#i would tear my teeth into the flesh and shred it apart

[phoenixkaptain]

Worst part of the human body is that sometimes, I feel immense, soul-consuming pain in my stomach, and I never know if it’s my period or a cyst rupturing or an ulcer or if my body is just complaining because I sat in a weird position for an hour

[mi-i-zori]

Breathe

CoD - Nikto x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : Nikto drinks blood like a starved beast.

WARNINGS : NSFW - 18+. Beware, this is kind of unhinged. Canon-typical violence, blood (Reader has periods - emphasis on period blood), Nikto (a warning in himself), blood/period kink (?), poetic smut, fluff.

Author’s Note : I have no idea why I keep using poetic sentences whenever I try to write smut, but hey. Guess its just how I am. A filthy romantic at heart.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Main Masterlist

Nikto licks blood off his fingers on the daily like a starved beast, savouring a taste he knows will never fully satiate his hunger.

It does not matter if the crimson nectar is his or not ; he keeps engraving its flavour deep into his mind. It leaves a warm, metallic feeling in the back of his throat - one similar to the one lining the surface of the gun that was repeatedly shoved past his teeth after its bullets were lodged in-between his ribs, the thick ropes circling his wrists harvesting his own, personal flavour directly from his veins.

Both life and death flow past his tongue, carving countless nightmares in the few hours of sleep weighing heavy on his subconscious - dragging a never ending series of shuddering breaths up his oesophagus whenever he wakes.

He can never escape them, for reality is just as bitter as his dreams. So he drowns it it blood, gunpowder and alcohol, turning away from the shredded screams coming from his reflection in the mirror.

Until that moment.

Your face is pulled into a grimace as you tell him about the way one of your stupid coworkers shamelessly blabbered about how dirty he thinks period blood is, filling your head with somber thoughts at the idea that yours is quickly approaching.

You don’t see how his eyes light up when they fall upon the date circled in red on the calendar of your phone.

And it is only when his lips meet your bleeding walls for the first time, lapping at the tears running down the inside of your thighs with a newfound reverence blossoming on his tongue, that the spectre in his head finally goes silent.

You look like divine absolution, he thinks, watching with rapt attention as moans flow from your lips like a holy river. Lust fills his mind, body and soul as he wonders if edging you further would allow him to taste the stars running through your veins. Would the world end up falling apart with you ?

The thought of the Earth shattering like glass against the echo of your climax fuels the fire burning in his stomach.

So he keeps staining his mouth red with your blood and slick. War-torn hands hold your legs still around his head as his fingers pull at your flesh, moulding it to his will - and he growls loudly against your core, the waves of a supernova bursting through your entire body as a new orgasm shakes the very foundations of your universe.

Is it the third ? The fourth ? The fifth ? You stopped counting a few seconds after his mouth first latched on the sacred flower blooming between your legs, too lost in the song of your own pleasure.

Nikto doesn’t need anything more to find his own release. He then crashes on top of you as you both fall from your high, lips sharing the last remnants of your erratic, scorching breaths.

He lays there for the rest of the night, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat - your divinity dancing on the back of his tongue.

The constellations lining your mind call out to him as he sleeps, flickering with the promise of finally carrying him away from the ruins of his heart. They light up his bones from below the thorns, and he would gladly sacrifice what is left of himself if it meant you could cradle them against your breast.

The warm softness of your skin soothes the pain still lingering in his scars, and he subconsciously cages your bare form in his arms as he drifts to the world of dreams.

He can finally breathe.

[porcelainseashore]

The Faceless One - Palla Grande "King Slayers" ft. Gael Romilly

Author's Note: I’m so excited that this is my first time writing for VtM and participating in an event! Here’s my entry for the Palla Grande "King Slayers" hosted by @tzimizce, which tells the story of how Gael, the daredevil, couldn’t resist getting into one of her own.

She wasn’t from around these parts. Her brothers and sisters had told tall tales about the infamous event the Sabbat held each year, captivated her with descriptions of their festivities—maybe rumors—rumors were common among her kind.

“Bullshit,” she had said, waving her hand dismissively, drunk on warm blood sloshing around in a squashed plastic cup. A dash of it spilled to the ground, watering the cracked soil and scarring it red. 

“You don’t believe us? Then see it for yourself,” they had chanted, eyes gleaming, sharpened teeth luminescent under the glow of the moonlit sky.

The compulsion in her ached, clawing through her ribcage, shredding it apart. Streams of ribbons scarlet on her bare hands. And she knew that she would tear out her undead eyes just for a glimpse into such revelry.

“I will,” she gritted out, tossing the empty cup into the dirt, another blemish upon the landscape they called theirs, at least for the night.

All Hallows Eve descended upon the city in all its wicked glory, reeking of cheap liquor on tacky costumes, and barbed wire in candy. Gael drove into the heart of it, finding a place where the misfits and wannabes hung out in droves. A perfect hunting ground for those who dared call themselves vampires.

In there, whispers upon whispers circulated among friends of friends of acquaintances of strangers, and she heard it all. She could be charming if she wanted to, especially when she wasn’t shivering like an addict looking for their next fix.

“It’s an exclusive party,” one of the group told her snottily. “They asked specifically for five of us.”

Us. Gael didn’t belong—not yet.

That was okay. She revealed her first card, just like the way her lips pulled taut against the flesh of her gums to reveal her teeth. For a split second, her pupils flashed diabolically.

“But I am part of your five,” she grinned.

They stammered, hemmed and hawed, unable to shy away from her gaze. It didn’t take long for them to oust the weakest of the group, offering Gael their spot instead. As they set off, there were cackles and chatter about being honored at a Blood Feast.

Poor new age witches, they never stood a chance. So naive, so easy to manipulate, she thought. And what of her now? She would let them be blood bags for some ostentatious display of power.

A silent witness.

“Mistress Lydia’s guests?” the bouncer at the door asked.

Gael’s heart pounded in her chest. Oh, how she had forgotten what it felt like to be alive! Even through mimicry—what she would continue to rely on for the rest of the evening.

“Here, put this on.”

She was handed a poppy flower to pin on her jacket. Touché. The flower of spilled blood and sacrifice. How blatant could the Sabbat be?

As she was ushered in, she took in the marvelous sights of wild excess and debauchery. The costumes, each more extravagant than the other. She would soon don her own, but for now, she played the role of a moronic tourist, piggybacking off someone else’s invitation.

Her keen eyes darted around, surveying the venue. The passageways and exits were triple checked. So were the doors leading to the pantries and cellars.

The bathrooms. Check.

Behind the bars. Check.

Backstage. Check. 

The gears began to turn in Gael’s head as she ticked each area of interest off like an item on her inventory list. Years of being a runner and drug mule for a particularly notorious coterie in the Northwest had left its mark and taken its toll. But maybe we’ll get to that later—or not.

As usual, she slipped away into the crowd, losing the flower as she blended in like a chameleon, shifting skins—smoothly, expertly, shedding her self in the layers, to appear as one nondescript form to another. She had to be careful to avoid any misstep. One wrong move, and she was done for. Although she had a thousand masks to wear, there were a thousand pairs of eyes, always watching, from the shadows, from the blind corners of her vision.

Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as a byproduct of the way in which she conducted her affairs—meticulous and calculating. Falling into pace, fear and trepidation gave way to thrill and excitement. She swore she could see the searing white adrenaline course through her veins, turning them milky and sticky. And her Beast was pleased.

Across the night, she was a human guest, a ghoul server, a band’s roadie all-in-one. She flitted between guises like switching dance partners—never bored, nor boring. Picking up on secret codes and gestures, weaving in and out of head counts, sometimes one more, sometimes one less, like that creepypasta she had read on 4chan… Anansi’s Goatman?

Doppelgänger, shapeshifter, but she was pretty damn sure that they were Ravnos—like her. 

Just before suspicion arose, she would change out again. Luck was on her side, for the time being. 

She watched wide-eyed as the grandiose performance of a sacrificial rite played out on stage, interspersed with images of Gehenna. The first of the mortals were slaughtered unknowingly among the sheep.

Power. Was this what Cainites felt at the height of their bloodlust?

Gael felt it too, similarly but different. She’d done it. None of her brothers and sisters saw, but she’d done it, and that was enough. 

Here she was, standing in a tank circled by sharks, unnoticed. Just another one of the many. Faceless, nameless, a nobody.

To be faceless was to retake power from having an identity—something to label, to judge, to align you with a sect or cause, under a banner. And for what?

To be unshackled of the ego—that was true power. 

She’d made it this far, but the hardest part yet was getting out. As far as she observed, the doors had been sealed shut long ago. Everything would be accounted for, dealt with, and cleaned up.

What would they do if they found her? Would they destroy her on the spot, or convert her to their church? Had they lulled her into a false sense of security, waiting for the right moment to strike?

Regardless, she would always remain fiercely independent, even in her final—

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[tired-teacher-blog]

Is it too late for us?

Characters : Aizawa/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Sexual intercourse/ Angst/ Ex boyfriend!Aizawa/ One Shot

Summary : You've never expected to run into your ex after an ugly breakup and months of being apart, but there you were, back in his bed and reliving every painful emotion you struggled to bury within you.

Notes : Banner and divider by @/saradika

Masterlist|Second Masterlist

You couldn't wrap your head around it at first, not even when you locked eyes with him for the first time in months, not even when he followed you to the restroom where you fled in hopes of collecting yourself.

You couldn't fathom the unusual aggressiveness he showed you while dragging you behind him through the restaurant's back door, ignoring all the questioning looks you two received from the clueless workers you passed on your way out.

You were in a haze, your mind a blur, not yet comprehending that you two had just ditched your dates and drove off to his apartment.

Only when your back hit the mattress, did you finally understand that you were in the presence of a beast who took over this man's whole being.

_ "Slow down a bit, please." your whiney protests were muffled by his hungry kisses, he was like a mad man, possessed and blind to everything that wasn't you.

Your new dress— picked out specifically to impress your date, was torn apart in the blink of an eye.

_ "You did all of this to sway that loser? Come on, you can do much better than him." he rasped bitterly, discarding the shredded garment to the floor and biting hard on the soft skin of your breasts.

_ "Don't patronize me you jerk! What I do is none of your business anymore." tears threatened to spill from your eyes, his words hurt you more than you expected them to do.

How dare he lecture you after heartlessly ending your relationship and walking away like it was nothing?

_ "Right, none of my business.." he repeated monotonically, emerging from his position to stare daggers into your soul.

His lips twitched, as if he wasn't done speaking, but you didn't want to hear it, nothing he had to say would make up for the countless nights you cried yourself to sleep wondering what went wrong.

You pulled him down forcefully, smashing your lips together in a bruising kiss, all tongues and teeth and desperate grunts, nothing sweet or romantic about it. Perfect..

It was exactly what you needed at that moment, to quench an insufferable thirst without looking back or raising your hopes up.

It meant nothing, it couldn't possibly mean anything..

Your fingers tugged at his dress shirt, fumbling with the damned buttons that refused to cooperate, "fuck, take it off, hurry." you demanded between sloppy kisses and he hummed against you before complying, his lips never leaving yours as he ripped it open.

Your hands roamed his lean chest eagerly, digging your nails into his flesh to leave bloody scratches behind.

His growls turned louder as his lips left your abused ones, "who is he?"

What?..

_ "How did you two meet?"

Seriously?..

_ "I can't let you go back to him."

A joke, it was a joke right? He was the one who left you behind without offering any kind of explanation, he was the one who pushed you into another man's arms, and he was the one who started dating around as soon as he threw you away, so why would he bother asking after all that happened?

You owed him nothing.

_ "Stop talking." you didn't want to deal with his nonsense, not anymore.

His clenched jaw peeked through the dark stubble on his cheeks, he clearly had more things to say, but the look you gave him spoke louder than any words he could utter.

His coarse hands traveled the expanse of your delicate skin, arousing goosebumps in their path and moving further down until they reached the soft fabric of your panties.

Your eyes rolled back in anticipation, and your spine arched off the bed when he roughly tore out the flimsy garment separating you, wasting no time to fondle your slick covered clit before pushing two fingers into your warmth at once.

He was harsh, uncaring, unbothered by the inevitable sting of the first intrusion as he pumped his digits fast and deep within you.

He was never like that, if only he would be gentler..

No, it was perfect that way, you didn't need the perplexity, the reminder of a past which could never return.

You grabbed onto the bedsheets underneath and tilted your head to the side as you refused to meet his piercing gaze any longer, your eyes burnt and the tears you struggled to keep at bay came rolling down your cheeks.

_ "Don't look away." his breath fanned over your neck as he demanded huskily but you chose to ignore him, sinking your teeth into your lower lip and bracing yourself for what was coming as you heard him unzip his pants.

Your legs trembled involuntary when he retrieved his long, slick-coated fingers and positioned himself at your entrance.

Usually he would ask if you were ready for him, if you were feeling well, if you wanted him to carry on or to give you more time, but that was in the past, you were no more than strangers now..

_ "Wait, too deep.." broken whines erupted as he eased himself into your core, stretching you around his thickness and sheathing it within your heat.

_ "I can't let you go back to him," he withdrew his hips slowly before plunging against you once more, "I should've never let you go," his tongue darted out to lick a wet stripe over the protruding vein on the side of your neck, "I will make you forget about him," his lips brushed against your quivering jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin before sucking a perfect red mark where everyone can see.

You wanted to fire back, to curse at him, to ask him to shut up. What gave him the right to decide for you after everything he's done? Wasn't he out with yet another girl? Oh the hypocrisy..

_ "You.." was all you could articulate, whimpering the rest unintelligibly as his thrusts suddenly quickened.

His bruising clutches squeezed your waist tighter, and his eager mouth abused every inch of you he could reach, "mine, you'll always be mine.."

You clawed at his shoulders as warmth started polling in the pit of your stomach, you weren't going to last much longer and neither was he.

_ "keep going.. Shouta.." your voice betrayed you as it finally spoke his name, and it was like feeding a starved dog as his hips started slamming mercilessly against your own.

_ "Again, say my name again." it was more of a plea than an instruction. He sounded desperate, cradling your tear-streaked cheek and tilting your head to face him, he was on the verge of tears himself and you fought the urge to comfort him.

_ "I'm sorry I ruined everything between us," his soft locks fell around his face to tickle your skin as he spoke, and you no longer had the strength to hold back.

You pulled him down for a kiss— unlike the ones you shared earlier, a kiss that reminded you of the happy moments you once had.

Longing moans invaded his mouth as they left your throat, and shaky hands grabbed onto his raven strands as his throbbing cock grazed your insides heavenly.

His hips moved erratically announcing his approaching release, and your lips molded sloppily with his own as your sopping walls squeezed him hard.

_ "Shouta! I'm.." you threw your head back as your body tensed up beneath him, digging your nails into his back while shockwaves of pleasure shook you to the core.

_ "Fuck.." his eyes were on you as he kept moving, guiding you throughout your orgasm until you relaxed at last, and pulling out of your sensitive cunt before ropes of pearly seeds erupted from his raging tip to coat your tummy and mix with the sheen of sweat adorning your skin.

_ "I love you." and it was the first time you hear him say it.

Never in the course of your perished relationship had he ever spoken those words to you, funny how life works, a few months ago you would have given an arm for him to say them, but now that he did, those same words were stabbing mercilessly at your heart.

_ "No! Don't!" you pushed him weakly as you sobbed, wishing to escape his presence, "you can't do this to me!"

He showed no resistance as he moved out of your way, though his trickling tears were too heavy to conceal, still, you chose to ignore them as you wobblily left his bed, picking up the shreds of your soul as well as your dress's, "this was a mistake Shouta, let's not meet again."

You wondered how to get home in your messed up state, but nothing seemed worse than this, and so, you walked out on him, repressing the urge to look back because you knew all too well that doing so, would weaken your resolve.

There he was, alone again, reaping the unbearable pain of his own mistake.

If only he was honest with himself from the beginning, if only he was brave enough to accept his feelings for you instead of running away, if only he could turn back time, if only he hadn't missed his chance..

Was it too late? Was it really over?

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Disorderly Conduct

Series: Crimes and Misdemeanors

Word Count: 10,000

Warnings: Esther herself is a freaking warning, some more non-consensual stuff... like biting. Graphic imagery and maybe some language.

Summary: (Sequel to Vandal) Kol Mikaelson had insisted he was your friend. He had insisted you could trust him. That boy's lies just keep compounding. || Kol x HOH!reader || Here lies my Masterlist

A/N: This may have to be the last thing I write for a while. I just got my first job - it's full time and I'm having a bit of a hard time adjusting from having all the time in the world to having like two hours. I'm really sorry to those who have made requests. I hope to get around to them eventually.

Story Begins Below

Hunger…

Looking into his eyes, you saw only hunger. Dark, unnatural, insatiable hunger. There was no soul in them. Only a wicked, animalistic craving. 

It wasn't supposed to be like that. He wasn't supposed to be like that.  

You had thought Kol's eyes to be empty pits when first you'd met him, but that had changed the closer the two of you became. His eyes weren't supposed to be dark or empty when they looked at you. Kol's eyes were supposed to be warm, full of life and light, and something that always threatened to make your knees buckle. His eyes were supposed to be like steaming hot chocolate - inviting, comforting, something to warm your stomach and ease your troubled heart. 

Kol wasn't supposed to eye you as though he craved to ravish you and leave your corpse on the street to rot. That boy was supposed to hold you close, watching over you as if he would be content to do so forever.

You remembered how he'd looked at you the night before. Sitting atop your kitchen counter, with Kol between your legs, his hands on your hips, gripping you just right. You remembered how he'd looked at you then. When he'd said your parents couldn't take you away from him.

He'd looked hungry then too, but not like this. His eyes had been so warm and gentle. Those were the eyes of a sweet boy who cared about you.

These were the eyes of a monster.

Infinitely more disturbing was the sense that you'd seen him this way before. This very same image had flashed through your imagination too many times to count. You'd sketched it out - the blackness that consumed his eyes, spreading out through cracks down his porcelain cheeks. With pencil and paper, you had shaded his petal-soft lips and the vicious razor-sharp fangs behind them. You had never seen, yet you had known. 

How could you possibly have known?

Vaguely, as though from far away, you heard yourself scream. 

Tears stung your eyes, blurring your vision, and you watched in horror as the monster bared its teeth - its terrible, flesh-shredding teeth - and reached for you. A helpless sob escaped your throat and you felt your feet stumbling back - numb and useless. The world lurched sideways as your foot slipped off the last step of his front porch. Your ankle rolled from under you, and you cried out as you collapsed onto the gravel driveway. Pain seared white hot in your ankle but you ignored it and scrambled back, heedless of the gravel beneath you as it shredded your palms. 

Anything to get away from that freak.

Then the monster froze in its pursuit. Its pale hand dropped harmlessly to its side and you watched as those deadly canines receded. The ravenous blackness in his eyes faded until soft, milk chocolate stared down at you... and there stood your friend again. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

Kol was right there - with messy hair and soft eyes, just as sweet as he was supposed to be. You wanted to run to him, wanted to let him hold you, wanted to bask in the comfort he always provided. He was the one who had believed you. He was the one to reassure you - who had promised you weren't crazy. And all along, lurking under his skin, was a monster itching to tear you apart.

Before a tear could slip down your face, a soft breeze fluttered through your hair and you felt yourself being hauled to your feet. Kol's warm, familiar arms wrapped themselves around your back and you shrieked as he pulled you into his chest.

"No! No, let me go!" You tried to push yourself away but you would have had better luck attempting to escape an iron cage. With a soft sigh, the boy lowered his head, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You couldn't stop shaking. "Please-"

Kol shushed your protests and tears rolled down your cheeks as his perfectly soft lips found your pulse. He kissed you sweetly - gentle and chaste. You whimpered, chest heaving with unsteady breaths, and he held you tighter. Kol kissed you again, a little slower this time, a little less chaste. Your breaths evened out a little, turning to small, quickened puffs of mist in the early morning air. 

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be afraid," Kol murmured into your skin. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"But you're-"

"Not human?" He guessed. Kol smiled against your neck before kissing your pulse again. "No, I'm not."

You couldn't help it. Kol had always had this near-magical effect. He made you feel safe. You relaxed just a fraction and his arms tightened around you.

"You-you don't… You don't wanna hurt me?"

The boy chuckled, a darkly amused rumble you could feel in his chest.

"I don't believe that's what I said." 

You stiffened, but Kol shook his head, rubbing your back soothingly before you could work yourself up to panicking again. He shushed you quietly and left two more kisses against your throat. 

"No need to get so worked up, darling. I said I won't hurt you. It's a conscious choice," He whispered. "I don't intend to change it."

You could take that comfort for the moment. Fisting his shirt, you let yourself melt into his arms - you couldn't escape him anyway. What point was there in fighting?

You felt him tug on the sleeve of your hoodie, drawing the fabric off your shoulder. He skimmed his lips over the exposed skin with all the pressure of an autumn breeze. You pressed yourself closer to him and he returned the favor, humming contentedly. His sweet as caramel butterfly kisses made you want to forget everything you'd seen. Because how could this kind, attentive friend of yours be a killer? 

His hands dropped down to your hips. There was no telling how many people he'd hurt - how many he'd killed. Yet, you let him touch you anyway. You just couldn't seem to run from him - not when you had nowhere to run to. How pathetic was that?

"All this time… All those people?" You hissed, squeezing your eyes shut. The thought turned your stomach. "It was all you?"

Kol inhaled sharply and a tiny, dazed part of your brain was surprised he reacted at all. He shook his head vehemently, fingers digging into your hips - into the bruises he'd left the day before. It hurt.

"No," He promised. "No, that wasn't me. I haven't killed anyone… i-in this town anyway."

So he had killed. Your only friend was a murderer.

You sniffed, shaking your head. The boy groaned.

"Darling, please don't be upset? Listen, you've done nothing wrong-"

"-You're a murderer," You cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Yet, I'm still here. That's wrong."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I've been asleep for nearly one hundred years. I swear I haven't killed anyone since I woke up."

"That doesn't mean anything." A choked sob escaped your lips and you fisted his shirt tighter, fingernails digging into your palms. "You were supposed to be my friend!" 

"I don't want to be your friend." He pushed his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. "I want more from you than that."

"I don't care what you want," You seethed. "All you've ever done is lie!"

"That's not true," He insisted. "I could have let you think you were mad, but I didn't."

"And now what?" You demanded. "You want me to stick around? Trust you?"

The boy hummed, pleased. "That would be ideal, yes."

"This is just some sick game to you, isn't it?" The thought hurt.

"It was," He said, nodding slightly, rubbing his cheek against your hair. "Not anymore though, otherwise, I'd have killed you by now."

You laughed but there was no humor in it. "Oh yeah? And what makes me just so special?" 

"I think I'll leave you to find that out for yourself," The boy said with a smirk. "For now, it suffices me to say that you're interesting, fun, and I like your attitude."

"Tell you what," He said, chuckling. "Give me five days. You can stay here, and I can prove I mean you no harm."

"And we're back to this again - I'm just supposed to trust you? Right off the bat?"

"What? No!" You protested. "I can't just… stay in your house!"

"Why not? My family's loaded," He reasoned, shrugging. "Besides, the way I see it, you really don't have anywhere else to go. Unless you want to check into the loony bin?"

You bit your lip. He had you there. 

"And what happens after five days?" You asked.

"If all goes well, you give me your trust, and I'll give you the best night of your life." 

You didn't have to see his face to hear the smirk in his voice. Despite everything, his cheeky flirting still made you laugh. It was a little hysterical, born from shock, residual fear, and prominent sleep deprivation, but it was there nonetheless. After all, it wasn't much of a choice you had to make. You could either take Kol's offer or check yourself into the loony bin and let a bunch of doctors pump you full of drugs until your best friend became nothing more than a bad dream. 

Both options sounded like a death trap. At least being eaten by a vampire was a cool way to die. 

Reaching up, you hesitantly wrapped your arms around him. It was Kol's turn to tense this time, as though he couldn't believe your actions could be real. Then the boy's shoulders relaxed and his body curled around you a little further, almost protectively, though that seemed too good to be true. His voice quieted further, morphing into something reverent. 

"I promise you can trust me," He vowed.

Perhaps he was lying. 

But what choice did you have?

"Okay," You breathed. The boy hummed and you could feel him smile. 

Lifting his head, Kol pressed a kiss to your temple and one to your cheek. He hesitated for a moment. You felt his warm, cinnamon breath ghost over your skin. Slowly, his lips settled onto your pulse again and he waited for your reaction. Your breath caught, but you didn't push him away. What surprised you was how tentative he was. Kol opened his mouth and slowly latched onto your sweet spot.

His lips lit your body on fire and you whimpered, knees buckling as he kissed you - slow and filthy and deep. He sucked roughly on your skin but somehow he made it feel sweet, going slow, being patient, easing up when you flinched - it felt like more of a message - more of a promise - than a demand for something. Tugging lightly on your hair, he urged you to tip your head back, and you obliged, granting him greater access. 

"Good girl," He mumbled. His voice sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. Kol swept his tongue along your pulse and your insides felt like molten glass. You sighed. A few more seconds and you were sure to fall apart.

Then the enormous double doors behind him opened. Kol broke away from you with a groan, untangling his fingers from your hair. He flicked them in a casual wave to whoever stood behind him.

"G'morning, Mum!"

Your heart stuttered and your face flushed hotter than the sun. You were lucky the top of your head didn't pass his shoulder.

"Kol." The woman's voice was cold and sharp.

"How are we this fine morning?" His tone was nothing but innocent. Meanwhile, his hands dropped down to grab your thighs. In one swift movement, he hiked your legs up around his torso and held you like a little kid. Only then did he turn around. You buried your face in his shoulder with an embarrassed noise you couldn't define. 

What an excellent first impression you were making!

"I certainly hope I didn't just hear this young lady scream," His mother said. She didn't sound very happy with him.

Kol simply shrugged. "Not yet, but the day's still young." 

"What have you been up to?" She demanded. 

"Nothing too nefarious, right love?" He nudged your cheek and you clutched into him tighter. 

"Uhhh…." Words seemed utterly unattainable all of a sudden.

Kol laughed and kissed your cheek. "You'll have to forgive this one," He said. "She's a little shy." His fingers dug into your thighs and you jumped. He thought it was hilarious.

"Can this young woman not speak for herself?" Kol's mother asked, voice hardening even further if that were possible. 

You shook your head in the most imperceptible motion you could. If the rest of his family was anything like he was, then it was probably best to act like a harmless plaything than an intelligent threat. Luckily, Kol seemed to get the message. Two taps against your left thigh followed by a subtle squeeze.

"Oh, she can!" He said - innocent as ever. "But we've only just come to an understanding and I'd rather not have you scaring her off."

"I see."

You got the feeling Kol didn't care for his mother all that much. Moreover, the feeling unfortunately seemed mutual.

"Who the bloody hell is this?" A new voice joined the conversation. This speaker was also feminine and she at least sounded alive, however, you had no plans of turning to face her.

"Nobody important," Kol replied. Your heart sank. 

"That's Nobody Important?" The voice was oddly familiar. It took you a second to place it. Rebekah Mikaelson, Kol's sister. "Wait a second… is she the artist who drew all those messed-up pictures of everyone?" You couldn't help groaning. Rebekah laughed. "I take it that's a yes." She paused. "Does she know about…"

The boy grinned. "She's been informed."

"Ah." Rebekah nodded. "That was the screaming, I presume."

"Indeed, it's all sorted now though. Right, love?" He prompted, carding his fingers through your hair.

"Oh, uh… yeah." Perhaps your usual terse responses would be taken for stupidity. "We made a deal."  

He nodded as though that was exactly what you were supposed to say.

"That we did. Y/N's going to be staying with us for a few days," He explained, swinging you back and forth a little bit with the cheekiest grin possible. 

"Absolutely not," His mother said. You flinched and Kol's grip on you tightened as though this woman would try to take you away from him. 

"Why?"

"I know you, my son," She answered coolly. "You kill, maim, and torture, reveling in the lives you end-"

As the woman spoke, images flashed through your head. They were blurry, out of focus - moving too quick to take in - but all of them were stained red. It was odd. Those images - they almost felt as though they didn't belong to you. It felt like watching through a window where the curtains are closed but not all the way. Distantly, you thought you heard Kol laugh… but that couldn't have been right because he was growling viciously. You shivered and he held onto you tighter. 

"-I will not so much as consider housing a guest until you learn some semblance of control," She finished.

"My control is fine," Kol spat with contempt. Growing serious, he lowered you to the ground. Searing pain shot through your ankle as you absentmindedly rested weight on it. You flinched, wavering, and the boy shot you a concerned glance. You shook your head slightly and instead leaned into his side. Kol slipped his arm around your back to support you.

"I've yet to see evidence of that," His mother said. She waved a hand towards you. "This child can barely stand, Kol. What have you done to her?"

Your friend ground his teeth but you squeezed his arm.

"That was my fault, m'am," You spoke up. "I tripped. It was a misunderstanding."

Kol's mother narrowed her eyes, her expression pinched and sour. It wasn't hard to tell that she'd already judged you to be dim and unimportant with no more than a glance in your direction. Her golden blond hair matched the rest of her features - straight, rigid, and utterly impeccable. Studying her appearance, the artist in you kicked in. You supposed you could see the familial resemblance between mother and son in their facial structure, yet at the same time, the two couldn't have been more different. It was in the eyes, you thought. Kol's were milk chocolate - warm and playful. This woman’s were an arctic glacier - frigid and hard.

"I doubt you understand much of anything pertaining to my son," She said through tight lips. You blinked.

That was uncalled for.

You were relieved to note that you weren't the only one who thought so. Kol snarled and, standing beside her mother, Rebekah frowned.

"Mother, I don't think-" The girl began. 

"Silence, Rebekah," Her mother commanded. The girl's mouth snapped shut. The woman's cold eyes flicked back to you. "What is your name, child?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-Y/N, m'am."

"Y/N," She addressed. "My name is Esther. I am well aware of how charming my son can be when he so desires something, but heed this my warning. You do not know him. He cannot control himself and his lack of restraint will not make an exception for you."

"He's done a pretty good job so far." You weren't sure where the bite in your tone came from - it was unlike you - but you didn't regret it. You didn't like the way she talked about Kol, about her son. She spoke like he was nothing more than an animal - wild and ravenous. He was more than that. He was kind.

"Erase her memories and send her home. This meeting never happened." She moved to turn around, discouraging any further discussion. 

A sardonic smile curled at the blonde woman's lips, but there was nothing friendly about it. She waved her hand dismissively. "I say again, you know nothing of what you speak. His patience is limited and as it wanes, his appetite for you will only grow. You are human; you will bleed and my son will attack. I gave my word to this village's authority to keep my children in line. I will not allow your life to end the same way as so many others." Just like that, she was done speaking to you, turning away as though you simply weren't worth her time. She redirected her attention to Kol. 

"No!" The boy beside you snapped. 

Esther paused. Slowly, her head turned to eye Kol over her shoulder. She raised a brow. For a tense moment that felt like an eternity, all was silent.

"No?" Her voice was clipped - a challenge and a warning. "You would defy me, my son?"

Rebekah's wide eyes flicked rapidly between her mother and brother worriedly. Out of the corner of her eye, she shot you a pitying glance but didn't attempt to speak up. Next to you, Kol stiffened and his fingers pressed into your waist. It shocked you to note that, incredulous as it seemed, Kol was terrified of this woman. You could almost taste it in the air - something tangy, copper… pain. But to his credit, he didn't back down. 

"I gave my word she could stay," He said. His voice was firm but you could feel his hand trembling. "This whole bloody town believes her to be insane. Her own parents intend to send her to a lunatic asylum and it's my fault. I ruined her reputation and as much as I may wish I could fix it, I can't compel an entire town. This is the best I can do to make repremends." 

He held that woman's cold, cold eyes for a full minute, unblinking, and you had to admire the sort of constitution such a display of sheer willpower would require. You wouldn't have been able to do that.

"It's true," Rebekah finally added, coming to her brother's aid. "All of it. Kol practically ruined the poor girl's life!"

You flinched. She was right, but you couldn't exactly dwell on that at the moment. The frying pan was the least of your worries so long as you remained in the fire.

Esther's gaze returned to you, wordlessly prompting you to voice your standing. 

You nodded, opting to stare at her feet instead of her face. Her feet were intimidating enough. "They're right. I-I have nowhere else to go," You admitted in hardly more than a whisper. "Kol promised."

Esther's expression soured further. She glared at you as though you'd offered her insult in suggesting that her son might not be the foulest creature on the planet. He wasn't. He'd been kind, a good friend - and that was better than you received from most.

"You wouldn't make a liar out of me, would you?" Kol challenged, daring to proffer a self-satisfied smirk. 

You were suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that looks did not, in fact, possess the potency required to kill. Otherwise, you were quite sure your life would have been rendered forfeit by the icy glare Esther sent your way. 

"On the contrary." The woman smiled thinly. "It's about time you displayed a little honor, my son. I would do well to encourage this sort of behavior. Very well. Bring her inside."

Kol sent her the most glaringly false smile you'd ever seen. 

"Thanks, Mum!" He held out his other arm for you to hold onto and you took it, wincing as tested a little weight on your left foot. Kol adjusted his grip on your waist to better take on most of your weight before he helped you up the front steps. "Take it easy, love. We'll get you something to eat… Oh, and mother?" He paused just before passing through the door. Esther hummed, facing him. He flashed her a sneer. 

"You may be the architect of my curse, but you've been dead for one thousand years. Do not presume to know me or my limits."

Esther sculpted her expression into an approximation of something motherly. "Very well."

The rest of the day flew by in something of a shell-shocked haze. Kol made you breakfast, showed you around his house, and left you alone to stow your backpack full of essentials in a guest bedroom. After you finished with that, you sat on the unfamiliar bed, struggling to process everything you'd been exposed to in one day. You weren't sure how long you spent just staring off into space. It could have been minutes - it could have been hours.

A muffled noise drew you from your reverie and you looked up to see Rebekah's blonde head poking through the doorway. She smiled and you switched your hearing aids back on.

"Sorry, what?"

"My brothers and I were just about to play a game," She said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. "Kol thought it might be nice to invite you… since you haven't left this room in two hours. Would you like to join us?"

Two hours? That sure looked pathetic. 

You stood, straightening your paint-stained hoodie. "Um, sure. What are you guys playing?" 

Thankfully, your ankle had long since quit bothering you after Kol had made you some tea with breakfast. He'd said it would help your injury and sure enough, the swelling had gone down along with the pain. 

"No idea!" She chirped. "Come on, everyone's waiting downstairs."

"O-okay." 

Hugging your arms around yourself, you trailed after the deadly cheerleader as she skipped down to the first floor and into their kitchen which was easily as big as your entire house. Gathered there around a table that had to be made of mahogany, sat three men whose names you knew despite having never before met them. Rebekah moved to join them but you reached forward and caught her sleeve. She turned back, raising a brow.

Your voice faltered. "Um, w-where's Kol?"

"Allocating some playing cards," The only blond of the three men answered. He was sketching something - a portrait by the looks of it - the quality of which was exquisite. "He'll be back shortly."

Your mouth worked faster than your brain. "You guys don't have any playing cards?" You asked.

Another man, this one brunette and dressed in an expensive suit, tossed a hand in your direction. "You see, Niklaus? Even this one agrees."

The blond man, Niklaus, rolled his eyes. 

"My apologies if I'm not overly fond of solitaire!"

The man in the suit huffed and turned to you. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced, I am Elijah," He said. You waved - stiff and awkward - prompting a twitch of his lips. 

"Hi," You mumbled. "I'm Y/N Y/LN."

He nodded. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." How old had Kol said he and his siblings were? This one certainly talked like he could be one thousand. "These are my brothers, Finn and Niklaus." He gestured to each of them. 

"That's Klaus to you," The blond man snapped, rather irritably. "I suppose that makes you Kol's latest toy? I'd heard he'd brought another one home."

You stiffened. Even if you'd had the slightest clue how to respond to that, you were cut off before you had the chance.

"Another one?" The other brunette - Finn - snorted. "You say that as if it's typical for our brother's playthings to last this long." He turned to you, eyes hard and unreadable. "Can you sing?"

The sudden topic change threw you.

"Uh…" You blinked. "N-no more than other people, I think?"

Finn hummed, eyes returning to his book. "Not like Dolcina then."

"Finn-" 

Elijah held up a hand, cutting off his sister's warning. "This is important, why?" 

"Inquiring after our little brother's type, are we, Finn?" Klaus added with a smirk.

The eldest of the siblings scoffed. "Our brother's type is anything with a pulse. Dolcina was merely the only other of his dalliances to survive long enough to meet the rest of us." He shot you a sour glance out of the corner of his eye. "Seeing as they have nothing in common, I doubt this one will fare much better."

As your eyes connected for the briefest second, it was like something out of a dream. An overwhelming rush of noise and color flooded your thoughts. The impressions felt like memories, but they weren't - at least, not yours. 

Just as before, it was sounds at first, beginning with a voice - a pleasant song that morphed into a shrill scream. Distantly, you caught the notes of a hauntingly familiar, musical laugh - something like a bubbling spring. Innocent, boyish laughter. Soft words whispered to a dying girl. Warm hands. A vice-like grip. 

Blooming like impressions in watercolor, a face you'd never seen before rendered itself in your imagination. Tresses of golden blonde hair spilled out over a stone surface - the flooring of a Catholic monastery, though you weren't sure how you knew that. Glazed, dead eyes stared up endlessly, their crystal blue shade contrasting starkly with the scarlet hues staining her throat and soaking through her once pure white dress. More bite marks littered her arms, chest, and back and those were just the ones you could see. You didn't want to know how many were covered by her clothes. A rosary hung from the mutilated mess that was her neck - she was meant to be a nun one day.

You saw petal-soft lips stained with red and black abyssal eyes. Dark, tousled hair with hints of caramel catching the fading sunlight. A charming smile and dagger-like teeth.

You gasped and the images faded. The unbidden daydream lasted mere heartbeats but each one felt to you like an eternity. 

What had you just seen?

You didn't realize how much you were trembling until Rebekah wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Cut it out, Finn. You're scaring the poor thing!" 

You snapped your head to her, eyes wide. She frowned and rubbed your arm soothingly but you were already halfway to a panic attack. 

"Good," The man said dryly. "She could use a little common sense." He shook his head, mumbling under his breath, "Foolish girl." 

The condescension in his tone was tangible enough to cut with a knife and with how hot your temper flared at his implication, you were surprised you refrained from attacking him. Of course trusting your life to the hands of a vampire wasn't the smartest course of action. You knew that! You simply didn't have any other choice! Yet he had the audacity to assume you were doing this because of some childish crush?

He assumed he could see through you. He didn't know anything.

You were glad your shaking fists could still pass for the nerves of a timid teenager.

Before you could come up with a retort, Klaus' head shot up - alert. "Incoming." He pointed. Seconds later, Kol appeared in the doorway. Quite literally. It was as though he materialized out of thin air.

"I got it!" He announced, holding a deck of cards aloft victoriously. "Now can we decide what we're playing, please?" 

"Oh, oh! Poker?" Rebekah suggested with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

The dark-haired boy moved to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist. He pressed a kiss to your temple before guiding you to sit beside him at the table where he took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. 

Across from you, Elijah grimaced. "No thank you, sister. I believe I owe you and Kol enough favors already."

"That's only because you can't bluff, mate," Kol assured, whipping the cards from the box. "I'm sure you'll get better at it in another thousand years or so."

He split the deck to begin shuffling but Elijah reached out and snatched them from his hands.

"I may make a poor bluff," He said, quickly layering the cards both forward and back. "But you are a flagrant cheat."

"I am not!"

"You count cards and rig the deck. That's cheating."

"And that's why I prefer Baccarat," Kol countered.

"My point still stands."

"Besides," Klaus added, sounding bored. He gestured to you, "this one's got nothing to wager." Then he paused and raised a brow, smirking. "Unless, of course, you'd be willing to tap a vein, love."

Under the table, you clasped Kol's hand and that boy could count himself lucky that he was superhumanly durable as he'd explained to you earlier. The pressure of your grip turned your knuckles as pale as your face. He gave you a reassuring squeeze in return and your trembling lessened slightly. Perhaps it was foolish to take comfort from him, but of the murderers surrounding you, at least he was the most familiar.

"Don't be an ass, Nik." Kol scowled, pulling your chair a little closer to his.

Klaus just shrugged. "Just making a suggestion," He said. The expression he wore was that of a very satisfied wolf. "No need to get so uptight, brother. After all, what's a friendly game of poker without some interesting stakes?"

An uncomfortable blush warmed your cheeks as you bit your lip, shrinking in your seat. On your other side, Rebekah huffed.

"Quit being creepy - all of you!" She demanded. "Bloody hell. Elijah, back me up on this!"

The man in the suit didn't so much as glance up from the cards he was shuffling. 

"I would if I thought my doing so would make a difference, sister," He said in a tone so dry you might mistake the humor in it for a mirage. "Please excuse my brother's lack of tact, Miss. L/N. Finn is anxious and uncomfortable in his new surroundings whereas Niklaus, I believe, is jealous that Kol seems to have made a friend."

"I'm not jealous," Klaus grumbled. "I'm suspicious."

"Paranoid," Elijah corrected. He continued shuffling. Had you not been quite so intimidated, confused, and agitated, you might have noted that his shuffling was likely better than some dealers on the Las Vegas strip. 

"What's your favorite card game, Y/N?" Rebekah asked. Her's was likely an attempt to put you at ease and though failed, you appreciated it all the same.

"Oh, um…" Tucking a strand of hair back behind your ear, you thought for a moment, searching through your brain for games that five immortal siblings might find entertaining. You arrived at a surprising conclusion. "Do you guys know how to play B.S?"

An hour later, after explaining the rules, the six of you were on your second game. 

"One King," You lied, laying the four of hearts face down on the pile of cards stacked in the center of the table. 

Kol eyed you for a moment but didn't call you out. He withdrew a selection of cards from his hand and followed suit. 

"Three aces," He said evenly. 

"Bullshit!" Klaus called around a mouthful of pretzels. Apparently, a bottle of whiskey and three bowls of salted bread twists were what qualified as a viable evening meal in this house. You weren't going to question it, though you opted for a bowl of cereal instead.

"Alright." Kol shrugged, smirking. "Go ahead and check then."

"Rebekah put down an ace on her first turn," Klaus reasoned. "You really expect me to believe that out of six other people, you just so happen to have the other three?"

You glanced down at your cards and frowned. You held the ace of clubs. So either Kol had managed to slip an ace up his sleeve - which would hardly reward him in this game - or someone was lying. (Not exactly surprising considering that was the whole point.)

Kol leaned back in his chair, smug as a bug. "Seems like you've got me all figured out."

"Are you going to call it or not?" Elijah pressed. 

Klaus narrowed his eyes. "I'm calling it."

Grinning, Kol reached forward and flipped the top three cards of the deck face-up. There sat the ace of diamonds, the ace of spades, and the ace of hearts.

"Read 'em and weep, Nik."

"Bloody hell, that's half the deck."

"And it's all yours."

Klaus groaned and, as per the rules, took the whole stack into his hand. 

"This is what happens when you suspect everyone of bullshit," Elijah chided, laying down two cards to start a fresh pile. "Two twos."

"I suspect everyone because everyone is suspect!" The blond exclaimed, reorganizing his now enormous hand. "Looking through this, I don't think Rebekah's played a legitimate card this whole game!"

"Hey! I have too!" She claimed. "There's a three in there somewhere."

"Not where it's supposed to be," He retorted. Then the hybrid jabbed a finger in your direction. "And you-" He emphasized. You jumped just a little. "-are lucky your heart is already racing just as fast as a rabbits, otherwise, I could have called you out for half of this."

You tried your best to smile, shrugging. 

You continued playing until the rest of Kol's siblings called for a mercy rule having lost to Finn nine times out of thirteen. Elijah cleaned up the cards and Rebekah was kind enough to bid you goodnight as you quietly announced that you would be heading to bed.

It startled you when Kol materialized by your side once you were halfway up the stairs and you nearly tripped. Luckily, he reacted and placed a steadying hand on the small of your back, flashing you an almost apologetic smile. Silence stretched on between you as he walked you - like an old-fashioned gentleman - back to the guest bedroom he'd designated was yours for the time being. It wasn't awkward, but he'd reached to hold your hand and you had shied away from his touch, wrapping your arms around yourself instead. 

Reaching the cream-colored door, he held it open for you, smirking in that infuriatingly cheeky way of his. "My lady…" He waved you inside and you flushed, ducking your head as you passed by him.

The second you were fully within the room, Kol kicked the door shut behind him and brushed past you before flopping back onto the bed. The rapid movement made you flinch. 

He looked up at you expectantly with those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes of his, smiling. A chill ran down your spine as you took in the sight. Though you didn't understand how, the fact remained: you had seen things - glimpses of horrors you didn't want to fathom. Yet, trying to equate this sweet boy with the ravenous monster you knew was lurking beneath his skin was like trying to compare a baby fox to a Panzer. 

How were you supposed to keep yourself safe if you couldn't see him as a threat? His true face was monstrous but by the time his fangs came out it would be too late for you. In front of you, all you could see was your friend. But what of his family's warnings?

The teasing, enthusiastic smile faded from his lips. He sat up and his brows drew together with concern. "Darling, is something the matter?"

You stood hardly a step from the doorway - stiff and unsure - rubbing your wrist nervously. 

"I-I, uh… It's nothing," You told him, trying to smile reassuringly.

"Really?" Kol raised a brow. You hummed and he narrowed his eyes. "That's odd, because you look like you've seen a ghost."

A heavy sigh escaped your lungs. You'd been holding it in all day.

"You've been a good, uh, friend to me, Kol." You paused. "Well… sort of. Y-You're trying to make up for it, I know. Point is, I don't wanna hurt your feelings." 

It was a bit of a surprise to note that, not only did you want to avoid going to a mental health institution, but you also didn't want to see the smile slip from that boy's face. You liked it when he smiled.

He got to his feet and took a step toward you. "Love, I-"

A mess of blonde hair and blood flickered behind your eyes. You could almost see the blood on his hands.

Drawing a shuddering breath, you shuffled back a few places, half-hoping you might meld yourself into the wall if you tried hard enough. Kol stopped, eyes wide with first confusion and then hurt.

"Darling, I'm not… I'm not going to hurt you. Remember?" 

"You say that." You shook your head. "But five other people are telling me the opposite."

His jaw clenched, and he nodded bitterly. "Do you believe them?" He asked.

"I don't want to."

Kol met your eyes for a moment and it happened again. 

You saw green, a forest surrounding you. Trembling hands, warm and slick with blood. A searing pain like nothing you'd ever felt twisted your stomach and traveled upward, burning your throat. You heard a voice, alien in its vulnerability but familiar all the same. Words of a language you didn't understand flowed out in oceans of choked sobs - a cry for help, though you shouldn't have known that. 

And no one ever came.

Kol cursed and tore his eyes away. The connection broke and you blinked away the afterimages burned into your memories.

"I asked you for five days," He said, voice wavering. "Will you grant them to me?"

"I don't know…"

"I understand that you're frightened and confused, but you have to give me a chance," He insisted. That boy's eyes darkened. "You're not supposed to be like everyone else."

He had to use your own words against you.

"I'm trying not to be." Shuffling your feet, you took one step away from the wall. The smile he sent you was strained but it was there all the same as he reached out to offer you his hand. You took it and he tugged you toward the bed where he sat down again. Your cheeks burned and your stomach did backflips - fear mixed with something entirely different. His smile and hands were gentle as he guided you to straddle his lap. Your hands settled naturally on his shoulders and you were pleasantly surprised when he rested his own respectfully on your waist. 

"Y/N, my love, I know this is a lot to take in," He said, looking you in the eyes. "But from the very beginning, I haven't changed. You met me as I am right now. Now, I know things can't go back to how they were, but you don't have to act as though I'm someone else."

You'd never been afraid to share exactly what was on your mind with your best friend. Kol was still that boy. 

You bit your lip, nodding. When you spoke, your voice came out quiet and hoarse. 

"So if I told you the truth and said that even though I know I should be scared out of my mind, I still feel safer when I'm with you - i-if I said that, what would you say?" You wouldn't look him in the eyes, instead focusing on picking a loose thread from his jacket. Kol just hummed, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. He pulled you in closer, resting his cheek on your hair.

"I think I would be thrilled to hear that," He said, with just a hint of a smile in his tone. "And I would have to wonder if perhaps that confession might be an invitation to stay?"

"I think it's more of a request actually," You murmured, resting your head on his chest. His jacket smelled like burning pine and brown sugar - an odd combination but nice all the same. 

"Well, in that case-" He pulled away and flashed you an eager smile. "-movie?"

"Just until I fall asleep?" You asked.

"Just until you fall asleep."

"And then you'll leave?"

He nodded solemnly so you knew he meant it. "If that's what you want."

Then you smiled for him - your real smile and, looking into his eyes, you thought you saw a meadow bathed in sunshine. 

"Have you ever seen Lilo and Stitch?" You wondered.

Kol shook his head, chuckling softly. "Love, if it came out after 1914, it's a safe bet to assume I haven't seen it."

"Well, would you like to?"

"Is it any good?" He asked, mimicking your unsure tone. This was still your best friend - his teasing still made you giggle.

You shoved his shoulder a little. "Okay smart-alec. Where's the remote in this joint?"

"No idea." He frowned, tilting his head like a puppy. "Have you not found it? I only know where mine is."

"We can watch it in your room."

For whatever reason, just speaking those words sent a thrill through your body - something like electricity and butterflies. 

Kol eyed you with a cautious sort of hope. "You'd be comfortable with that?"

You nodded. "I wanna trust you."

The boy grinned and it was one of those smiles that looked like it could be made of light. 

"You never stop surprising me," He mused, almost to himself. You glanced away, smiling though you didn't quite understand why. 

"I try." 

"And I love it," He said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. His cinnamon and spice breath ghosted over the shell of your ear when he spoke again. "May I carry you?"

You frowned and tried to ignore the rush of heat invading your cheeks and creeping lower. "Y-You want to?"

"Very much so, angel." 

Your voice sounded very small. "Okay."

Far too slowly for your own good, Kol slid his hands from your waist over the swell of your hips, then down and around to the backs of your thighs. His grip tightened until your breath hitched in your throat. Your whole body was trembling but you weren't scared - not of him. 

"Is this alright?" He asked huskily. You knew you were in trouble when he looked up through his lashes and met your eyes again to be sure. It was so sweet - he was so sweet. 

If you spoke, you would surely make a fool of yourself. You couldn't seem to drum up any kind of language so you just nodded and quickly buried your face in his shoulder. 

"Thank you, angel," He whispered, lifting you easily as he got to his feet. You probably weighed less than a feather to him. 

He pulled you in flush against his chest. You could feel each breath he took and could hear his heartbeat. (You were a little surprised he had one.) Kol was warm - so very warm. Being carried by him was like being rocked to sleep, by the time you reached his room you were fully content to remain in his arms forever. After turning on the TV in his room, he laid back on his bed, still cradling you like a little kid. For once, you didn't mind - it only felt… adoring when he did it. 

He asked if you wanted him to put you down. You said no.

By the time Stitch's spaceship crash-landed on Earth, you were already half asleep. 

***

Poor thing was three sheets to the wind as soon as he'd started the movie. It was so sweet to watch her struggle to stay awake. She gave it all she had but once he'd started combing his finger through her hair, that girl was a goner. 

His little artist was practically lying on top of him, completely vulnerable in every way, and yet she felt safe enough to fall asleep. 

How bloody extraordinary. 

He turned off the movie and she shifted, nuzzling closer to him. Kol smiled. It wasn't even a malicious smile like he was so used to putting on. It was a smile he couldn't keep off his face. That girl had every reason to hate his guts and yet still - even after everything he'd done - she chose him. 

No one else would do that. No one else ever had.

So Kol had to smile as he rested his cheek on her hair. She had soft hair. He closed his eyes just for a second, basking in her warmth, taking in her scent, reveling in the pulse he could feel just beneath her soft, soft skin. Sure he had one, but it was weak, hardly there at all. Hers was strong and tempting - like a lullaby he wanted to sink his teeth into.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him then and it was odd because he really hadn't been that tired. He fought it of course, because he'd promised to take his little artist back to her room once she fell asleep but his limbs felt so heavy. Slowing his thoughts, that foreign sense of fatigue dragged him under before he could question it. 

He woke up, according to the clock on his bedside table, mere minutes later. Yet, something felt… off. Kol frowned, glancing down at the girl in his arms. Her head was tilted slightly to the side and her shirt had slipped off her shoulder, perfectly bearing her throat to him. 

In a split second, Kol's throat ran dry. His stomach twisted and an all too familiar pain shot through him. Thoughts were stripped away from his mind, just like they always were when his curse overtook him. He tried to fight, but he couldn't think. He was hungry - so hungry - and it hurt. 

He tried to tear his eyes away, but he couldn't. He couldn't look away and she was right there. Her scent overwhelmed him, ensnaring his senses - strawberries dipped in sugar and cotton candy with roses. Kol wanted- No, he needed to taste it. He could hear her pulse pounding in his ears. He could feel her blood rushing everywhere he touched her, through her clothes and her skin. She was so warm, almost burning him, but it was pleasant. The tender, delicate feel of her body was so enticing. He was so hungry. 

It was so sudden and extreme and unnatural but he couldn't think about that.  

Her perfect pretty eyes fluttered open. Tiredly, she glanced at him. She squeezed her eyes shut and stretched. Her carotid artery stood out through her skin. It took everything in him not to clamp his jaws around her throat that very second. She looked up at him again and started, gasping. Her heart rate spiked and Kol groaned. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his fangs retracted but her alluring scent was too strong to ignore. His eyes bled black. 

The girl in his arms whimpered.

No, no, no. Her eyes were wide, full of fear. He was scaring her. 

"Kol?" Even her breath carried the scent of her blood. How could he resist? "Are you okay?" 

He hummed, nodding even though he should have been telling her to run. "I just… I just need a minute."

It was like a dream. He wanted to warn her, but he could only seem to listen to himself soothe her worries. 

"You should run," He thought. "Get away. I'm gonna hurt you." But he couldn't say it. 

"Are you hungry?" She asked. Her voice was so quiet - so kind and sweet. That wasn't how she usually talked to him, he noted. That was the voice she used when she was trying to put on a good face. It wasn't real. 

Kol ran his tongue over his teeth. He tried to look at her but the perfect curve of her neck was so pretty. She was so close. 

"Yes," He hissed. He shut his eyes, trying his very best to block it out. 

Why couldn't he just let her go?

Her hand was warm. She reached up to touch his cheek, skimming her thumb over the writhing black veins protruding from his skin. Hers was so soft - so kind. People always ran from him. No one tried to touch him when he was like this.

He opened his eyes and met hers. She blinked. 

"S-sorry." She went to remove her hand but he caught her wrist and she stilled. He leaned into her touch, then pressed his lips against the pulse in her wrist. He kissed her - a little harsh, a little needy, but Kol couldn't help it, he needed more. "Just one taste," He promised himself as he let his tongue dart out, skimming over that same spot. A growl tore itself from deep in his throat as he kissed her again, laving at her delicate little wrist, almost touching the pretty little veins just beneath the thin veil of her skin. But he didn't bite. He didn't want to hurt her. He couldn't hurt that lovely angel. 

It was so much harder than it should have been to drag his mouth away from her wrist. When he looked up at her, his delicious little artist blushed so sweetly, he almost lost it. She was appetizing on a good day but now, so tiny and warm and blushing in his lap - how could he resist that?

He wanted to tell her to run, but that wasn't what left his lips.

"If you don't stop biting your lip like that, I swear I'll do it for you."

It wasn't a lie - it was never a lie. But that wasn't what he truly wanted from her.

That girl blushed further. He wanted to see how far down that blush went but at the same time, she really needed to get away from him before he killed her. 

"Does it hurt?" She wondered. "The hunger, I mean. Does it hurt you?"

His curse clawed at his stomach, a black hole that could never be appeased. He just wanted it to go away. 

"Yes," He murmured. "It does."

That girl bit her lip again and Kol didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was on top of her. It was dreamlike with the way things shifted and blurred. He didn't really have control over his movements, not quite. He could only watch - like a passenger in his own body - as he positioned himself to end her life. 

Yet, he couldn't stop.

So when he leaned down to kiss her, he wished he didn't know exactly what she tasted like, wished he'd never felt her velvety soft lips, wished he'd never kissed her more than he should have that first time, then maybe he could have kept himself at bay a little longer. He couldn't focus. Her body felt so good beneath his - so warm and soft and human - part of him wanted her this way for real. He could feel her breathing, could feel her chest heaving but he couldn't tell if she was scared or not. He could hear her heart, pulsing a low rhythm, wet and strong. Kol knew what that girl tasted like and he couldn't resist. His hands found her arms and he pinned her down, licking into her mouth with heat and a desire he couldn't fight. It was filthy and deep and everything he wanted. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he was possessed as he ravished that girl's mouth, listening to her whimper so bloody sweetly. 

The worst part, however, was that he did know better. Kol knew himself and he knew that perhaps not so deep within his blackened soul, there existed some sick part of him that genuinely enjoyed what he was doing to her, he wouldn't have dreamt it otherwise. Or perhaps he wasn't quite the one dreaming it. Something about the dream - and it was that or at least he prayed it was - felt oddly forced. But he couldn't focus on that.

Temptation overwhelmed him, demanding that he break away from her lips. He was licking at her throat before he could stop himself. The taste of her skin was too much and not enough, a flavor like pure honey and gold stripped any cognitive function from him. An animal-like growl built in his chest and he was sure he was bruising that poor girl's arms, but all he could feel was an all-consuming need for more. Kol felt so hungry in every possible way. He couldn't think. All he could do was trail his mouth lower, leaving mind-numbing kisses along her collarbone. 

He couldn't believe what he was about to do. How could he hurt his tiny perfect angel? Even if this was only a dream, did that make a difference? If he did it in his head, would he do it for real? She trusted him…

Then… he heard her. She was speaking - talking to him. 

"It's okay, Kol." Her voice was light and breathy. She carded her fingers through his hair and melted into her soft touch. No one had ever touched him like that. It was so pleasant, the boy couldn’t help the low purr that thrummed in his chest. 

This was what he wanted from that girl. Kol just wanted it to be real. Was that too much to ask?

 "It's okay,” She said. “You're okay. I know you would never hurt me and I care about you. So, if you're hungry, you can have a taste. I know you can't help it. I won't mind."

It was fake - just a dream - a fantasy. 

She would never say something like that. She would never sound like that either - so submissive and demure. That wasn't her. It felt like someone else. 

Kol knew it was a lie.

But those were her lips and it was her voice. How could he resist an invitation for the very thing he wanted so terribly from her?

Swiftly, like the fox he was so often equated to, he buried his fangs deep into his artist’s perfect throat. Biting into that girl's tender flesh was like curling up under a cashmere blanket, it was relaxing and reassuring - like he'd done the right thing and everything would be alright as long as he kept biting down. It wasn't the excitement of an enrapturing high that he usually felt. It was a comfort and he couldn't help but let it soothe him. 

Oh, and that girl was screaming. His little artist screamed and cried and begged for him to stop. Kol could hear her, but the sound seemed so far away. Like a dark curse lifted, the lie, the terrible illusion which had blinded her, was gone. She sobbed, cursing his name, but he couldn’t really hear her - far too absorbed in the bliss of satiating his hunger. The girl struggled and thrashed, but he just tightened his grip, keeping her pinned. Kol hummed and bit down a little harder - he couldn't explain why, but it felt so good. The instant her blood met his tongue, he knew this could only be a dream - it was hot and thick but he couldn't taste her, not quite. He wished he could. She would probably taste like strawberries and everything sweet. 

Maybe one day she'd let him taste her for real. She could learn to trust him. After all, she would never have to know about this dream. 

Kol drank her until the warmth in her skin faded away.

Then he woke up.

And Y/N was still screaming.

*** 

The first and only thing you could do was lash out. 

No ordinary dream could be that vivid, nor remain so clear in your mind. It was as unnatural as his insatiable appetite, or the demonic blackness you found yourself waking to.

The second your eyes snapped open, you shoved yourself away from that… that thing. Your foot collided with his knee, imparting enough force to warrant an audible crack. Scrambling off the bed, your hand slipped on the edge and you toppled backward. 

Your head cracked against the hardwood floor of his bedroom. 

Pain exploded throughout your entire body. Ears ringing, lights flashed in your vision and the world blurred. Your thoughts - the few you had - stilled. You couldn't move and you couldn't run. 

That disgusting predator lunged. Just like in that horrid dream, he positioned himself over you and you couldn't fight back. You wanted to, but your body wouldn't cooperate. Obsidian eyes faded to milk chocolate, blinking rapidly. His fangs retracted and he looked like that sweet boy again. But no. 

He had bitten you.

It may have been a dream, but you knew he had been the one to make that choice. Somehow, some way - the two of you had shared an unconscious thought. Kol had been there and he had chosen to hurt you. 

He'd enjoyed it.

He'd liked holding you down - relished manhandling you. Why else would he have chosen to do it?

You hadn't been able to tell him no, your mouth simply refused to form the words. You'd listened to yourself offer him a chance to feed on you. He'd been so eager, so hungry. 

That was gone now, you noticed as you reached up and fisted his shirt, staring blindly off into the space overhead. You tried to speak but all that came out was a pathetic keen. You wanted to shove him away, scream at him for lying to you yet again. But you couldn't. White hot pain pulsed at the back of your skull and your stomach turned with a looming nausea. Your limbs couldn't seem to do anything but pull that boy in closer to you. 

Through the tears blurring your vision, you thought you saw his expression contort into one of desperate worry. He cried out for his sister, though it took you several seconds to understand the words on his lips. 

"Rebekah! REBEKAH GET IN HERE NOW!"

You blinked slowly, in a daze, attempting to clear the spots from your quickly dimming field of view but it was fruitless. Kol's hand gently brushed your hair back from your forehead but you flinched away from him. You wished you could curse his name but the only sound you could make was another feeble keen.

"Just keep those pretty eyes of yours open, okay?" The boy was saying

 He stroked your cheek, forcing his lips to smile. "Alright, darling? It's gonna be fine. Jus-just don't close your eyes."

You didn't want to listen to him very much. Why should you? That boy would end your life one way or another - be it by accident or for entertainment. You'd rather pass out and die from a concussion in your sleep than experience Kol's teeth in your neck again.

Dream or not, that boy's mouth had felt all too real. 

You didn't try to stifle the bitter huff of a laugh that escaped your lips before your head lolled to the side and your vision blackened. 

"No… No, no, no! Y/N/N!!!" Your former friend's voice cried. "REBEKAH!"

No one came.

"Rebek-" His sister's name was cut off by a soft sound - if you hadn't known better, you would have thought it a sob. "No. No, NO! Y/N, please… just stay awake. You have to stay awake!"

Your thoughts drifted and sank beneath the rolling waves of unconsciousness. 

"ELIJAH?! KLAUS?!" He called desperately. "ANYONE?!"

Still, there was no answer.

"...Please?" 

Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln@r13mar@rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99@railingsofsorrow@apolloroid@thatweirdoleigh@misswe03@eat-cake@felinegrate@cute-freak27@fayeatheart@archangelslollipop@aonungs-tsahik@sleepneverheardofher@heartbreakgrill@whatsupb18 @enchantedlandcoffee @trikigirl271@dreamingwithrafe@her-violent-delights@witchcraftandgeekness @dreamingwithrafe@acixsracix Comment or DM me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[prismaticpichu]

Hi, so umm can you make angst of Zack Seph please? 🥺♥️❤️🫂

Oooooh, angst?? >:3cc Coming right up! 💕🔪

Fsr my mind always reverts to hospital angst so dhdhdhdhdhdhhd

~

We don’t know if he’ll live.

All throughout his life, Zack had been told that words couldn’t hurt him. He had been told time and time again that someone’s tongue clicking against their teeth couldn’t bring him any harm. He had been told since the day he took his first breaths on this planet that, no matter how much force they may be delivered with, words would always be just that—words. They were nothing but meaningless pockets of air, all but weightless ripples of sound. They couldn’t make him bleed; they couldn’t cause him pain; they couldn’t stab into his skin like a knife laced with poison.

So how did those words tear every muscle in his body apart?

Shivering, Zack’s breath constricted in his throat as he studied the condition of his cherished friend, shrouded in a deep and numbing silence broken only by the horrendous beeps that blithely chirped from the monitor. All was but a blinding terrain of pink-soaked white; the bony color covered more of Seph’s skin than did his actual flesh, from the pale blanket mummifying his shredded body to the layers of gauze wrapped around his stagnant chest and ragdoll arms. Chances are that no one would even recognize the man had it not been for the iconic silver hair gushing down his sides, several stands still stained from being drenched in viscous crimson, the cavernous slash stitched down his breastbone having provided the…

Zack choked on his breath, unable to bear the gruesome imagery all of over again.

He stopped himself by reaching out instead.

“Hey, bud…” The SOLDIER extended his arm, voice hardly above a sopping whisper as he aimed to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Can you hear me in there…?”

Nothing; silence, breath, beeping.

Zack swallowed.

“I’m… I’m right here, bud. You’re safe. You’re safe now…”

Breath, silence, beeping.

Zack’s hand finally reached his shoulder, fingers trembling as they grazed the ailing skin.

“I’m… I’m sorry, bud.” The apology was bleeding out before Zack could even stop it, blue eyes beginning to haze, another choke rattling his lips. “It should be me in there. Me. I… I shoulda been so much stronger. I shoulda been able to handle that stupid thing. I shoulda been able to hold onto my sword, and… Shit…” Zack rubbed his eyes as a sniffle splintered his thoughts, his chest on the verge of buckling under the guilty weight, looking back at his blooded friend with a haze-hindered gaze. “You shouldn’t have had to save me. You shouldn’t have. I… No… You’re always saving my skin out there. You’re always taking care of me. Why on fucking Gaia can I never do the same for you…?”

Zack clutched his shoulder tighter, his head dipping under its unbearable pressure.

The monitor continued to beep.

“Gaia… please. Just… just hang in there, bud…” Zack slowly lifted his gaze again. “You… you gotta. Okay? I… I need you. I need my buddy. I don’t wanna lose him…” There was another choke, his voice quivering with another broken shiver. “Gaia… please, Seph. Please…”

When the tears finally came, they came in a burning river, and Zack didn’t try to fight a single one of them as he stood in the burning silence of ShinRa’s medical wing. He did nothing but let the rain stream down his cheeks; stinging, acidic, beseeching…

“Gaia… please, Seph. I love you, bud. I love you so much. You gotta hang in there… okay? You just gotta. I’m right here. I’m right beside ya. You can come back… right?” And he removed his hand, bringing out his other one, leaning forward to gingerly envelope his treasured friend in a delicate embrace.

“Please…” he whispered one final time into the mercury strands. “Please, Sephiroth… I can’t relive it again.”

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Masked!Reader who is just as yandere for the chain as they are for them. Masked!Reader who’s quite literally a cryptid or possibly eldridge deity. No harm will befall their heroes so long as they stand. Masked!Reader who will bite a man. Provoked and unprovoked. Masked!Reader who the shadow both fears and admires. Someone so efficient at throwing him off course, but how could he mind. Masked!Reader who is an absolute badass, and we’re all here for it.

I-

I cannot tell you how much you just outed my persona so accurately XDD

Funny thing is, all of those things are spot on with what I had in mind. If you know what my persona looks like and how she is, everything about your headcannons are 100% correct!

This kinda made me think of more precise and detailed headcannons about Masked!Reader.

.•♫•♬• 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝑻. 𝟐 •♬•♫•.

Masked!Reader who is secretly a yandere and is willing to risk their own life to protect the ones they love (which in this case would be the Chain). They truly care about their loved ones and it tears them apart from the inside seeing them hurt in any way. And if someone or something is the cause of their pain, it would be best to just hope that they kill the issue immediately. Any other fate would be better than their's...

Masked!Reader who may or may not be an entirely different being, able to protect their one and only heroes from any harm. They may seem a bit normal at first, but after a while it's quite easy to tell how... different they are from regular people. They occasionally make odd chittering and beast-like sounds that no one else can immitate, making them seem like an entirely new creature or being of sorts. And don't get me started on the hunger they have and how willing they are to consume the flesh of their enemies.

Masked!Reader who is willing to maul anything they deem as a danger to the Chain to death, whether it be a monster or a person. They really don't care if the issue is bigger than them or not, they WILL tear them to shreds with either their bare hands or their teeth. Their bite is actually quite painful too, kinda like their teeth from their canines to their molars are a lot sharper than average. They may or may not also have an urge to bite the Chain, not hard or anything like that at least not too hard but just enough to leave a mark and stake their claim over them.

Masked!Reader who knows of the shadow all too well and is not afraid to confront it in the slightest. They can tell the shadow is fearful of them, they can smell the fear radiating off of it, and has no problem at all with instilling more fear into it in order to keep the Chain safe. Sure, they have at least 10 or so heroes that follow them around like a bunch of lost puppies, but they have come face to face with worse dangers than a measly shadow in their life and don't see the need to have the Chain be so worried over it.

Overall, Masked!Reader is like the embodiment of Theadore Roosevelt's saying "Speak softly and carry a big stick", aka "Be kind but take no bull". They take no shit and have enough energy to take on Ganondorf or even Hylia herself.

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

I have a special place in my heart for Masked!Reader and their chaotic shenanigans. One of my favorite readers to write about. Anyway, sorry if I'm writing a bit too much, but I had an imagine idea that I wanna write about with this reader and Four in a situation that I might just do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope you have a good day/night and make sure to rest and hydrate!

The voices keep giving me ideas and they tell me the chaos I should cause. /j

-𐂂 anon

Masked!Reader that is perhaps a deity of chaos?

Yan!chain is feral for their feral reader.

It’s mutually beneficial.

[hecula-propaganda]

I wanted to post this on AO3, but right now I think it sucks. Anyway, have a Dungeon Meshi-inspired nightmare.

~

The wolf’s fur smothered all senses.

Hector was blind and deaf, because his eyes were clouded by thick darkness, like a night without stars, and his own heart hammered in his ears; his limbs were pinned under the wolf’s paws, solid and strong and hefty and with long claws piercing his flesh; and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe anything that wasn’t the stench of blood coming from the beast.

You’re safe, pet. You’re with me. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I will keep you warm, I will protect you from the world.

And Hector could do nothing but hang from the wolf’s reassuring words, to not fall down the pit of the unknown; there was nothing else he could do, not even stop the shivers that shook his bare body, exposed to the ghastly chill of the dead coming from the wolf.

Why do you fear me, Hector?

He couldn’t give an answer. There was no answer for such a question, not one that could be uttered. The wolf dragged its tongue on Hector’s throat, jaw, cheek, slimy and lukewarm due to his own blood: Hector groaned, and when he turned his head, he met the eyes of the animal, blazing like the flames that eat at people’s lives. Like a house on fire, he would be consumed.

I have molded this body, shaped it to my design. Don’t I have the right to savor it?

The wolf lifted a paw, allowing Hector to stroke its chest: the ribs protruded from it like jags. How long hadn’t it been feeding? How long would it take until it starved to death? The beast would have succumbed to death’s embrace without protesting, were it not for Hector, its anchor in the storm.

It wanted Hector – no, it needed him. He couldn’t let it suffer, not it, his only safe haven from the world that wanted to tear him to shreds. It was only fair that he gave himself in return.

His tongue and thighs had already been eaten as an appetizer, so Hector swallowed blood and bile and nodded without a word.

Good boy. You’re the only thing left that makes me proud.

The wolf probed Hector’s mouth with its long tongue, and he didn’t know if the taste of rot that invaded him came from it or from those words, as sweet as fruit left out in the sun.

The animal licked the stump, not paying mind to Hector writhing in disgust at the sickly intimate contact. He couldn’t reciprocate even if he wanted to, he wasn’t allowed; all that was in his power was to open wide his jaw as much as he could, to let the wolf in, he’d better not touch it with his teeth, only wolves could bite…

Air. Sweet, stale air. Hector inhaled all the air that his body could take in, all too aware that the relief would be short-lived and the feast would soon begin.

How did he arrive there? Thoughts and memories were blurred by a thick fog. He only knew that the wolf would have died without him, and there was no higher honor and devotion than to give yourself to such noble creature. It was what he was born for.

The wolf rubbed its humid nose against his cheek, and for one second, Hector closed his eyes and welcomed the sincere affection from the creature, like only it could give him.

And then sharp fangs tore the flesh of his stomach.

Hector screamed. He screamed until his chest heaved, but from his body only a feeble wheeze came out, and it only agitated him more, no, he wanted to scream, how could he not even do that?

The muscles stiffened in anticipation of an agony that did not come, in truth, Hector did not feel a thing, except for the long snout of the wolf digging inside his viscera, unraveling his intestines and ripping them rapaciously, ripping his stomach apart and turning his liver into mush; the mess spilled out of him, as the beast made its way deeper and deeper inside him.

The cold seeped through him, seizing him in an inescapable grasp, but he could hardly shake from it.

Sapped of all of his strength, Hector no longer even had the energy to thrash around to get away from the revolting sensation of the wound being stretched open, the flesh giving out to that foreign body entering him.

Foreign? The power that flows in your veins… that’s me. Don’t you feel it singing for me?

Oh yes he did, his own blood singing, crying out, calling its source by name – he couldn’t stand it, but couldn’t deny it either, the bond wrapped around both of them, the life flowing from one body to the other.

We are inextricable, dear.

Hector was part of the beast, akin to a limb, and to the beast he was destined to return. Nothing of him, his body, his mind, his power, his soul, truly belonged to him.

Was for that reason that his demon friends had guided him to the castle? Was that what they meant, when they had reassured him that that was the only place where he could exist?

Hector observed without seeing the wolf chewing and swallowing pieces of him down his swollen gullet, with what appeared to be a smile on his muzzle caked with blood.

Only he could satiate and satisfy it. Only it truly loved him.

He should have been happy, he thought, looking at the hole in his stomach.

Aren’t you glad to join me again, flesh of my flesh?

Did it matter if he was? The wolf would have feasted anyway. It was for its sake.

The wolf kept making its way through him, its breath at last hot enough to keep Hector warm. His ribs snapped like twigs under the strong jaws of the animal, crack, crack, crack, nothing in him could oppose resistance. Until Hector felt its tongue caress his heart, like a gentle promise.

No, not that! Please, I beg you!

You offered this to me a long time ago, with all the love you could keep inside it. Don’t you remember? It will be safe with me.

No… leave something to me… don’t take everything for yourself… What will be left of me?

Hector’s heart was kept safe behind the wolf’s teeth, reduced to thin shreds. This time, he didn’t even attempt to scream. It was all pointless. He would not live for longer, and it didn’t matter anymore.

That used to be mine…

You’re delicious. My Hector. My precious Hector, my best creation. I can’t be without you, and you can’t be without me. I gave you life, and you’ll return it to me.

Despite the stillness of his torn chest, the wolf’s words no longer reached him. They were supposed to fill the void inside him with life and joy, it promised him; but the white-hot heat that seared him did not come from the animal, no, something else, something scary was wriggling where his guts used to be.

Teeth clamped down on Hector’s throat, to lacerate it and finally end his suffering. Without air, without blood, without anything that made him human, Hector lay limp and weak like the empty shell that he was; and oh, if only hadn’t he given himself to his wolf, if only he kept his heart for himself instead of looking for a person worthy of it! If only had he been born a wolf, and bit the beast that devoured him…

Hector opened his eyes with a gasp, and he was alive.

In the mist of sleep, the reality became clearer at every blink: he was in his bed, he was home, he was whole, and Rosaly was sleeping peacefully to his side, an arm stretched across his chest where his heart was pounding.

It was just a nightmare; at every breath, the details became muddier, confused, not important. He let them slide off his fingers.

Hector passed a hand on his throat, and not even the small bumps under his fingertips could upset him, because despite everything, he was alive, and he got his heart back.

Not resisting the impulse of leaving a kiss on the forehead of his beloved, Hector fell back into a dreamless sleep.

[thcrealheroes]

"No one's ever going to hurt you again. I promise." / butcher to starlight

clearing out memes || @vghtsupes

ANNIE'S FINGERS CURLED INTO HER PALMS, NAILS PIERCING INTO HER SKIN ! digging & digging into her flesh, heart RACING wildly in her chest, eyes squeezing shut, she can feel the rage rising within her lips pressing together into a thin line, teeth clenched tightly as her blood burns through her veins. All she had wanted to do was try to forget what happened—watching Homelander murder A-Train without so much of a care. The way he would shoot his laser eyes into Sage's brain over and over again... watching her body go limp every single time... the cracking of Maggie's bones- the CRUEL chuckle that ESCAPED past his twin flesh... he wasn't alone. Of course, he wasn't. Kessler had assisted Homelander in escaping from his cell with a sweet promise for revenge. To get even with all those who had betrayed him. But while he gave Homelander the heads up to kill them all- he wanted to save Annie for Butcher... wanted to shred her apart right in front of Billy- that's what he said while also exposing some secrets that had shattered a part of her.

Whipping around to face Butcher, a flicker of GOLD flashed over her dark hues. " Even Kessler ? " She scoffed viciously, eyes narrowed and glazed with unshed tears. " That fucking asshole is still alive, and he TRIED to fucking kill me ! Actually, the real question is, why is he still alive ? He told me everything, Butcher. Everything you never told me HE FUCKING DID !  Is he still alive because you can't kill him ? Is that right ? Because you two are connected ? That's what he said, you know. He also told me about your little fantasies. Kessler told me in great fucking details, actually !  He told me a lot of things... all those times when I was suffering through my miscarriage, you were just out there with your good pal Kessler, willing to do whatever he wanted ! But when I needed you, all you did was drive me away ! Fuck you ! And fuck your protection ! I don't want it ! " A tear slips down flushed cheeks, choking back on a sob. " And while I was out there alone....  with Hughie gone, The Boys gone ! I was alone, and I needed you. Ryan needed you. But you were busy fucking Kessler. " She laughs bitterly, stepping back away from him with a shake of her head, her eyes sharp, cold. " ... If I was a different person... I'd want to hurt you the same way you did to me... because I bet If I went and fucked Homelander... you'd be LIVID. We've been through everything together, and you still managed to find a way to BREAK MY FUCKING HEART. You kept all that from me, and to hear it from him ? From that fucking asshole ! You don't care about me. You never cared about the baby we lost. Do you even care about Ryan or Harper ? Or about anyone ? You still hold this disdain over Homelander to the point you despise this poor girl who is nothing like him. Without her we'd be dead. All this hatred for Homelander, but what about Kessler ? Huh ?  You can't even destroy the asshole who wanted you to kill all supes. Including me, Ryan, and your daughter, Harper. I- I can't deal with you right now.... "

[factiousfcrged]

@draconisa / continued from [x]

It has never been said that Daenerys Targaryen is a good patient, and the reason for that is twofold: harm rarely comes to her person, and when it does, she handles it poorly. Like a wounded hunting cat, she seeks to hide herself away — analyzing the damage, licking her wounds, none the wiser to her misery. This isn’t going to be one of those times. For one thing, her erstwhile savior won’t let her; more importantly, she physically can’t. “I’m not — moving, it just—” hurts, she thinks, catching the word behind clenched teeth ( far be it for her to acknowledge weakness ). But it was only fair, given that the skin of her thigh’s opened up: it had caught on some bit of metal she hadn’t seen, tearing like so much tissue paper as it shredded through the skin. Dany isn’t afraid of blood. She isn’t even very squeamish, but there’s something decidedly different about it when it’s your flesh ripped apart, scarlet staining everything. Altogether, she’s not feeling very well. Leans back, exhaling through her nose in a meditative attempt at stillness. Her goddamn head is reeling. “Had my mag boots turned on.” Almost delirious, she’s half joking, but the truth lingers beneath. If the shoes hadn’t kept her on her feet, she would’ve hit something far more delicate as she inevitably toppled forward — like her heart, for instance.

"Yeah, you did," Amos agrees, which is about the closest he gets in this particular scenario to 'I told you so'. His tone is just this side of annoyed, though maybe it's more at himself than her -- he should've known better than to give the diminutive woman hard liquor, especially when she'd seemed so intent on trying to keep up with him ... and that was a feat that even Bobbie had a time doing. He'd figured here on the ship, the worst that might happen was she woke up with a killer hangover or upchucked in his machine shop which, while unpleasant, would've hardly been the worst mess he'd had to deal with on the Roci.

Clearly, though, he'd miscalculated her ability to get herself into trouble. He ripped open one of the pressure packs from the first aid kit that he'd recovered from under his work bench, pressing it onto either side of the gash and giving it the seconds it needed to clench into place - it would serve as a temporary measure to make sure she didn't bleed out before he could get her to the medbay. He took the time to toss the wrapping into the recycler and cork, and shove the bottle and the glasses they'd been drinking out of into one of the cabinets. Habit, hard to break, stow the loose items, then and there.

"Come on, Princess, release those mag locks," he instructed, waiting just long enough for her to do so before he scooped her up, pretty effortlessly, at knee and shoulders to carry her towards the medbay and the waiting auto doc. He'd have to come deal with the blood later. "Get you patched up and who knows, you might even have your first battle scar to show for it."

[lilacs-and-poetry]

it’s a ritual—late at night, bathroom doors locked, fluorescent lights burning my eyes, rendering my skin the starkest grey—

i sit on the counter in front of the mirror, legs crossed, and contemplate tearing my face apart. i think of the way my fingernails could rip into my skin, digging away at imperfections. i think of the way i’d look, teeth, jaw, muscles exposed. i think of the way i’d change so much, and not change at all. i think of the way my mind would play tricks, and i would start to pick at what’s left of my flesh.

i think of the way it wouldn’t change anything—i’d still hate the way my particles formed the vague shape of a person. i think of all the ways i’ve already stripped myself down to raw bone and blood, and how i know without doubt that it’s never changed the worst things about me.

there’s nothing stopping me from clawing at my skin, rubbing my face raw, trying to find a dignity in shredding my own self. there’s nothing i can do but hope that someday, my nails and blood will actually make a difference. that hope is fading, faster each day.

[evilcatgirlwizard]

an idea keeps haunting me

we werent soulmates, but our souls will always remember the others' shape. in our last lives we hated each other, we were rivals, we were obsessive and possessive and cruel. we fought like hell and if we hadnt come to an agreement we would have killed one another. but as fate had it we were stuck with one another for a greater prize than your blood on my hands (or my blood on yours). as we grew complacent with one another we forget where the line of passionate hate and passionate love was penned. i always admired your cunning (exclusively for cheating) and you admired how i hurt other people more than i had ever hurt you. maybe we even still fight, but our fights resemble lovemaking more than violence. i miss your flesh between my teeth. you miss my hair in your white knuckle grip. we work well together, and somehow, life becomes peaceful. i cant say i love you, but we know. we both know.

then we die.

and our souls remember one another even as we are put into lives that are less violent and stressful. we lock eyes and its like a bomb goes off--i hate you, i love you, i need you. i dont even know if the line between how much i hate you and how much i love you exists. you are everything, and i dont know why. you look at me like a tasty piece of meat or a tantalizing foe rather than the strangers we are. were. cant be. some people call it weird, and theyre right, but after a life of hell its nice to only need to bite you because you like it rather than to tear shreds of safety or food or necessity from your hands. its nice to have a hand in my hair that can choose whether to tug or not based on our conflicting opinions on breaking bad rather than if i admit i stole from you.

the peace does feel weird though. we didnt notice it before we slotted together like puzzle pieces--the peace is weird. we're anxious and paranoid when around one another, our souls conjuring images of forgotten foes in the shadows of your shitty studio apartment. we really should break up and go see psychologists. we wont. theyd probably tell us wanting to eat one another alive is unhealthy and weird. but we know better

[knightinink]

Do you have any dip hanahaki disease headcannons?

Ooh this could actually go along with my Damien hc's nicely! Lets get this one rolling! 🌹🌷

-Okay so I feel that it would affect Damien more than it would affect Pip, since he would be less likely to confess his feelings & let them bottle up. Going off of another post of mine where I (kinda) talk about how Damien's mean & evil persona is just a front because he's scared & insecure underneath it all, & he's afraid of what could happen if people were to see his more vulnerable & sensitive side. He wants to be soft & tender, but he doesn't know how to express this to Pip, so he just keeps it inside.

-At some point, the demon notices that he has a bit of a hard time breathing, but doesn't think too much of it. That silly disease couldn't be real, right? It was just some stupid folktale! Something made up to scare people!

-A few weeks go by, & it's becoming more & more difficult for the demon to breathe, & he's horrified when, while he's roughly coughing into the bathroom sink, a repeating sharpness feels like its poking into his throat & he quickly falls to his knees, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the toilet bowl, & hacks up whatever he's now choking on.

-He's finally able to cough up whatever felt like it was shredding his throat, & as he blinks tears out of his eyes, he zeros in on the small bundle of about 5 red roses, thorns shining crimson with his blood, & turning the water slightly pink. Eyes widening in horror, he falls back onto his butt, his breathing picking up as he begins to panic, & a taste of nature floods his mouth as he clenches his teeth shut; the roses have left their vines, & they have rooted into his lungs quite nicely, not intent on letting go.

-He would hide this from his father & Pip of course, but he wouldn't be able to for very long.

-Pip meanwhile keeps coughing up pink tulip petals every now & then, but they always eventually cough up all wilted, as Pip is thoroughly convinced that whatever romantic interest he's ever had will not come to be, as he is simply not capable of being loved; everyone in his upbringing had reminded him oh so many times of this. It was true with Estella, & it was true with Herbert (bless him!), that whenever Pip would finally decide to get close, he would end up convincing himself that he wasn't worth their time, that he would be bothering them, & would back out.

-This would continue... except for when it came to Damien.

-There was something within the Brit that just wouldn't let the demon go from his mind, & ever since then the petals would come up flourishing, no longer in their dreary, wilted state. About a week had gone by when the first full flower had shown up, a soft pastel pink, petals open in all their beauty. Pip was horrified.

-More time would go by & the confession would come first from Damien, who is being drowned from the inside by his own blood, as there is a full rose bush growing in & around his chest & chest cavity, the thorns ripping through the tender flesh. Pip would be in shock, completely oblivious to the fact that the feelings he had harbored for the demon laying his head in his lap as he lay dying, had been returned this entire time.

-Damien would just laugh in a fuzzy sense of warmth, as well as the irony of being killed by something of his namesake. He would ask Pip to kiss him, the latter obligingly leaning down to do so, & presses a tearful kiss to the demon's bloodied lips. Their lips are lightly pushed apart as a red rose & a pink tulip come to the surface, brushing against each other tenderly, before they melt into a kiss of their own.

-When Pip breaks from the kiss, he's met with glazed-over eyes that were once as vibrant as the blood that he could still taste on his lips. He brushed a hand delicately over the rose & the tulip. then brushes the hair away from the demon's face so he could see all of him more clearly. Pip choked back a sob.

-Damien was gone.

[cowsonabus]

PATROCHILLES FANFIC CALLED Don't they know its the end of the world? BY cowsonabus

hey! so i decided to post my other fanfic on here- i havent updated in over a month due to work load and planning but a new chapter should be out around friday? I usually aim for a new chapter every two weeks, every week if i have time.

also-if its hard to read in this its because its b en copies from ao3! its formatted a lot clearer there i think. i recommend reading it on there, this is more of a taster for the actual fic.

Enjoy!!

PATROCLUS POV

Patroclus had always believed that death would be peaceful. He had never envisioned some grand afterlife for himself- maybe, he thought, the heros of the world would be promised the sweetness and security of eternal paradise for themselves. But for himself? No. He didn't believe he would be rewarded with such. He had believed he would be allowed what in its own way was the greatest gift- rest. He had hoped that when he died his mind would be soothed as his body finally put to sleep, he had envisioned his life after death as quiet and slow, where he mindlessly progressed through time. 

That was until the end of the fucking world happened.

Now when you died, if not by being bitten, there was no one left to preserve or handle your corpse. Your dead body would have to be let to slowly rot away in whatever hiding place you had managed to secure, and if you weren't lucky enough to die where your body was hidden there was no doubt any zombies within a mile would sniff you out and tear into your flesh without remorse. And hey- on the rare occasion your corpse was found by another human being it would most likely be ignored or treated with the utmost disrespect. After the outbreak, morality seemed to become a thing of the past. 

Funny thing actually, Patroclus found himself staring at the corpse of a young girl being torn to shreds by the undead from his makeshift apartment. He watched their teeth sink into her soft flesh shredding it in seconds, watched the blood drain out and pool around her lifeless form. Flecks of flesh splattered around.

At first, this had turned his stomach. He had seen many gruesome things at his time in med school yet cannibalism was a whole new factor. However, after seeing it so much he had grown used to it- almost apathetic. Even so, watching a young girl of about 11 be destroyed like that was unsettling. Children had little to no chance of survival, he wondered how she had survived so long. 

He often found himself in times like these revising his old medical notes. After the fall of pretty much any type of government or monarchy, he had hoped to find a solution by himself. Because if he couldn't rely on himself, there really was no one else to rely on. He hadn't made much progress yet. He had done a multitude of experiments to try find out how to solve the epidemic of undead. He had hated every single one. Watching people and animals go through the process of turning was gruesome and disgusting. They were fine the first few days until they're bodies started to mutate, first, their minds would alter. Their loss of speech and social skills was the first thing to happen, second, was the increased hostility and animalistic behavior. After that their bodies would start to grow, teeth and nails would sharpen and harden acting as new weapons for the beasts, then their bones would grow and extend awkwardly in places. Legs would be slightly too long, torsos would become unnaturally lanky, and faces would become sunken. And shit- they got fast. They weren't particularly strong but they were impossibly fast, alarmingly fast. 

So far he had concluded that the turning process would take about seven days, and humans and other animals with simillar genetic makeup were the only things that seemed to get infected. He had noticed the often the desire for food often outweighed the desire to reproduce and multiply. Seven times out of ten a zombie would rather feast on its prey then turn them.

He had also noticed something when he visited a hospital for supplies. It seemed the zombies couldn't infect anything below 10 properly, small children would often lie in hospital beds half infected, either a mixture of physical deformities and mental abnormalities yet not undead or a mixture of undead behavioral traits yet no abnormalities or deformities. He had been horrified when he found the baby ward. The small creatures seemed unable to move in their weak vessels yet seemed unable to die by themselves. Any normal baby would have died in that cold, desolate hospital within a few hours without someone to look after it yet these babies still lay there crying in their deformed state. He had felt pity for them and fled. He couldn't see those things again. They were disgusting. 

He turned away from the window with a slight gag, the girl's head had just been ripped off by an excessively violent zombie.

He looked around the apartment he had managed to secure for himself for the next week. He was attempting to cross over a couple of states to find a camp he had caught wind of on his radio. The message they were broadcasting was as follows:  "We have found an immune. We need medical professionals to experiment properly. If you are hearing this, our coordinates are -----. May the gods smile upon you and bring you safely to us" 

At first, he had believed himself insane when he heard the message, he couldn't believe there were other living beings so close to him. He wondered about the immune they had caught. He had theorized about them often and had been looking for any other survivors ten times harder now. He was scared a third-year medical student wasn't classed as a medical professional, but if he could just find them immune or anyone else to experiment on- maybe they would accept him into their sanctuary. It was an awful thing to do- to capture someone like that and trick them into following him. But some things were for the better. some things needed to be done for the greater good. He was tired of fighting constantly for a chance to live, and if he could get humanity one step closer to healing he would do it in an instant.  The war against the undead had turned him calloused and cruel. Once he just wanted to help people but now? After seeing people act like savages,? He couldn't find it in himself to care.

He sighed as he settled himself onto the bed. It was surprisingly soft and fresh, the thick duvet and mattress brought his tired body immense comfort. His stomach rumbled.

He was running low on food. He needed to go scavenge outside. Gods- he hated it but it wasn't like he was provided with many choices. 

Later, he thought. Later he would grab food. 

He trudged through the abandoned streets of the city. He had no idea where he was if he was honest. Sure, he could probably find out if he wanted to but what was the point now? who cares where he was. all he needed now was food. 

The city was a mix of towering skyscrapers full of offices or apartments, hotels popping up here and there- but the main parts of the city consisted of shops. Every street had some sort of shop or two lining it. This was one of the perks. Plenty of stores to keep him entertained when he scavenged. It was convenient for keeping him clean too- there were always clothing stores where he could grab fresh clothes. He had done so a few days ago, grabbing himself thick cargo pants, a tank top and plaid overshirt, and an aviator coat. He wouldn't typically dress like this but clean clothes were better than none. Besides, the coat was nice. A dark thick leather with comfortable sheepskin inside. It was expensive and high quality- before the outbreak, he probably wouldn't have been able to afford it. Financial freedom was one of the few perks to a zombie apocalypse.

The sun was beginning to ease itself from the sky which worried him slightly- never mind zombies, soon the wildlife would begin to feel braver. while the wildlife wasn't bad- turned animals were. He found it difficult to kill them, it hurt his heart to do so, especially dogs. Speaking of dogs he had acquired one of his own lately. He hadn't tamed the stray on purpose yet every time he left the apartment he was staying at the dog would find him and silently follow. He was grateful for its silence, he knew he would be upset if he had to kill it due to zombies. It was a dusky grey great Dane. It was gentle in nature and a rather sweet thing. It seemed to miss company as much as Patroclus did. He had named it Iris after one of his favorite flowers. How long ago it seemed when he was receiving and giving bouquets of flowers. He stared at the ground hard as he walked.

He had dated only a few boys growing up for the majority of his childhood he was far too afraid of his father to think of doing such a thing but when he was kicked out at 16 he stopped caring. A kind-hearted professor from the local university named Chiron had taken him in. He taught him about medicine and fighting and various other skills in life, listened to him talk about school, and was essentially the father he never had. He felt his stomach ache at that thought. After he had left for university in another state he had no idea what happened to Chiron. He had last seen him when he was turning twenty a few months before the initial outbreak. 

Maybe it was stupid but some part of him would like to believe Chiron was alive and well somewhere. 

He shook his head to clear it when he felt a wet nose nudging at his palm. The dog beside him wagged its tail and licked at his fingers. He scratched the top of its head lightly and continued to walk down the pavement.

He had entered a busted open corner store in hopes of finding food. Iris had wandered off elsewhere outside, keen to not enter the building. 

He peered between ransacked shelves for left overs, stuffing any useful items into his satchel quietly. There admittedly wasn't much available for him to choose from, either canned beans and lentils or soup nowadays.  Foolishly many people for some reason had taken fresh foods in the beginning.. During the outbreak, people didn't think rationally simply just joined in whatever raid they could and stole whatever they could reach. This didn't mean there hadn't been smart people who grabbed longer-lasting foods it just meant many were too panicked to prepare properly. He shoved cans of different food into his bag and grabbed seasonings. Any bottled liquid that hadn't expired since the initial outbreak last year was also shoved in. He was just looking over the pharmacy aisle when he heard a sharp cry of pain. 

His head snapped to the right, his heart thumping and his stomach dropping. It was a high-pitched sort of groan- hard to tell if it was animal or human. His first thoughts went to Iris and he felt sick bubbling up his throat. That's when he heard a second groan, deeper alongside a few pained whimpers. Human. 

He stumbled away to the stock room in a panic, just because it was human didn't make it any less dangerous. By those sounds, it was injured meaning its scent was stronger to the zombies. And even if they weren't injured they could be bait. He had seen the atrocities created by unsupervised men and women- he would not fall into their traps. That's why his heart almost stopped when he heard a man dragging himself through the store on a faulty leg, begging with Patroclus. 

"ple- please! fuck-, this hurts. Please- dont go. i need- please!"

He recognized that voice from somewhere, his hair prickled on the back of his neck.

Danger danger danger danger- 

Fast footsteps, a zombie-

danger danger danger danger. 

That man would be dead in a few seconds. He should hide. however.. if that man turned out to be an immune or possible test subject it could be his ticket out of this fight for survival, he could be a ticket into the sanctuary. 

Danger danger danger dangerdangerdangerdangerdangerdanger-    

He stepped out, yanking the man by the waist and shoving them into the storage room with him, locking the door. 

It was dark and without a lot a room, it was more of a closet really. He couldn't exactly make out their face- his eyes hadn't adjusted to the darkness yet. He could however feel their leg slotted between his, could feel hot sticky blood dribbling down his leg. Were they bitten? did he just fucking lock himself in a closet with a stage idontknow zombie?  He couldn't breathe. His palms sweated and his breaths shallowed. He could hear their quiet prayers of thanks. Where they stupid-? they needed to be quiet if undead were around. The scent was bad enough but adding noise? 

He clamped his palm against their mouth forcing them to shut up. His eyes had started to adjust. 

He could see a very startled blonde man behind his hand. 

Golden hair with a few stray honeyed locks falling over his face, gentle waves that fell around his shoulders, a few clips in it. Pools of sea greens and gold stared back at him, his eyes were catlike and curious. His straight, narrow nose had no bumps or defects in it, and that bronzed skin had no marks of imperfection or signs of the sun on it- It was abnormally radiant and smooth, something straight out of a magazine. Perfectly even eyebrows and rosy cheeks. Lean, athletic build- not unlike that of runners. Muscled and toned, tall. Every feature was strong and deliberate and looked as though it had to be cut by the sharpest knife- yet the overall look was not sharp. Gods- how unfucking fair, why does he get to be so pretty in the middle of an apocalypse? 

For a moment he felt embarrassed by his own messy wild looks. He knew his own body was broader than the others, he was built like that of a boxer. He knew his hair was messy and dark, his curls going wild due to the atmosphere and occasional rain. He knew his skin was currently a little bumpy and coated in a thin sheen of sweat and god knows what else. 

Then he felt incredibly stupid. I guess that's what a year of isolation does to a guy. 

He pressed a finger to his own lips and the blonde nodded. He removed his hand and stared at them bemused. He had to be imagining this. It couldn't be. Achilles Pelides? Really?, The first and last time he was meeting an international star was in a zombie apocalypse. When he hadn't bathed in like a week and looked disgusting, really? 

Whatever it didn't matter. It seemed the man before him was stupid as he was gorgeous which was rather convenient for Patroclus. He bet the sanctuary would want someone like Achilles to toy with. The nation's sweetheart, teenage heartthrob, pretty and talented- who wouldn't want to take him in? It seemed he had struck gold. A rather popular, stupid blonde had fallen into his grasp.

He knew it was wrong to trick the other man or try to trick him into being a test subject for the sanctuary. It didn't matter. He couldn't go soft or start to get attached to a man he barely knew. If Achilles wanted his help he would have to help Patroclus get into that sanctuary in return. 

The blonde eyed him cautiously. Maybe he thought Patroclus wanted to hurt him. Despite himself, he felt nervous now.  

They stood like that for at least half an hour until Patroclus decided it was safe to speak. He moved his leg, starting to bombard the other with questions when Achilles let out a loud yelp of pain. Right, his leg injury. perfect. 

Just, perfect.

Chapter 2: honey

Notes:

Hi! any advice or feedback is welcome- I find it helpful when people give me constructive feedback or their thoughts on a chapter so if you have any make sure to lmk :) If I get something wrong please feel free to correct me!

Achilles POV

Achilles was forced into a dingy, musty-smelling closet. It was dark, too dark to make anything out. He could feel his heart pounding as he resisted the urge to try pull away from his capture. He had no idea what to make of the situation. Was the man helping him, was he listening to his desperate cries for help? He hoped so. After the outbreak, it didn't take long for his security system to crumble. He lost any sense of safety after that. Dealing with zombies was one thing but in all honestly the hardest part was the filth. He couldn't stand the smell of rotting corpses and flesh EVERYWHERE. Gods- he had no problem killing zombies or getting dirty but the taste and smell of human flesh was not one for him. He had lived off the most disgusting animals and water- even gotten himself sick a few times from a few careless choices on what he would make a meal. He hated his new life. Not to mention he was so lonely. 

It wasn't like he was particularly fond of anyone before the outbreak but he did miss the way everyone seemed to clamor around him and perform for scraps of his attention. The constant attention from his fans and the public was rewarding, it seemed like anything he did was revered and he wouldn't lie and pretend like he didn't like being fawned over by everyone. All he had to do was participate in some sports event, release a new song, appear on tv or something and he would be awarded praises and admiration. He had to admit he had always desired someone he actually liked but everyone was just so boring. it was always the same, he didn't like the pathetic weak-willed men who traipsed after him begging for his favor. He wanted someone who could entertain and surprise him yet he never found one. The whole idea of romance interested him yet he never quite satisfied that curiosity. The chances of finding someone like that now were even slimmer. Never mind, it's not like he could complain much anymore- there was no one to listen.

His eyes started to adjust to the darkness and he began to speak his thanks to his capture yet a warm hand was forcefully clamped to his mouth. Oh yes, silly him, zombies might be listening. He felt that it would be safe to speak but considering he had no idea what kind of nut job the other man could be he decided to simply comply and stand still. He couldn't stop himself from looking a little startled at the gesture, however. He slowly began to take in the man's features.

Oh. 

fuck.

He was pretty to look at he supposed. However, he was almost 100% sure the man before him would turn out to be just as dull as the next. What a shame. A face like that is wasted on a personality so bland. 

The man before him had dark honeyed skin, it was sable toned and held a few blemishes. He could see a mole on the side of the man's neck and some sort of acne scarring just above his jaw. It wasn't a ton and was really very subtle yet it added character Achilles thought. The man's hair was unkempt and slightly frizzy, falling in chocolatey curls. Some part of him wondered what it would be like to touch them. He then focused on the man's eyes. The man's eyes were slightly narrowed yet it didn't hide their beauty. A deep brown- almost black color with thick dark lashes, honey highlights, they stared at him with such intent for the first time ever he felt nervous. There was something so disarming about their gaze that he felt the need to look away.  Gods- he should be grateful, even if this man turned out to be some sort of freak at least they were easy on his eyes. And hey- always a bonus, especially in times like these, they seemed to smell decent at least. He could smell traces of an earthy sort of cologne on them, yet there was something else too- something sweet yet that wasn't the right word that seemed to be the man's own. Almost like dates. 

The man before him raised a finger to his lips and Achilles frantically nodded. The man before him removed his hand and leaned back against the wall of the closet. It was only then the man's lips parted in shock and his eyes widened. He knows who Achilles is. Of course he does, who wouldn't. He couldn't help but feel a little smug the man before him recognized him. He doubted it would be long before the man too would fall into line and start fawning over him, maybe even fall in love with him, maybe this meant Achilles would never even have to scavenge or fight again if he didn't want to. 

He allowed himself a pleased little smile at that thought and the man before him frowned. That's odd. He didn't quite understand why they seemed to be unhappy, shouldn't they be happy? Whatever. He didn't care. 

It was only then he noticed how close they were, not that he really cared. The man's eyes flitted to their legs which were pressed between each other and he snickered. Maybe the other man really was an idiot. Of course, they fancy and adore Achilles. Just more fun for Achilles- or...

There was no one to uphold the laws anymore and while Achilles was a competent fighter if not an extraordinary one he still felt a twinge of anxiety in his stomach. He hadn't thought that the man might try to use him for other possibilities. He looked at them suspiciously trying to gauge some sort of reaction. He could fight them, even on his leg if he needed to. But gods he hoped he wouldn't. despite surviving this long his leg could still get infected. He needed help as much as he hated to admit it. 

After a while in a slightly tense silence, the brunette began to bombard him with questions. 

He felt the other's leg drag against his cut and he let out a yelp of pain. His leg had gotten ripped in a fight by a piece of rubble. It burnt and had weird scabby patches that kept tearing open every time he moved. 

The man in front looked apologetic and began mumbling that he was a med student and could help. Thank fuck. He was sick of his stupid leg. 

"so- you can help my leg?" Achilles questioned.

"if you let me then yes. some stitches in a few places, bandages in case it tears open again and some painkillers will do you good." Came the stranger's voice.

Their voice was soft yet slightly raspy, warm, and gentle. He wondered for a moment how they sounded saying his name, he bet it was nice. 

"Do you know who I am?" He asked tentatively 

"...Achilles Pelides. son of Thetis and Peleus. Musician, singer, actor, athlete, the nation's teenage heartthrob." The man in front added a little sarcastically.

"Actually I turned 20 like a month ago, I'm just a heartthrob now," Achilles replied dryly which earned a sweet, tired-sounding laugh from the stranger. 

"21"

"Sorry?"

"I'm 21."

"...okay. your name?" 

"Patroclus" 

Achilles nodded. It was a nice name.

"Patroclus?" he repeated softly, tasting the name, pat-ro-clus. The man in front stiffened when Achilles repeated the name.

 The man just nodded. 

"we should go. its- dark. dark outside"  The other man had moved his leg again causing a sharp intake of breath to pause his speech. Patroclus nodded and quietly checked it was safe outside the closet, he then began a quick stride causing Achilles to scowl. On his leg, he could not keep up with the man, how irritating that they must hurry away. Nevertheless, he limped behind the man obediently. 

When they stepped outside cold air hit him in the face, an unwelcome reminder that now summer was ending winter would be coming. He wasn't ready for winter. He hated the cold. He shook his head irritably and looked up. The sky was dark, a few stars littering it here and there, illuminating the ground below.

"I have a dog. Iris. she's fairly tame but don't do anything stupid. or try anything stupid anyway."     

Achilles looked at the other spotting a dog. A giant dark thing that stood ominously next to the beautiful stranger. He had always liked dogs- He thought everyone who could afford one should have one. He wasn't scared by the loud bark of the dog either. He had tamed much fouler, scarier beasts of animals before, a mere dog was nothing to him. Besides, it wasn't just humans who seemed to like Achilles, animals did too.

After a few moments of silence. 

"....do you need help walking,? we need to be quick" 

"I think that would be best. please, if you wouldn't mind." 

Wordlessly the other man wrapped an arm around Achilles and set off. As they walked crude thoughts kept popping into Achilles mind. He liked the way those hands felt, he wondered what else they could do. Gods, it's been a while. 

Patroclus POV

As they walked through deserted pavements beneath the night sky his mind was racing. He had his arm wrapped around their waist as he tried to think what to do. Bringing them back to his makeshift hideout as a danger in case they really were some sort of bait. He didn't think they were as he had checked thoroughly for other traces of human life near the store and couldn't find any- but still, there was always the off chance he was wrong about it. However, there was still the chance the man himself was just not right in the head, letting them stay with him might mean they may try and harm him. But in their injured state? Shit. this wasn't exactly the most straightforward call to make yet he knew he needed to decide fast. He still needed to bring someone or something to the sanctuary as a possible offer to get himself in. Achilles would be useful for that. If he was careful he should be able to earn the man's trust and eventually use him for his plan. He guessed he had no choice but to take him to the apartment he had taken for himself. 

Achilles POV 

The entire walk to Patroclus' apartment his mind was certainly in the gutter. Could you blame him? he had been devoid of any attention for almost a year now- and god it was awful. Call him an attention whore he didn't care. It seemed even slight touches and words were exciting now. pathetic. Even so, that still didn't explain his interest in the man. The man had been so awkward and quiet to Achilles- even a little frustrated at times. Now that, that was interesting. No one before the outbreak dared treat him like that, all pining for his praise, but this strange man was almost indifferent to Achilles' celebrity. I mean his celebrity wasn't as impressive as before bt still- He was sure any normal person would be delighted to find the Achilles Pelides in a zombie apocalypse. Maybe it was his indifference that made him so intriguing. maybe Achilles was just touch-starved. Maybe it was both. Either way, he was certainly very pleased about meeting this man. 

They neared a tall, run-down building and Patroclus slowed looking the other dead in the eye. 

"I won't hesitate to kill you if i have to. but i'd prefer not to dirty the place im staying at, especially if i waste supplies on your leg,

“so please, don't do anything stupid."

Rude. Seriously what was his problem.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Chapter 3: eager much?

Notes:

Achilles thinks Patroclus is flirting, Patroclus thinks Achilles is a moron infected. WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED MURDER, INJURY, BLOOD, MEDICAL PROCEDURE(?) Also! I have literally never written anything about gore or body horror- I really have no idea how to describe wounds properly, this fic is mainly me trying to figure that stuff out. If you have any pointers or tips for when it comes to writing gore or describing injuries please let me know!

Patroclus POV

Helping the blonde up the many stairs was a struggle. The whole time he kept complaining or letting out sharp hisses of pain. Patroclus understood they were in pain but this was a massive inconvenience for him. God- why did they have to whine about this so much? They even asked stupid questions like if the elevator worked. Of course, it didn't work. NOTHING worked anymore, For Christ's sake.

After much encouragement, he finally managed to help the blonde up to the apartment. He wondered how such an incompetent man had managed to survive this long on his own. They really seemed stupid and spoilt if he was truthful.

He helped the man into the apartment and onto the sofa before turning away to close the front door. Iris had seemed hesitant to come in, staring at the blonde reproachfully but after a few minutes of lingering by the door, she scampered in and lay by the sofa. Patroclus turned back to the blonde and looked at them wearily. He didn’t particularly want to waste his valuable supplies on them but he didn't have much choice if he wanted to keep them healthy. He sighed and locked up.

He grabbed his supplies from the bedroom and hovered awkwardly for a second. He needs to check they aren't bitten. But.. if they were they might resist. He’d wait for them to fall asleep. For now, however, he would try to heal them as much as possible,

"Do you have any other injuries?" He asked as he sat in front of the sofa setting up.

"Just my leg really-"

"Okay. I can get you new trousers after this. Your ones are ruined anyway."

He stated as he began cutting away at the tattered fabric obscuring their thigh. The blonde seemed to snicker at this and he shot them an unimpressed glare. God, they were an idiot.

Once he had managed to cut away at the blood-soaked, tattered trouser leg he saw the full severity of the injury. 

The skin around the injury was extremely bruised, it was swollen and dark, a collection of deep blue and green hues intermingling and overlapping each other- looking even black in some parts. For a moment he was worried about the bruising and swelling being a sign of possible tissue damage. If the muscles of his thigh were damaged that would lead to an even longer recovery time and in situations such as a zombie apocalypse that was extremely bad. 

He took a shaky breath as he began examining the main part of the injury. The golden skin was traded for a raw pink colour, the outermost layer torn and ravaged, barely connected in some areas by a few thin strings of skin, the edges frayed like the threads of an old rag. A few thick scabs formed in some places while others were still coated by thick, clotted blood. The flesh around the stab wounds was raised and swollen, an angry red colour and any blood that had been leaking from it had now crusted uncomfortably around the edges.

Patroclus winced as he took in the poor condition of the skin, this was definitely gonna hurt the blonde if he wanted Patroclus to heal it efficiently. He steeled himself and began poking around the two stab wounds assessing the damage. 

They were deep and jagged, and when he looked he could see a few pieces of rock where (He assumed) some sort of rock had stabbed the blonde. As he looked in he let out a huff. The muscle beneath the fascia didn't appear to be torn (luckily) but the epidermis, dermis, subcutaneous fat, and fascia had been ripped apart. He cringed as he noticed small chunks of bright yellow fat stuck to the flesh, as the rock had been removed it seemed it had pulled out small fragments of flesh and fat with it. 

"..how did you get this injury" He inquired tentatively. He was trying to be polite and didn't want to somehow trigger the blonde. However, at the question Achilles just shrugged, his head lolling lazily to the side to look at him properly.

".. I fell into a piece of rubble this afternoon and it stabbed me. I couldn't really get it out properly. I think I injured myself even worse when I kept pulling at it" The man admitted quietly. 

Patroclus sighed and nodded. At least it had happened today, that meant a lower chance of infection. 

"To heal this I'm gonna have to sterilize your injury then start by stitching up the stab wounds." 

"is that alright with you?" He asked, looking up at them from where he knelt.

The blond turned away hastily and nodded.

Iris had long since fled to Patroclus' bedroom. and for good reason too. The blonde was extremely vocal when it came to letting Patroclus know his leg hurt. So far he had managed to sterilize the wound and stitch up the stab wounds. The blonde had sobbed rather pitifully the entire time. Excruciating groans and yelps as Patroclus forced the thread through their flesh, breathy pleads for Patroclus to stop and leave him be, choked sobs as he never relented.

Patroclus could only imagine how much this hurt the other man, with no anesthesia or numbing this had to hurt like a bitch. He would have given them any sort of alcohol or drugs if he had any, yet to the misfortune of Achilles Patroclus didn't make a point of keeping any. That dumb arrogant man had been reduced to a mess of tears and ragged breaths. He now lay on the sofa, wrists tied behind him, eyes bloodshot and face tearstained. Patroclus had to tie their hands behind their back as they kept trying to claw at Patroclus involuntarily which was rather dangerous. He looked at the man who looked exhausted and felt a pang of guilt. He wasn't a cruel man and he really did wish it didn't have to be like this. But it was. ...For their own good. 

Thankfully for Achilles Patroclus had stolen some needle drivers and pickups as well as some sutures. This meant at least the stitches were proper and should work. 

Unfortunately for him, Patroclus had to now deal with all the torn skin. 

He had pulled out a pair of medical scissors and made for Achilles leg when the man started begging for him to not do it. 

"..stop- please- I don't want you to" The man pleaded, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

"please don't I cant-" Their lip was quivering as Patroclus started anyway.

"I'm sorry, I have to, I can't wrap your leg with all this skin hanging off." 

The blonde started sobbing again. 

"please- please ,-cant-"

"come on yes you can. ten minutes. That's all I need. You're doing so well. Please?" 

The blonde didn't say anything to that just looked away sobbing.

Patroclus winced as he began.

The shredded skin was difficult to work with, especially when he tried to align the salvageable skin together. He painstakingly took his time to cut away at the nearly detached skin, aiming to get the skin as seamless as possible. He had to debride anything that was now useless much to the blonde's displeasure. After he dealt with the skin that was salvageale. He had to reposition it carefully and glue it into place, praying it wouldn't get infected.

When he finished he let the tearful blonde rest, moving to clean up the equipment and rubbish from the process. 

When he came back the blonde turned his head from him and he felt that familiar sense of guilt. They looked terrible. He sat by the sofa gently applying a cold moisturizer to the skin around the wound, 

"you'll have to keep this moisturized, and I'll have to check it daily."  The blonde just shot him a glare and he sighed. 

"look- I'm sorry okay? I don't have anything that would have numbed that for you. if i didn't though you could have died from that" 

"i know that! I'm not stupid!" 

Patroclus disagreed

"just- you could have been gentler" he sniffled.

Patroclus bit down the urge to argue back. He had just done a great deal for this man and they had an attitude?? They would have died without Patroclus! He shook his head and sighed.  "I know im sorry. you did really well. I know it hurt. I should've been more considerate"  Achilles nodded at that, still teary-eyed yet he seemed more relaxed now.

"can I wrap your leg up?"

The blond just mumbled a yes and he started. 

He wrapped the other thigh in gauze and then bandaged it before getting up. He returned with a pair of joggers he found in the previous apartment owner's closet and helped the man into them. After that, he untied their hands and helped them get comfortable on the other sofa opposite the old, bloodied one. They still seemed pissed off so for now he tried to be nice. Even if he felt they didn't deserve it. It was almost like looking after a child, he rolled his eyes and approached the man. He sat beside them and handed them a bowl of food. It wasn't particularly nice, canned pasta in a bowl, cold. The man seemed grateful for it anyway. After eating it he asked where the bedroom was. Patroclus helped him into bed before heading to the door. 

"wait- don't- can you stay? i don't want to be alone."

Patroclus raised an eyebrow as that but climbed into the other side of the bed. The blonde still looked disheveled and exhausted. It didn't take long for the blonde to fall asleep, at some point he had laid his head in the brunette's lap and Patroclus had let him. He felt bad for hurting them, even if he did think they were kind of an asshole. He stroked through their hair subconsciously. 

He should check they weren't infected. Now was really the only time. He looked down at them. Their face was still flushed and those long lashes were still clumped together. They seemed so tired, exhausted. They trusted him so easily. He pitied them. He pushed them off his lap as gently as possible grabbing a knife. He had to know.

Patroclus checked their legs the best he could without waking him. All clear, no bite marks. 

Next- their torso. Here he had less luck. Just above their hip was a dark angry red bite mark. His stomach dropped.

They were in the early stages of infection. It would be easier to shoot them, kinder maybe yet he tried to save his bullets for emergencies. He climbed onto their lap, straddling them as he raised the knife in his hand, the other hand tracing its fingers over the mark. 

It looked fresh. he probably got bit when he was stabbed by the rubble. He sighed and looked at them with a frown. If they were infected he really wouldn't be able to get into the sanctuary that easy. without giving them something to test on he might not be able to join them. Maybe they'd kill him. Maybe he'd become the test subject.

Fuck. Maybe if he could get there sooner he'd just hand them Achilles and tell them he wasn't infected but they'd probably check, then they'd both probably be executed. 

He wasted all those supplies for nothing.

Achilles POV

When he awoke it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. All he could feel was a heavyweight in his lap, which rather hurt his thigh truth be told. He was about to yell at whatever was on him- maybe it was the dog until his eyes adjusted and locked on a pair of deep brown ones, suddenly the pain in his leg seemed stupid. Who cares about his leg? 

Did he think Patroclus was kind of a prick? yes. He had hurt Achilles a lot but he found himself caring about that a lot less now the man was sitting on his lap. Gods, what had he done to deserve such an angel? So pretty.  Besides, he had never really been a masochist but don't knock it till you try it right? He reached up with a teasing smirk to trace along their jaw with idle fingers. He knew the other man couldn't resist him, obviously. He was a little confused why they had waited until he was asleep- or why it took them so long but better late than never I guess. His skin was so soft, and those pretty lips had parted in surprise. 

A laugh bubbled up from his throat as he beamed at the man. They looked so confused, and so, so pretty. So handsome. He wondered why they were confused. Obviously, they thought Achilles was out of their league- that definitely was the only reason. Well lucky for them Achilles had developed a newfound appreciation for gorgeous brunettes with soft eyes. Not to mention a newfound obsession with their body. He wondered if they were in some sort of combat sport before, maybe boxing.

He looked down at his stomach when he felt nails grazing his skin. Eager much? he thought to himself a little smugly. It was only then he noticed they were grazing along the bite mark. 

Great, so he wasn't flirting with Achilles he was trying to kill him. He looked up, eyes wide when he saw the man slamming his hand down, sharp knife in his grasp,

He caught their wrist with a stream of startled curses. He managed to knock them away, rolling from them, stumbling through the darkness on his faulty leg. 

Patroclus POV

He watched them stumble away and out the room before chasing them. He caught them in the living room, shoving them onto the ground, kneeling above them raising his knife in a second attempt. The man writhed beneath him and shouted a mix of insults at him.

"I'm immune! For fucks sake- I'm immune you fucking psycho!"

Patroclus paused at that, knife faltering. 

"how do you know?"

"i was bitten at the start. can you get off, ? I'll show you" 

Hesitantly he got up and waited for them to show him the old bite mark. The scowling blonde lifted his shirt to reveal his back, an old, faint purple bite mark on his shoulder. He stepped away still not entirely sure whether or not to trust the man. 

If it turned out the man was lying- in a few days he would notice behavioral changes, and when he did notice said changes he wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He let it go for now, If they were an immune he would get into the sanctuary. He let out a soft huff and dropped his knife. 

"...sorry" 

Slightly ruffled, the man muttered sarcastically "didn't realize you were such a sadist."

He felt his cheeks grow a little hot at the accusation. What the fuck? he was not a sadist, and he was not into the blond. god. He just turned away huffily and stormed back to the room. 

The blonde looked over at that and rolled his eyes. 

Chapter 4: murder kink?

Notes:

Sorry for disappearing for a week-! I took a small break so I could focus on working on my other fic about these two. I'm a sucker for Highschool AU's and im in the middle of one of the main character arcs right now! Achilles still down bad for a man he thinks has a murder kink. Patroclus is trying to be nice (finding it extremely hard) Anyway small chapter because im tired and trying to finish a chapter for my other fic tonight

PATROCLUS POV

When morning came the air was very tense. Attempted murder tends to have that effect on people and it certainly had that effect on Achilles.

Patroclus was sick of it, part of him was tempted to actually murder them a few times. The sweet promise of the sanctuary helped him refrain from doing so. So far he had untied the man, made him breakfast, given them new clothes and even a small knife- they should be grateful. Instead, they spent their time huffing and puffing, pouting and complaining about literally everything. 

He knew would be so much easier to complete his plan if he befriended them but gods above it all they were irritating. They were so... immature. They would barely respond unless it was some form of complaint, they turned their nose up to everything he did and they seemed so genuinely hurt when Patroclus told them he didn't like them. Well- that sounds mean out of context. It really wasn't mean. Achilles had said something about how he didn't like the colour of the top Patroclus gave him against his skin tone and then looked to Patroclus expectantly as if this was some obscure test. When Patroclus didn't pander to them or reassure them and instead responded with an offhand 'I don't like you' Achilles had bittered by a considerable amount. It seems he had failed their little test. 

Something about this boy was hard to figure out.  

They seemed so sensitive and pouty about pretty much everything yet before the apocalypse when they frequented the media they always seemed so nonchalant. He never would have guessed they would be so bratty about everything. Although isn't a nepo baby bound to be bratty? I mean- not like this surely, they didn't demand things from him just seemed rather keen for his attention and so bitter when Patroclus showed any form of disinterest. He decided they must be some kind of deprived attention whore at best. 

Even so he had so many questions about their behaviour. It's like they were more offended he didn't like them than the fact he tried to kill them? They had only really gotten snappy and irritable after he said he didn't like them, before that, he was just in a strop. 

He took a deep breath as he sorted through supplies. 

"Achilles?"

The blonde narrowed his eyes at him from where he was lounging on the sofa. 

"theres-" 

He grimaced trying to figure out what they wanted to hear.

"Theres some shirts here you might like. They're not really you're size since I got them for myself but they're all new. You can see if you prefer the colours of them if you want" 

They raised a skeptical eyebrow

"but the colour you're wearing is nice." 

They gave him a strange sort of smile as they got up and hobbled over. It seems he's made partial amends. Are compliments all he needs to earn their approval? 

He grabbed them by their waist as they nearly tripped while attempting to sit beside him. They gave him a strange look as they managed to sit.  He squeezed their waist out of habit before tapping their thigh 

"you should try not to put too much pressure on this, i'm gonna find you some sort of crutch if i can but..-" 

"hospital..?"

"well that would be ideal but-" Thoughts of those half-turned children and babies residing in abandoned hospitals made him nauseous. 

"there's too much uhm.." 

"its just not great there." He mumbled offhandedly and Achilles eyes seemed to soften slightly. He hated that.

As if he could tell the other was uncomfortable Achilles changed the topic for them. 

" do you want to check my leg now? you said you needed to daily" 

"yeah, okay then, do you mind resting your thigh in my lap so i can look properly? And not daily, only for the first week so i can make sure it's not getting infected. also you need to pull your trousers down so i can see" 

Achilles raised his eyebrow with a faint smirk 

"not like that" he scowled.

Achilles discarded his trousers gingerly seeming slightly smug. He understood why they were smug- they had amazing legs. So unfair. He wish he could say the same. nonetheless, that was not what he should be thinking about. He peeled back their bandages and assessed the damage. 

"Your stitches look good... we should re-moisturize and re-wrap your leg but that's all, can I?"

Achilles nodded when Patroclus gestured towards the thick paste he used to moisturize their leg. 

God. 

He almost forgot how annoying they were. When he tried to spread the paste across the rough skin they let out pathetic little groans and whimpers. He was trying to be gentle- he really was, and he understood their skin was still very raw and tender, but until the skin adjusted and thickened there wasn't much he could do.

"stop! your- stop prodding at it" 

Achilles would snap, his eyes watering. 

Patroclus resisted the urge to actually jab their leg and continued in his gentle smearing of the paste. 

"Im trying to be careful and gentle."

"Were you trying to be gentle when you took a knife to me?" 

Patroclus grimaced at that. 

"fair. but at the same time i thought you were an infected. and you were really weirding me out." 

"weirding you out?"

"you were getting all giggly and kept touching my jaw for some reason." 

"I thought you fancied me" 

"..excuse me?" 

"is this me finding out you dont?"

"stop talking."

"that's not a no..?"

Patroclus just rolled his eyes. This was not appropriate talk between a doctor/patient or capture/bait. 

"are you bisexual or something" Achilles pressed. 

Patroclus was trying not to snap, he really was. But Achilles must be extremely stupid if he thought Patroclus was going to come out. First of all, it would only feed into their weird narrative of Patroclus having a crush on Achilles, second of all Achilles was probably straight. I mean- having a crush on Achilles wouldn't be bad if they met under different circumstances, they were definitely his type- he just didn't have time for romance or one night stands anymore. 

"Are you?" He muttered offhandedly, not really caring about the answer- instead just focusing on re-wrapping their leg. 

"yes, interested?"

He looked up at them confused. He never knew that, 

"no. why would i care?"  He asked as if challenging them. 

The blonde just laughed as they pulled their trousers back up.

"well for someone so 'disinterested' you definitely got me out of my pants very fast. You even chased me with a knife- which might be some weird kink?" 

Patroclus raised an unimpressed eyebrow

"hey- im not bashing it! im down for knives and ropes and whatever. I'll let you practice your murder kink, its endearing if i try hard enough-" 

"you think my supposed murder kink is endearing?" 

"no but your eagerness is! im very flattered you took the first opportunity to-" 

That was enough. he was far too tired for this shit. 

He got up, his hand knocking against their head as they passed. 

"get ready, i need to go scavenging for stuff."

Chapter 5: soulmates! (or lack there of)

Notes:

If you see typos or bad grammar no you didn't and i dont wanna hear about it either!! my flight tomorrow is at like three am so im posting it now! enjoy!! anyway spent a few hours extra since my chapters on all of my fics have been really short. Im trying to update both of them at least once a week I swear. kind of want to start a third one or do a series of just like one shots, so i might be throwing a third into the mix lmao.

ACHILLES POV

They had set off to go scavenging around midday. The cold autumn sun was still out bathing everything in bright white light and the winds weren't too bad.

Achilles was currently limping after Patroclus 

He had never expected himself to be the one desperately following someone else like this- zombie apocalypse or not- And really he shouldn't be following them all things considered. The man was sarcastic, rude and an attempted murderer. Maybe the murder thing should put him off but he found it strangely enticing. No one had ever surprised them so much and he found himself oddly grateful for it.  This man was unpredictable and funny and gods so beautiful. No one had captured his eye like this before, platonic or not and he was almost 100% sure no one would ever capture his eye like this again. You might even go as far to say Achilles considered Patroclus to be his weird, fucked up soulmate who he was not giving up on any time soon. Obviously, he had no idea if they were soulmates, if he was even their type, and if they even liked men but he also coudn't prove that he wasn't their soulmate, wasn't their exact type and that they weren't into men. With all of that considered, he had decided to be an optimist and declare them his soulmate OR his latest little project at the bare minimum.

And maybe desperately following behind the brunette wasn't so bad when you take the fact he was BEHIND him into account and had a rather nice view.

An extremely nice view. Gods he was even a little jealous. That just wasn't fair. 

He knew that if he wanted to somehow romance this brash slightly unfriendly man he would have to get to know them, understand them. He wanted to understand them. So bad, so unbelievably bad. He wanted to know everything about them there was to know. Maybe it was a little early to be thinking things like that but he couldn't find it in himself to pretend to care. 

He wanted to know their birthday, their favourite foods, what makes a person attractive to them, what books do they read where are they from, what are their hobbies, what is their heart rate, what their skin feels like, what spots make them weak. 

He had to take a breath, he would find that out soon. He just had to be patient, he knew he could crack them eventually. He just needed time. 

They looked so lost in thought and torn most the time he was so confused why. He couldn't think what they might be thinking so hard about. surely nothing was so perplexing they had to think about constantly. Were they thinking about him? Stupidly he felt his heart speed up a little at that thought and his cheeks heat up. Oh gods if they were thinking about him! He shook his head, he needed to focus. 

Patroclus wanted to take him to a mall, there would be plenty of chances to befriend them. 

For now, he trudged along behind them simply enjoying his view, trying not to get to excited by this all.

So far he had been unsuccessful. 

They had arrived at the mall and passed through a few shops the brunette liked and nothing. He felt strangely nervous trying to talk to them. He felt so stupid. He was too good to be true. 

Just a few questions and surely some sort of conversation will take..

"How come you ended up in this city?"

He watched as they moved between racks and displays of clothes with bated breath. The shop was spacious and silent, it would be eeiry if he wasn't alone. He couldn't say he particularly liked the clothes either. They were sensible and made strictly for purpose and durability, not fashion. How boring. They ranged from beiges and greens to deep blues. No bright unnatural colours. Even more boring. In times like these he severely missed his closet, what he wouldn't give for his expensive silks and custom outfits. 

"...hm?" The brunette seemed distracted by the display of trousers in front of him. what a hard choice, beige or slightly darker beiges. Great they weren't even paying attention to him, he sighed feeling a little agitated now.

"how come you ended up in this city?, are you from here, were you visiting?" He tried again, trying to sound off handed and bored.

"no. At the start of the apocalypse i was in Connecticut."

"why?" He had been to Connecticut.  He had done a concert there when he was 17. 

"I went to school there, Yale school of medicine."

He remembered them saying something about being in med school. They must be smart, he liked that. A satisfied smile found its way upon his face. They seemed to be more attentive to his words now.

"oh, so you're one of those smart guys huh?" He teased with an easy smile.

He smiled a little bashfully "Well i'd certainly like to think so"

Their smile was beautiful, shy and modest. He would like to make them smile more. He wondered for a second what sort of things they liked. Could he please them through writing with carefully crafted poems and letters? Maybe they enjoyed being sung to or played for, if they had a guitar he was sure he could ease a smile out of them. Maybe they enjoyed being challenged. He was sure he could do that too- though he wasn't sure they would win if he did. How did their past lovers convince them? He knew none of them were as good as he was. He would just have to keep trying- he knew he had to have them at some point.

"Wouldn't we all?"

"would you?" They asked as if testing them.

"I'm smarter then you think i am. then the media thought i was."

"i bet"

He couldn't tell if that was sarcastic, he gave them an unimpressed look but they just turned back to examining the store's stock. They were filing through a collection of shirts now, occasionally shoving one in his satchel.

"..why medicine?"

He wanted to hear more about them.

The man looked at him hesitantly as if contemplating whether or not to answer

"..my da- mentor, Chiron, got me into it." they shrugged.

He did'nt think they were telling the truth though he knew better than to press. Being around powerful men who were quick to lose their temper when he was younger taught him when and where to press for more information.

"Hm. Well it's an impressive field to go into. You must've worked hard" He was attempting to be flattering though it seemed to of fallen on deaf ears as the man ignored that.

That annoyed him. there was no need for them to be rude.

He watched them exit the store before trailing after them. On his leg it was hard to keep up. He saw Patroclus turn and look for him, halting when they realized they were going too fast. Once he caught up he tried to strike up a conversation again.

"So what happened to your family-"

"did you go to school?" They cut him off.

He hated being interrupted but at least they were making some form of effort now.

"No. I would have liked to go though."

"what for?" They had started walking down through the deserted hallway of the mall.

"music maybe? i would have liked to get to study it."

"didn't you make music,?"

"yes but i always preferred the nomós, or any other traditional music. I always thought it was elegant. it would have been a privilege to study."

"why didn't you study it?"

"my mother didn't want me to. She wanted to focus on building my music career and athletics-"

"yeah well, you definitely built yourself a reputation" they smirked

"what?"

He really hoped they weren't referencing what he thought they were. While celebrity meltdowns were common and often entertaining for the viewers his own meltdowns made him sick to his stomach. A lot of the things that happened to famous people- especially young ones set them up for failure the older they got, Meltdowns, Exposure, Scandals- It was humiliating and derogatory for someone to bring that up.

His hurt must have shown on their face.

"sorry- i shouldn't of said that. That wasn't your fault"

He didn't respond just looked away. How humiliating, even in this new life of blood and death his breakdowns and scandals were still well remembered. The media was always a cruel thing, they worked to present him as some untouchable object of desire, ever since he was young and took pleasure in shaming him as publicly as possible whenever he messed up that image. Found drunk or high? They would plaster pictures everywhere and talk about how he was falling off- or maybe paint him as some type of desperate slut- whatever they felt like. That only fed into the abnormal amount of adults who seemed to want him. That sort of content of him being vulnerable and stupid brought lots of unwanted attention to all the wrong things from all the wrong 'fans'. This sort of stuff would not have bothered him anymore if it happened now but at sixteen that sort of publicity scared him and it still upset him remembering those old articles.

The tiles of the mall floor were white with flecks of brown. They clacked against their shoes and rang out into the open air. The air was oddly warm in here.  He could hear the man next to hims breaths and could feel their pitiful eyes on him. 

"Were you dating anyone?"

He didn't really want to talk anymore.

"No. I had a publicity girlfriend, Deidamia, she was just to build my reputation up." He muttered a little bitterly.

"did you?"

"No. I hadn't dated anyone for a few months. The last boy I dated was a Greek exchange student. I didn't like him though"

"ah."

"didn't you have a kid-?"

"I'd rather not discuss that"

"okay. sorry"

"So you are into men?

"yes, well done Sherlock"

"whats your type then huh?"

They stared at him in silence for a few minutes as they walked. "don't.. don't worry about that"

He raised an eyebrow. "what, don't tell me you're into blondes or something?"

"why, would that scare you off?" they asked with An eyeroll.

"well considering i thought the fact you had a murder kink and i still wasn't scared off, i doubt the idea that i might be a little like your type would scare me off."

This earned a dry-sounding laugh from the man, he liked the sound of their laughter, it was unapologetic and unsuspectingly soft for someone so unfriendly.

"i didn't expect you to be so forward. even if you're just bored and lonely"

"you just kind of seem interesting i guess."

"is that your type then, interesting?"

"well for the first time, you're not falling to my feet and fawning over me like pretty much everyone else I've met. You even tried to stab me! you're very interesting"

The man groaned at that. "I doubt you should decide who is and isn't attractive based on how much they dislike you."

"well it's not a problem- i think i'm growing on you"

The brunette glanced at him and that and hurriedly looked away.

"this store has good knives. aand you're not growing on me. i just find you a lot more tolerable when your not crying and bitching at me"

"I like you a lot better when your not trying to kill me" He scowled.

"to-may-to, -to-mah-to"

He couldn't say he really enjoyed this trip out but he did enjoy the casual conversations they had the majority of the day.

They had ended up spending about four hours at the mall discussing all sorts of things.

Patroclus talked about his father and so on while Achilles explained all his music and companies and so on. Maybe it was a little self centered but Patroclus was asking and who was he to deny what might possibly be the most stunning man in the world?

Patroclus had apologized for not finding him some sort of crutch/walking stick and he had insisted it was fine. He tried to contain his bubbling excitement when he had spotted one outside by some corpse. Would Patroclus be happy he found one? probably!

He nodded along mindlessly to what they were saying as he walked from the mall exit to the curb to grab the crutch.

"Patroclus! look-" He yelled out with a grin. The brunette paused in his rambling looking at him from where Achilles had ran over to the curb, giving him a small smile that quickly morphed into a grimace. Was there something wrong with his hair? Why on earth was he staring at him like that-

That was answered rather quick.

The brunette had dashed forward promptly knocking him sideways as something rather large and noisy tackled them,

His head smacked against the curb as he rolled from the pavement. Was it bleeding? He had no idea but shit it hurt- he could feel it throbbing with a dull ache and he gingerly prodded at his scalp feeling for any sticky wetness. He didn't find any, he then felt the pain in his leg and gritted his teeth- Maybe he wasn't his soulmate, fucking asshole. He looked up to see the brunette on top of something vaguely human, repeatedly stabbing it in the forehead multiple times.

oh.

oh.

As gross as it sounds there was something extremely appealing about murder right now. Was it even murder if it was an infected? Possibly but who cares, nothing had made him feel so excited and slightly turned on in years. The way they were positioned, their ragged breaths, the brute force of their stabs- gods it was enough to make him swoon. Seriously being that hot while stabbing the everloving shit out of something shouldn't be allowed.

They looked over at the blonde after taking a few tired breaths.

He tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear and laughed slightly breathly, they were definitely the only person in the world he would ever need this bad. Jesus christ this man was so gorgeous.

PATROCLUS POV

Just when he had begun to admittedly like this strange blonde man a little more they proved him wrong.

Not only had they almost gotten themselves eaten by a particularly vile, feral zombie they had the nerve to laugh afterwards.

Here he was risking his life for them and protecting them and they were sat by the curb looking at him with starry eyes and an airy laugh. 

The way they panted in between laughs (probably from pain) was almost girlish and a little too breathy. 

Part of him suspected this had nothing to do with pain and more the fact the man was just horrendously stupid and a little pleased with the fact Patroclus just risked his life for them. 

Gods they were ignorant. When he had decided to use them as bait for his plan to get to the sanctuary he had not realized he would have to fight for this seemingly incompetent man. 

He helped them up fussing over their head in an agitated manner before deciding they would live. 

"Stupid, stupid man." He scowled as he scolded them as he snatched the crutch from the floor and shoved it into their chest but the blonde only laughed.

At least it wouldn't be hard to deceive them when he did tell them about the sanctuary. 

He almost hated them. Stupid, forward, ignorant men were not the type he usually liked and he couldn't see himself liking them any time soon.

ACHILLES POV

He had decided, this man was 100% his soulmate, whether they liked it or not was irrelevant, he didn't want anyone but them and would not stop until he got what he wanted.

SO THATS ALL I HAVE RIGHT NOW- I DONT PLAN ON POSTING CHAPTERS HERE UNLESS REQUESTED SO U CAN FIND THIS ON MY AO3!! (cowsonabus)

[enjomo-arch]

(  flame  command  ━━  prompted  :  vinsmoke sanji  )   //    [  ♠ @celestiialnotes ]

say it . go ahead , say it's my fault .

it's  been  a  couple  of  hours  since  everything  on  the  ship  calmed  down.  evening  was  coming  and  everyone  was  exhausted,  some  injured,  most  notably  luffy  since  he  had  fallen  asleep  peacefully  on  the  main  deck  with  others  watching  over  him.  just  not  ace.  he  didn't  want  to  look  at  the  wounds  that  were  hiding  under  the  many  bandages.  it  reminded  him  of  the  worst,  that  moment  when  his  pride  was  more  important  than  the  health  of  his  little  brother.  

one  argument  almost  caused  ace  to  let  the  wild  animals  tear  him  apart.  this  time,  however,  it  was  a  greater  matter.  he  downed  another  glass  of  whiskey,  anything  to  drink  himself  out  of  the  sheer  anger  he  still  held  over  the  cook.  luffy  accepted  him  back,  of  course  but  this  doesn't  matter  ace  did.  every  ship  is  governed  by  different  laws,  such  as  the  captain  determines  and  after  his  father  was  betrayed,  his  crewmate  killed  by  another  crewmate  ace  considered  family  by  the  time,  it  kept  filling  up  his  heart  with  the  rage  he  hadn't  felt  in  a  long  time.  

a  glass  in  his  hand,  as  he  looked  up  when  the  cook  in  question  approached  him.  words  that  sounded  challenging,  and  it  made  every  vein  pop  over  the  length  of  his  neck  and  the  hand's  grip  tightened  around  the  glass,  so  hard  it  made  his  knuckles  go  white.  in  the  brown  eyes  he  could  see  nothing  but  pure  anger,  a  hellfire  threatening  to  burn  him  into  a  crisp  where  he  stood.  ace  looked  like  he's  about  to  tear  him  into  pieces,  for  what  he  decided  was  right  to  do  against  his  own  family,  his  own  captain.  something  ace  did  as  he  knelt  helplessly  on  the  execution  platform.  he  hated  it,  more  than  sanji  could  have  imagined.

from  the  force  of  his  grip,  the  glass  broke  in  his  hand.  wounding  his  palm,  cutting  the  flesh  and  letting  blood  spill  as  the  shards  dug  into  his  skin.  ace  stood  up,  slamming  his  hands  on  the  table  to  silence  the  blonde. the flames emerged like a dynamite burst all over his arms and back in a span of a second.  he  didn't  need  his  words.  ❝  y'just  want  to  hear  it  is  to  have  a  reason  to  weep  over  whatever  the  fuck  you  thought  was  right  ?!  ❞  his  teeth  were  clenched,  bared  sharp  teeth  like  an  enraged  animal,  words  filled  up  to  the  brim  with  all  emotions  that  were  bothering  the  fire  fist. 

❝  yer'  lucky  that  luffy  is  your  captain,  and  this  is  his  ship.  he  rules  it  by  his  own  rules,  because  believe  for  somethin'  like  that,  on  my  ship  ━━  i  would  tear  you  to  shreds  at  the  first  opportunity.  ❞  he  hissed  out,  jaw  clenched  and  the  blood  from  his  hand  slowly  oozing  over  the  wooden  surface  of  the  table.  ❝  you  are  not  my  family,  luffy  is.  so  is  yours.  this  is  not  some  fuckin'  game,  treat  them  like  you  think  you're  goin'  to  die  another  day.  ❞  ━━━  because,  i  almost  did  when  i  had  two  blades  crossed  over  my  neck.  

he  slowly  sat  down,  reaching  to  his  pocked  for  the  sling  with  which  he  wrapped  his  bleeding  hand,  giving  the  blonde  cook  one  last  warning  to  leave,  with  his  sight  alone.  ❝  go  the  fuck  away  before  i  change  my  mind,  cook.  ❞  

[p3sticid3]

There’s a storm inside me that I can’t fucking silence. It’s not just anger—it’s rage, pure and feral, clawing its way up my throat like a scream that won’t stop. I’m sick of swallowing it down, of letting it fester. I want it to spill out. I want to tear the world apart, rip it to shreds with my bare hands until there’s nothing left. I want to destroy everything, not because it deserves it, but because I do. Because I’m tired of carrying it all and pretending I can keep it together. I imagine my hands wrapping around someone’s throat, feeling their pulse hammering frantically under my fingers. I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d squeeze until I feel their windpipe collapse beneath my grip, until the sound of their gasping and choking fades into silence. Their nails would rake at my arms, frantic and desperate, but it wouldn’t matter. I’d tighten my grip, watch the light leave their eyes, and take satisfaction in knowing they can’t fight back. It’s not about power. It’s about release. About pouring out all the shit I’ve kept buried for so long until there’s nothing left inside me. And when I let go, when their body crumples to the floor, I wouldn’t stop. No, stopping would mean the rage is gone, and I know better than to hope for that. I’d grab them by the hair, dragging their lifeless form across the ground, leaving a trail of blood and brokenness in my wake. My knuckles would ache from the punches, skin split and raw, but I’d keep going. I’d slam them into the ground, over and over, until their face is unrecognisable, until it’s just a smear of blood and bone and teeth. I’d use whatever’s around me—shards of glass, metal, my own hands if nothing else. I’d tear through them like paper, feeling the resistance of their skin, the snap of tendons and the crunch of bone. I’d carve lines into their flesh, not out of cruelty, but just to see what’s underneath. I’d dig my nails into their chest, pulling skin apart like I’m opening a package. The wet sound of tearing muscle and the warmth of blood spilling onto my hands would be sickening to anyone else, but to me, it’s catharsis. It’s proof that the rage isn’t consuming me for nothing. And then I’d go deeper. I’d break their ribs one by one, the sharp crack echoing like a symphony of destruction. I’d open their chest cavity, my hands slick with gore, and wrap my fingers around their heart. It would still be beating, weak and frantic, and I’d hold it for a moment—just to feel it. Just to know I’m capable of holding something so fragile and ending it in an instant. I’d squeeze until it bursts, warm and wet in my hand, and toss it aside like it means nothing. Because it doesn’t. Nothing does in that moment except the rage, the fire burning so brightly inside me that it consumes everything else. The blood would be everywhere—on my hands, my clothes, pooling on the ground beneath me. It would drip from the walls, staining everything it touches. I’d smear it across my face, not out of madness, but because it feels like a victory. Like I’ve finally given myself permission to let it all out, to destroy instead of holding back. It would smell sharp and metallic, filling the air like an accusation, but I wouldn’t care. The mess would be a monument to everything I’ve kept locked inside. I wouldn’t stop with one person, either. One body isn’t enough to quench this kind of hunger. I’d move to the next, and the next, leaving a trail of devastation in my wake. I’d barge into rooms, my presence alone enough to send people scattering, but there’d be no escape. I’d grab someone by the collar, throwing them to the ground and watching the fear in their eyes turn to panic. They’d beg—oh, they’d beg—and I’d let them. Not because I’d stop, but because I want to hear them break before I break them.

I’d take my time, savouring each scream, each crack of bone, each wet, guttural sound of pain. I’d slam their head into the floor, over and over, until the tiles are slick with blood and their skull gives way. The pieces of them would scatter—fragments of bone, shards of teeth, splatters of gore—and I’d revel in the chaos. I’d stomp on their hands, shatter their fingers under my boot, watch as they writhe and sob. There’d be no mercy. Mercy is for people who haven’t been pushed to the edge. Mercy is for people who don’t know what it’s like to carry this much anger and have nowhere to put it. I’d rip out their tongue, silencing their pathetic cries, and toss it aside like the worthless piece of flesh it is. Their body would be a canvas for my rage, every bruise and cut and broken bone a testament to the storm inside me. And when they stop moving, when their body finally gives out, I’d feel nothing. No guilt, no remorse. Just the steady, quiet hum of satisfaction that comes with knowing I didn’t hold back. But it wouldn’t last. The silence would creep back in, the rage simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the next eruption. It’s not about being cruel or sadistic—it’s about survival. About finding a way to let it all out before it eats me alive. I’m not a monster. I’m not evil. I’m just angry. So angry I don’t know what to do with it all. So angry I feel like I might tear myself apart if I don’t tear something else apart first. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s not fair. But fairness doesn’t matter when you’re drowning in it, when the anger is so thick it feels like you’re choking on it. So I’ll keep going, keep breaking, keep destroying until I find something that makes the rage stop. And if I never do? Then I’ll keep burning until there’s nothing left of me—or the world.

I'm such a sweet boy though, I'm not violent and I can do no wrong.