing through grit teeth, he pulled Alex’s hand away from the bite on his neck. 

Alex’s eyes widened, as he saw the blood start dripping from Jack’s wrist. “Jay,” he whimpered, scared and concerned. 

Jack turned his arm over and pressed the cut over the bite marks. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He brushed Alex’s hair out of his face, waiting for his pain to subside. 

Slowly over the course of about a minute, Alex caught his breath and his chest felt looser. The bite wasn’t shooting lightning strikes through his body anymore. It felt warm, good. Not pleasurable, thankfully, he didn’t think he could handle fucking at the moment. Not after.. whatever just occurred and is occurring. 

Shortly after a relieved sigh left Alex’s lips, Jack took his wrist away. He hovered for a moment, waiting to see if the pain came back, but Alex continued to look relatively calm. Jack sent him a small smile before dipping down to clean off the bite that was now smeared with a combination of both their blood, mostly Alex’s. Once he had a clear view of the spot, Jack let out his own relieved sigh. The bite marks Jack had left on the last full moon were still there. They would have disappeared if Alex was going to start turning. 

Jack sat up and moved off of Alex. With his uninjured hand, he pulled the brunette up and sat him in his lap. At the same time, he laid the cut on his tongue. Vampires were quick healers, but because he had cut himself on purpose with a fang, it wouldn’t stop bleeding and heal until he cleaned it off. As soon as he stopped tasting the subtle sweetness of the mixture, he wrapped his arm around Alex. “Are you feeling better?” he asked softly. 

“Yeah,” Alex nodded, looking at him in concern. This all started because Jack looked like he was about to die or something. At some point, his skin had gained a little color back. His eyes were shining brown again, too. Regardless, Alex was still not sure what happened. “Are you?” 

It took a moment for Jack to realize what he was talking about. He’d pushed the situation to the back of his mind when he realized what he’d accidentally done to Alex. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, trying to not make a deal out of it. They were going to go home in a few days for a couple weeks. He’d be able to get back on track with his bi-daily drinking then. There was a full moon they’d have to worry about, but that conversation could wait. 

“I’m worrying about it,” Alex disagreed. “You had no color. I kind of thought my boyfriend was dying. That’s something I should be concerned about, I think.” 

Jack looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Boyfriend?” He cringed a little at the bluntness of the question. He’d kind of planned on just not bringing this up, not for a while, anyway, but Alex had just called him his boyfriend and he couldn’t help it. 

Alex furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He spoke, almost in a question. His eyes widened after a moment. “Or not. Is that not- I just thought-” 

“Lex,” Jack cut him off with a soft kiss. “I..I love you,” he admitted in a whisper. 

“I know, but that’s not-”

“No, Alex. I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you, I just- I didn’t know what you wanted out of this.” Jack blushed a little bit, and bit his lip. He didn’t exactly think this would go badly, and he didn’t expect Alex to say it back yet, but-

“I love you, too,” Alex smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “And you are my boyfriend. I’m sorry I wasn’t upfront about it, I just kind of thought it was mutual.. How long has this been bothering you?”

Jack shrugged again trying to downplay it, even though he knew Alex wouldn’t take the bait. “When you asked if we could shower together at the hotel a couple months ago..”

Again, Alex’s eyes widened. “Jack-” he paused for a second, remembering what specifically he was referring to. “Wait- That hotel? Why didn’t you just ask?” 

He gave another shrug, though this one was genuine. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I guess.” 

Alex nodded slowly and glanced away in thought. “Okay.. So, what happened this morning?” he asked, returning the conversation back to its origin. 

Jack bit his lip and sighed. “Uh- You know how I’m supposed to drink something, real or fake, every so often?” Alex nodded, a curious look on his face. “I sort of.. undershot how many of the synthetics I’d need for tour. I drink them bi-daily, so it’s not a big deal if I miss one, but if I go over a week without something, it causes withdrawals, kind of. It starts okay, but the longer you wait the worse your symptoms get.”

Alex made a thoughtful face, taking in the information. “Okay, so how long has it been..?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t really think he was going to enjoy this answer. 

“A little over a week?” 

Alex sighed, and shook his head a little. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t just ask me to help you,” he said softly, turning his attention back to Jack. “I like it when you drink from me. It doesn’t have to lead to sex every time either because, first of all, I still have a left hand. Second of all, it’s not like the only thing I get out of it has to do with the pain-pleasure. Normally, you draw from me slowly, and I get to feel everything. You kiss me during it, whether or not you realize that, and its warm. The fangs themselves are kind on room temperature cools the spot externally, but internally, underneath the sting, it kind of feels like the way drinking hot chocolate while its snowing feels. It’s kind of tingly, nice. Warm, like I said.” He rambled, smiling lazily as he recalled the sensation. “And I like to look at the marks.”

Humming, Jack thought about about the confession. In most situations, the neck was the most logical option for drinking, so he hadn’t really considered anything else. It’s the standard, but not the only option. On the other side, Alex was just about every exception he knew of. “Would you ever want to try something?” he questioned after a few moments.

Alex raised an eyebrow curiously. “Sure?” he said slowly. “Can I ask what it is?”

He shrugged, still thinking. “I think I can make drinking more.. interesting? for you. Situations where it really matters are rare, but your neck isn’t the only place I can bite you. And I don’t really even need to bite you in the first place.”

“Really? How?” Alex wondered, eyes widened in part curiosity, part excitement. 

Jack shook his head a little bit. A small thought crossed his mind and he smirked slightly. “Good question, Lex. Maybe you should ask me again when I have you in my bed in a few days,” he teased. 

Alex blushed a light pink and sat up to pull Jack in for a kiss. “That’s a rather funny way of asking me to spend break with you,” he giggled, pulling away a little bit, “but lucky for you, I already switched my flight two weeks ago. Don’t think I forgot about that full moon.”

[powerwordsleep]

Sasuke Retsuden (Unoffical English Translation)

Prologue

Here’s the next installment! Enjoy~

DISCLAIMER: This is not an official translation and was not made for profit or distribution. This translation was fan-made and done for purely enjoyment and translation practice purposes. I do not own the rights to NARUTO or any of the related materials.

CONTENT WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND GORE.

Prologue | Chapter 2

Chapter 1

With his fangs still in the man’s body, Menō landed without making a sound. He suddenly opened his mouth and dropped the man he held in his mouth to the ground.

“...Ugh…”

He tried to crawl away, but Menō kicked him, sending him sprawling. He stabbed the claws on his foot into the man’s shoulders and started dragging him away slowly. He finally stopped when he reached the middle of the yard then opened his mouth, dripping red with blood, and took a bite out of the man’s right shoulder.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The man shrieked, his body contorting in pain.

Menō ripped at his flesh, and the blood dripping from the wound mixed with the steady stream pouring from his stomach, quickly forming a puddle of red on the earth. Making a fast meal out of the man’s head and chest would be enjoyable. Menō instead flipped the man’s body around and started to eat the shallow flesh of his hips. He pulled at the thin fibers of muscle, and the man cried out, his face pressed into the ground, sand filling his mouth.

Menō took his time tasting the man’s flesh and blood. He had purposefully dragged the deserter’s body to the middle of the courtyard where the other prisoners could witness his meal. It was a warning—this is what will become of you if you try to run.

“Eugh! I’m still alive! Please!”

The other prisoners watched from a distance, a grimace on their faces and pickaxes resting on their shoulders. Menō teared at the flesh like he was playing with it. When he finally got to the organs and the drip drip drip of blood could be heard from afar, the man’s scream faded out until they could no longer be heard.

“Well, that’s about it for Nogema. Quickly, back to your stations.” At the sound of the low voice from behind them, all the prisoners froze at once.

A slender man wearing silver-rimmed glasses slowly emerged from the building.

The director of the Tartar Astronomy Research Institute. Zansur. The person in charge of this place and Menō’s master.

“If you don’t move quickly Menō will make you his dessert.”

Although Zansur’s voice was light, there was an underlying intimidation to it; the prisoners paled at his joke. From within the sea of prisoners scattering to their various work stations, Sasuke observed Menō in secret.

Menō swung his large, long tail, using it to keep balance as he bent over, his head lost in the soft flesh and blood in the belly of the corpse. The hard skin covering his head was stained red with blood, the yellow pupil of his eyes shining brightly.

A carnivorous prison guard who faithfully obeyed Zansur—that was Menō.

A huge, bipedal lizard covered in thick skin, with nail-shaped fangs and sharp claws. When standing he was 80 centimeters in height, but if you measured from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, he was no less than two meters. What’s terrifying was the strength of his legs. Sprouting from under his torso are two horrible, spring-like legs that can move ten meters in a single leap.

This place was not a prison. The patrols did not keep watch over the prisoners 24 hours a day like guards should. There were no locks on their living quarters nor on any of the buildings' entrances. Nevertheless, the prisoners living here followed the rules obediently—because of Menō.

As long as there was Menō, who watched over the grounds authoritatively and showed no mercy in eating those who break the rules alive, then rarely would there be anyone who would dare try to escape.

***********

The prisoners’ job at the Astronomy Research Institute was mainly digging up dirt. Using farming tools, they were tasked with scraping up the frost covered soil. If they came across a large rock or hard clumps of earth, they had to carefully dig it up and remove it. And repeat.

It seemed that the work was necessary in order to build the foundation for a giant telescope, but the longtime prisoners said that for close to a year they’ve been forced to do this work endlessly.

“Ugh, it’s cold.”

Working next to him was Jiji, who was currently standing with his pickaxe resting against his hip, furiously rubbing his hands together. The mornings were particularly cold. The temperatures were low enough to freeze snot before it fell from their noses to the ground.

“Aren’t you cold, Sasuke?”

“Yes.” He answered honestly. Sasuke rubbed his hand against the handle of his pickaxe and warmed them up with the friction. He was used to working under harsh conditions, but cold is cold.

“Ugh, I hate it here... Why did they build the Astronomy Research Institute in such a cold place? The snow already melted a while ago. At this rate I’m going to end up freezing to death. Well, actually, after seeing that guy get eaten this morning, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to freeze to death in my sleep.”

Did Jiji ever get tired of this monotonous work? He certainly never tired of speaking.

Jiji was a fellow prisoner and Sasuke’s cellmate. He was locked up on charges of stealing food because he had none. His sentence was a minimum of six months. Since they were about the same age and both in good physical condition, they were assigned to the same work division and were often paired together.

Jiji rubbed his reddened nose and then suddenly let out a yelp.

“Shit, I hurt myself. Ah, but this is lucky! Now I can go to the doctor’s office.”

“What’s so great about the doctor’s office?”

“Didn’t you hear? There’s a newly arrived lady doctor. Word on the street is she’s beautiful and kind.”

He chuckled and added, “And she’s single. No significant other.”

This caused Sasuke to look up from his work. “How do you know she’s single?”

“Because she isn’t wearing a ring.”

A ring?

Jiji noticed the blank look on Sasuke’s face and continued. “Oh yeah, you’re not from around here. It’s Redaku custom for people to exchange rings when they get married. If you wear a ring on the second to last finger of your left hand, that means you’re married. That lady doctor isn’t wearing a ring, so—ah, shit. The patrols.”

Noticing the approaching guards, Jiji cut his explanation short. He picked up his pickaxe, the blade worn and chipped, and set about diligently hammering away at earth, as was his duty. The patrols came up to watch this, swinging around their batons while walking by, scowling at Jiji. They did not, however, try to meet Sasuke’s eyes. They were afraid of him. Once the guards continued on their way, Jiji discarded his tool once more and let out the pent up breath he’d be holding.

“Ugh. Fuck this shit, I hate it here.”

Sasuke shared the sentiment. He let out a sigh and turned to look behind him. The Tartar Astronomy Research Institute sat quietly atop a desolate mountain range. Built 1,000 meters above sea level, it was a fierce stone prison. It is said that the Rokudō Sennin himself stayed at this place. He was supposed to have collected documents here. That was the reason Sasuke came here.

Naruto was suffering from an illness back in the Land of Fire. Sasuke was here to gather the documents the Rokudō Sennin collected for Naruto. That was his sole purpose. Being unable to do anything else at such a time was frustrating. Right now Naruto’s illness was getting worse with each passing second—

“What’s wrong with you? You’re making a scary face.” Jiji’s voice cut through his thoughts. His cellmate’s eyes stared curiously at him from beneath the shadow of his bangs.

“It’s nothing.”

“Really? You had a really serious look on your face.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sasuke dexterously picked up his pickaxe with his arm, signaling the end of the conversation.

***********

After dinner Sasuke returned to his cell. As his hand touched the iron bars, he was greeted by a cut-off scream.

“AA—”

There in the middle of the cell, a gangly and petite man was lying prostrate on the floor. It was one of Sasuke’s three cellmates, Penzira. Jiji sat opposite him, legs crossed. Between the two men was a bowl with dice rolling around inside it.

“Jiji, you bastard! It’s snake eyes!”

“Heh, my bad. I’ll just take that cig, then.” Jiji snickered and pulled the cigarette on the floor towards him. It seemed that they were playing Cee-lo.

Although many prisoners become obsessed with gambling in a life of imprisonment without other forms of entertainment, Penzira has been an addict since well before. He loved playing dirty and doing underhanded tricks, but a series of successive losses earned him a pile of debt, and he got caught in multiple false marriage scams in attempts to pay it off. He had a minimum one year sentence.

Penzira noticed Sasuke. “Ah, Sasuke. Come play Cee-lo with us!” He shook the dice in the bowl incessantly.

“I’ll pass.”

“What’s up with you? So unpleasant.” Penzira frowned in disappointment and then turned his attention to the corner of the room. “Ganno! What’re you doing? Stop drawing pictures or whatever and get over here already!” He called out to Ganno, the third cellmate.

In the corner of the room squatting like a chicken on its eggs was Ganno, his back to Penzira. “Now’s no good.” He replied curtly.

Ganno, in his late sixties, was the oldest man in the cell. He was painting the loose skin on the nape of his skin completely red with paint.

“Are you still doing that? Aren’t you tired of it yet?”

“Don’t talk to me. I’ve almost completed an important part.”

It was one month ago that Ganno suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve found something great!” while out during his work shift, and returned to the cell with his pockets stuffed with red and brown rocks. Starting the next day Ganno would smash the rocks together, every morning and evening, not caring how raw his hands became. Over the course of five days the rocks were all crushed. Next he peeled off the skin from the soles of his feet. Then, he asked his friends in charge of the kitchen if he could borrow an open stove, and he used it before and after every meal for two hours; in total, he boiled the skin for close to 30 hours. Those around Ganno questioned his sanity when they saw the blood soaked bandages wrapped around his feet, but the man himself looked perfectly happy.

A broth of melted skin and a reddish brown powder made from painstakingly crushed rocks.

It was the day Sasuke arrived that Ganno finally had these two materials. While the others went to hurriedly greet the newcomer, Ganno began to mix both ingredients on top of pine leaves. Sasuke was struck breathless as he saw his cellmate completely absorbed in a task he didn’t understand.

The dull, reddish brown powder increased in viscosity when mixed with the both, and it transformed into a glossier color. After kneading the mixture for a few minutes, he completed the Kamain’s rock paint. It was a vivid red like Japanese plums. Every night since then Ganno has enjoyed painting, using pine leaves as a brush and his toenails as a canvas.

“Anyway, I’ll get rid of it before the inventory check next week.” Jiji was exasperated by this response and turned his back on the diligently working man, telling him the nail art didn’t suit him. “That’s why I’m hurrying. I’m already on my pinky finger,” replied Ganno. His voice was always cheerful.

A minimum sentence of 17 years in prison for treason against the nation. Ganno claimed his crime was painting a portrait for an aristocrat who opposed the Prime Minister. His father was also a painter, but he became obsessed and always had a paintbrush in hand, neither liking nor disliking what he painted.

A drawing that took one week to paint, done with a brush that took three weeks to make. Sasuke didn’t quite understand why Ganno would want to complete something that he would have to get rid of in a week, but any entertainment was important here.

The prisoners share what is basically a six-mat tatami room among four people. In such a confined space, adults breaking out in a fight was natural; beating each other until they were bloody and senseless was an everyday occurrence. In such an environment, Sasuke’s cell was comparatively peaceful. They weren’t exactly friendly, but so far no problems had arisen.

Ganno was absorbed in his art, and both Jiji and Penzira were upset at their dice rolls. Sasuke was gazing absentmindedly at the moon until it was time for lights out. This was what usually went on in the cell each evening.

“Yo, Sasuke, you should play too!”

“We’ll let you have the first go.” After each turn Jiji and Penzira would invite the lonesome Sasuke to play.

“No thanks,” came his short reply. He heard a faint noise and turned his gaze to the window that faced out into the courtyard. The white, illuminating light of the moon was blocked for a moment by a shadow. It was probably Menō out in the grounds. There was something about Menō that bothered Sasuke. If he were to do some research, now would be the perfect time.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Sasuke stood up and seated himself across from Penzira. “I’m your opponent now.”

“What, really? Hell yeah!”

“I don’t have cigarettes, so can I bet on something else?” Sasuke asked, reaching into his pocket and pretending to pull something out. He focused his chakra into his fingers, and using a simple Earth Style jutsu, activated the elements in the soil, arranging the atoms until they smoothed out and crystallized.

Rolling around in his palm was a red stone. It was a large ruby about the size of a cherry.

“Huh? Is that a jewel? Is that real?”

“No way, it can’t be. It’s probably glass or something.”

Jiji and Penzira inspected the jewel closely. Sasuke neither confirmed nor denied, but the jewel in his hand was certainly physically the real deal. Unfortunately, it was man-made.

“A pretty glass jewel, huh… we could take it and then melt it down in a fire and smoke it. That would be fun, yeah?”

“You don’t have any cigarettes left to bet on, I took everything you had last game. Bet on your meal duty.”

Sasuke picked up the bowl. “We don’t need cigarettes, and you don’t need to swap your meal duties. Instead, I want you to do me a favor.”

“A favor?”

“I’ll explain afterwards.” He placed the bowl on the tatami and grabbed three dice. He faced Penzira and asked, “What’s the best roll?”

“Of course you don’t know the rules. It’s snake eyes. You gotta get three digits.”

“Alright then, I’ll roll that.”

Jiji and Penzira looked at him. Even Ganno stopped working on his hand in order to watch Sasuke.

Sasuke channeled his chakra to his closed fist. The moment he rolled the dice, an imperceptible force guided them. With a clatter, the wooden dice rolled around inside the bowl.

“Seriously…”

Seeing three red dots lined up, Penzira’s mouth fell open. Like Sasuke had said, he, of course, rolled snake eyes. While Jiji and Genno were also sitting there stunned, Sasuke leisurely stood up.

“Looks like I win.”

“Rolling snake eyes right after saying you will—there ain’t luck like that. That was cheating!” Jiji smacked Penzira on the shoulder, ignoring his whine of protest.

“I told you to give up!”

When gambling with prisoners, cheating was a common occurrence. The unspoken rule here was if you don’t catch someone in the act of cheating, then it doesn’t count.

“You promised me a favor, Penzira.”

“... I can’t do anything too difficult.”

“Relax, it’s not bad.” Sasuke said and stood, heading for the door. “I’m going for a walk. When the patrols come around, cover for me.”

Penzira thought he was joking and laughed, but when he noticed Sasuke’s serious expression he followed after him, flustered. During the downtime before bed, you were free to do as you liked as long you stayed in the cells. The second you stepped foot out of your cell, you were breaking the rules.

“This is crazy! It’ll be obvious that someone is missing, how am I supposed to cover for you?”

“Stuff my futon.”

“Oh, we’ll just deceive the guards, is that it? They’re not children!” Penzira followed him out the door, complaining all the while.

“Sasuke!” Jiji called after him through the iron bars. “You get it, right? If you’re caught breaking the rules, you’ll be sent to receive punishment before you can offer up any excuses. If it’s Menō who finds you, he’ll eat you alive, no questions asked.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Sasuke replied calmly.

“That’s not the issue...” Penzira moaned.

***********

Within the grounds of the Tartar Astronomy Research Institute, there were two buildings located on the east and west end of the courtyard. Located on the west end was the multi-purpose building that housed the prisoners, which looked like it had been hastily put together with some branches that had been lying around. Opposite that, on the east end, was the headquarters of the institute.

Prisoners were forbidden from entering this building, but Sasuke held no such reservations as he boldly walked through the front door.

When he took his first step into the entryway, he was greeted by thick, fur-lined carpet. The headquarters was a completely different world from the barracks. It had been renovated since the Tartar era, and now was a magnificent brick building that resembled a royal palace. There seemed to be four stories above ground, and based on this country’s architectural standards, it was fairly large.

While the prisoners were forced to cry themselves to sleep on hard stone floors wrapped up in their thin futons, here the hallways, stairwells, and of course the rooms themselves were lined wall to wall with plush carpet. Thanks to the stucco-lined brick exterior, the building was naturally free from any cold drafts, and the guards’ rooms all had large fireplaces with which to heat their quarters. The difference was like walking on a cloud, compared to the barracks which would sometimes have icicles hanging inside the rooms during the snowy season.

As he walked through the corridors of the building, Sasuke would hide himself in rooms and attach himself to the ceiling whenever he heard the guards approaching on their patrols. But he purposely wasn’t masking his chakra presence, because of that giant lizard—it was to alert Menō. Since he couldn’t use words with his reptilian opponent, he planned on manipulating him with genjutsu to see if he could obtain any new information that way.

Menō surpassed other reptiles in terms of reflexes, speed, and power. No matter how you looked at it, Menō was a summon. Since he obeyed Zansur’s every command, there was a high chance that he was the one who gave Menō his powers. Originally, this country had no shinobi, but he’d heard that the Prime Minister had gathered rogue ninja here for a war.

It was likely that Zansur was a shinobi and he had summoned Menō using Kuchiyose, and now the two were connected via his chakra.

But a summon was not supposed to last this long. Menō was constantly stalking around the institute, morning and evening, keeping watch over the prisoners. That would mean Zansur was using Kuchiyose for at least 20 hours each day. That was way too long. Did Zansur have chakra reserves that large? Or perhaps the basic structure of this Kuchiyose technique was different from those passed down in the Land of Fire—

Tap tap. From down the corridor came the sound of nails hitting the floor.

Sasuke came to a halt, and met a pair of yellow eyes floating in the dark. Sidling out of the darkness came of the form of Menō.

“So you came.”

Sasuke raised his eyelids and focused his chakra to his eyes.

The Sharingan.

A red eye with three spinning black pinwheels met Menō’s gaze. He instantly activated his doujutsu, and dragged Menō into a genjutsu—or he intended to.

Whoosh!

Menō vaulted off the floor and leaped towards Sasuke. Sharp claws raked at Sasuke from the side and managed to cut off a lock of Sasuke’s hair.

Did the genjutsu not work?

Sasuke fended off the attack from Menō, and backed up until he hit the wall, then came to a stop. Winding up like a spring, Menō gathered strength in his legs before leaping forward, closing the distance between him and Sasuke in an instant. The pair of yellow eyes met his once again, but it had the same result. The genjutsu didn’t work.

As Menō thrust a fist towards him, Sasuke suddenly ducked down beneath his chest. He shoved him with the palm of his hand while his leg swept Menō’s feet out from under him. The sound of the floor cracking could be heard under Menō’s now prone form, and Sasuke ceased his attack. Leaving behind traces of a fight for the director and others to discover was dangerous. It made no sense, especially after all the trouble he went through to come here undetected.

Sasuke used the brief moment of reprieve to put some distance between them, when Menō’s eyes suddenly snapped open. Using his long tail like a whip, he threw himself at Sasuke and landed directly behind him. Sasuke barely dodged the hit, one that could’ve cost him his life.

He’s fast!

Sasuke used a Water Style jutsu to create a make-shift kunai out of ice, and wielding it, slashed at the sharp claws that were honing in on him then severed them from their fingertips. Without flinching, Menō continued his advance, and Sasuke continued slashing his way up the lizard’s torso.

“Gyah!” Menō let out a high-pitched scream and landed roughly on the ground. Yellow fluid poured out from a large, open wound in his stomach.

Oops.

Sasuke regretted the move instantly, but it was too late.

Menō staggered, then rushed to jump out a nearby window. When he came to the wall he smashed into it, toppling part of it over, and lept down into the courtyard below. He made a run for it at full speed, the yellow liquid drenching his body as it continued to spill out from his wound.

Sasuke bit his lip and dropped his gaze down to the palm of his hand, where a terrible sensation lingered. That last attack he landed with his kunai went deep. It was very likely a fatal wound.

***********

However—

The next day as Sasuke was looking out into the courtyard from his usual seat in the cafeteria, he spotted a familiar long tail swaying to and fro, and his eyes widened in shock.

You’re being foolish. It can’t be.

As if feeling his eyes on him, Menō faced Sasuke and met his gaze. However, as though he had no memory of the events from the night before, he huffed and quickly turned away.

Menō is alive.

Although he had suffered lasting damage, his body showed no signs of injury. Sasuke had no idea what this could mean. It was like he needed to get his eyes checked.

“So you’re the one who raised a hand against Menō. Number 487.” A voice abruptly came from behind him.

Zansur.

Sasuke had been waiting to initiate direct contact with him, but if he had revealed himself, then there was no point in hiding now. Besides, there were some things he wanted to ask him as well.

Sasuke activated his Sharingan as he turned around to face him. His eyes bled into red, and three pinwheels spun in his iris as he met Zansur’s gaze.

In the next moment—Sasuke sucked in a breath.

He only noticed it for the first time with his Sharingan. Behind the silver-rimmed frames of Zansur’s glasses were glass eyes.

“Your eyes…”

“Yes, yes, very good,” Zansur squinted at him, and the corner of his mouth lifted up in a smirk as he laughed. “You’re very keen. Every day my underlings can barely look at me, so no one else has noticed.”

Zansur reached out his arm and touched the windowsill behind Sasuke. His eyes moved naturally, and seemed to have good vision no matter where he looked. However, no matter how many times Sasuke checked to confirm, Zansur’s left and right eyes were definitely made of pure glass.

Zansur leaned in close and whispered in Sasuke’s ear. “It seems that you can use some ninjutsu… I’ll remember that.” The fake eye on the left made one full revolution in his eye socket, moving as if it were a living creature.

“It’ll take more than one measly ninja to take Menō away from me.”