#is being into vampires counted under 'monsterfuckers'?

[quiescentdestiny]

You know I'm starting to think Simon's not the only one with a monsterfucker thing going on here lmao. 🤔😂Baz has his hands on this boys tail any time he has the chance lmao

[chronically-ghosted]

Third Base.

rating: 18+, explicit

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 9K

summary: after the last session went awry, you and max don't know how to be around each other. two months after a blow out fight, max catches you in the parking lot and decides it's time to talk.

warnings: angst, is that plot i smell? period sex (oral), impossible positions but he has super strength and doesn't breathe so shut up, semi-public sex, car sex, some briefly scary imagery (it's a dream), monsterfucking, mentions of a car accident and injuries related, arguing, max being a dick

a/n: MASSIVE shoutout to @jupiter-soups , @beardedjoel , @gasolinerainbowpuddles , @covetyou and @huffle-punk for giving me their blessing to do a vampire + period sex fic. The discord ladies really came in clutch here 👌i hope this makes you as horny as that thread made me

i wanted to get this out by halloween, but that didn't fucking happen so here's a fic that mentions halloween as a plot device. fun fact: orgasms can bring on your period early so no it’s not your 🐈 that’s sore it’s your uterus lining shuffling off

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You’re warm. Everything is warm. You’ve sunk beneath a fresh layer of volcanic ash, heartbeat pulsing with the lazy roll of molten lava at the heart of the mountain. Hands outstretched, you can’t find the edge of the mattress because there isn’t one. 

There is only warmth and rocking, gentle waves.

There is only this.

There is only him. 

Shoulders hunched between your legs, his tongue is a hard muscle, leverage against which you grind and shift and when you find that spot together, you throb in sync with the rush of blood to your cunt and sink a little deeper into the endless sheets that flutter against your skin like paper in the wind. 

Your lips form the shape of his name but in the sigh that leaves your mouth, you can’t be sure if you called out to him or if everything coherent had been swallowed up in a cry of listless pleasure. But he responds all the same. The vibrations in his chest between your thighs, his tongue wrapped around your clit, nearly tear you over the edge that very second – you cry out, not wanting this to end, not wanting to leave this hearth of him, folded over you as if you were made of fine ceramic and he was a fiery kiln. You arch, your release dangerously close, and his grip around your thighs tightens, tightens, pulling you deeper down into his face, his nose, that wicked, wicked tongue, and his grip tightens and it hurts. His fingers, his nails, pinch down into you, your flesh swells between his knuckles as if he’s going to tear straight through your skin, your muscles, your bones – and you yelp. 

It’s not fun any more.

You struggle, but he’s on you too tight, a riptide sucking you under. You try and kick him off, push him off with your hands but it’s no use.

Everything is cold and metal and it hurts and you’re begging him to let you go, let you live, when those fangs, as sharp and jagged as steak knives, suddenly embed themselves in your thigh. Your hips jerk with the force of it, with the agony as he slices your femoral artery and drinks deep. And then he bites your other thigh, tearing through your flesh, turning the cradle of your thighs into dripping viscera. 

Max, you think you beg, the fight all but drained out of you as your blood flows freely from between his fingers, from the gashes in your thighs, your throat, your wrists. He’s torn out chunks of you and swallowed them whole. 

Max.

The creature lifts its head, its eyes blood-red, pupils black as the darkest night, mouth twisted and wrenched open screaming, four glistening bone-white fangs, dripping blood, your blood, your life, your flesh. Begging won’t save you now. 

It snarls, the sound pinching off like a dying woman’s scream, inch-long talons tearing up your hips as it crawls forward, crawls into your throat and just before it delivers the killing bite, it whispers:

You asked for this.

The first thing you see when you jerk out of the nightmare is the crease of your pillow, looking up at it from the plush of your mattress. Your cheek smushed into your blue sheets, duvet tangled between your legs, the horror of the nightmare still pressed into the corners of your brain like a tacky, sticky film, you can’t quite understand what you’re looking at. The adrenaline is fast in your blood, heart pounding, your unconscious mind unable to determine what is real and what is not, safety or danger, and your fingers dig into your sleep shorts, arms tucked up underneath you. You blink twice, the headache from yesterday returning, your swollen, black eye almost immediately painful, and then you realize the pounding you hear is not your final heartbeats, but someone at your door. 

That buzzing is not the last conscious thoughts in your head fizzling out, but your phone on silent, humming incessantly. Groaning from the pins and needles that shoot up your arm after having slept on it all night, you flop onto your back, your other wrist twinging painfully in its flesh-colored wrap, as you crawl to the edge of your bed – which is thankfully in sight. You can’t pick up your phone with your dead-fish arm and your twisted wrist so you answer the call without looking and put it on speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Why aren’t you at work?” His voice is clipped, short, pissed. As if he was your actual boss and not the sales manager, while you worked in legal. After the dream, it immediately sets you on edge. Every major part of you is sore and hurts, either from the accident, or sleeping so hard you figured you briefly went into a coma. 

“What’s it matter to you? I called my department and told them I’d be out.”

“Yeah, and I had to find out from Tim.” The pounding from down the hall gets louder and suddenly you connect the two. It should be illegal to be this furious minutes after waking up. “Open the door,” he snaps into the silence over the phone. 

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re at my apartment?”

“Yes, now open the fucking door.” 

You chew your lip because you genuinely do not want to see him right now. There’s a reason you called Tim to pick you up after someone T-boned the back of your car yesterday evening and the plausible excuse is that he lives in the same apartment complex as you. 

“Open the door right now or I swear –,”

“Alright, jesus. Gimme a fuckin’ –,”

You shrug on your cardigan, hissing as you bend your shoulder. 

“What was that?” You swear his voice takes on an edge, catching on something and tearing just enough to let something vulnerable bleed through. 

“It’s nothing – I –,” you twist your other shoulder into the arm of the cardigan, the phone pinched up against your ear. “Jesus – okay, fuck this, just stay there and don’t break down my door.”

You pound the red button with your thumb and launch your phone onto your bed before you limp lightly down the hall, the weight on your right ankle just a little less than on your left. It’s half a second difference in your regular gait, but something tells you he’ll know.

He’s across your threshold before you have the door fully open, glaring around your dark apartment as if it personally had a hand in keeping him outside in the hallway. There’s something frenetic in the way he moves, in the way he stands, even if he is completely still. It’s the same sort of wired energy that is usually reserved for end-of-quarter deadlines, isolated to sustained knee bouncing or wearing out the spring of a pen with one too many clicks. Max is . . . uneasy.

“Well?” He rounds on you, hands on his hips, as if you’d just been caught pilfering through the company supply cabinet for ink cartridges to sniff and get high. You’d never been on the receiving end of Max’s bad temper before – in fact, you’d been the solution to it for quite some time now. You’d seen him go off on a vendor that screwed up an order or chew out the competition, but not this. Not that tense jaw that can’t find a place to settle, eyes narrowed in warning. Don’t test me. 

“Well, what?” Maybe you should have changed out of your pastel blue pajamas before coming to face your co-worker/occasional sex-fiend/boyfriend(?) but it’s too late now. You try to stand as tall as you can, arms crossed. 

“You wanna tell me why you weren’t at work today and I had to hear from Tim – fucking sandwich-eating, wormy-mustache, sword-dildo Tim – that you’d been in a goddamn car accident.”

“It was minor and he lives in my building,” you respond, chin high.

His eyebrows arch as his mouth twists indignantly. “So minor your car wasn’t drivable?”

Point 1 for Max. You bristle, fighting the heat on your cheeks. “It was just easier to call him. He picked me up, dropped me off with some painkillers and some juice, and left. I didn’t fuck him if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

He picks up on a thread you didn’t expect him to follow. “He gave you . . . juice?” 

“Yes. His sister is a nurse and it was something about the adrenaline and sugar in orange juice – and I don’t know – it was comforting, at the time.”

“Comforting?” He asks like it’s a foreign concept. Something alien and unnatural. “What, like he gave you a hug or something?”

Your stomach turns on something sour. “Sure, Max, yeah. He could see I was upset and he did the terrible, horrible thing of giving me a hug when he saw I was in pain.”

“So was it a minor accident or not?” He takes a step forward and you remember how much bigger he is than you. How wide his hands are. “Fuck, can you turn on a light? I’m fucking straining to see anything.”

The migraine had set in moments after you closed the door behind Tim and like a creature retreating to lick their wounds, you shut off every single light in your apartment and close the blinds tight. You stick a comment about vampire sight up between your teeth and switch on the lamp by your couch. 

You catch a glimpse of that pretty face cut with sharp, angry lines and flared nostrils, before it flickers, fades out when he spots the black eye, the wrist splint you forget to hide with your sleeve before it’s too late, the way you hold your weight off your sensitive ankle. 

For some reason, you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch as the taut line of his shoulders deflates, his wide hands with his thick fingers slide bonelessly off his hips, how he stands up right instead of that aggressive forward lean, reserved only for what you thought he saw as enemies.

He swallows whatever was sitting behind his teeth and stares.

Where he had been even temporarily vulnerable with you days ago, it’s your turn to shy away, hiding your tender spots. 

Guilt washes up to your eyeballs the longer he stares silently, taking in every bruise and bump. You hate the fact you feel guilty, and you hate that you don’t know where the guilt comes from or why it sits so heavy in your chest. 

The truth of the matter is you did think about calling him. In fact, he was the first name you pulled up on your now cracked phone, but sitting on a curb outside of a gas station as a tow truck came to take your car away, you scrolled down past him. 

The truth of the matter is Max hasn’t been back in your apartment since the night you went to second base and he bit you on your tit. In fact, he’s been avoiding you in the office for days now. When he wouldn’t meet your eyes over the coffee machine, it became easier and easier to wonder if this was the same man who set out all those candles for you, who put down all of those insane precautions to keep himself from going too far, who couldn’t help but vibrate with pleasure as he drank from you. First base had gone over without a hitch, but something went wrong that night and he’d sooner let the relationship fizzle out than talk about it. 

The following shower that night had been awkward and uncomfortable, too close and the steam too hot. He left shortly there after, only a handful of mumbled words exchanged, and he hadn’t come back.

So, maybe, sitting there, your head aching, your wrist pinching, you wanted him to feel as abandoned as you had.

“I’m a little . . . banged up, alright?” Your fingertips brush the edges of the Ace bandage around your palm when your fingers curl and uncurl, your head tilted just off center as if you could hide the swelling from him. “Nothing that a few days of rest can’t fix, so you really didn’t need to come over.”

“Rest and juice, right?” The look in his eyes is raw, rubbed down into nothingness, blackness, totality. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, “it wasn’t like that and you fucking know it.” 

His head tilts as if considering your words, or considering something else, and by the time you open your eyes in a millisecond blink, he’s got your chin in his palm, his fingers curled up your cheek, thumb firmly pressed into your jaw. Dark eyes roving, he’s inspecting every cut, every bruise, every hair out of place. 

Irate at the hot flush low in your stomach at the way he grips you, you push against his chest, yowling out some disgruntled noise, but that only makes him squeeze you tighter. He doesn’t even look you in the eye. 

“I’ve healed much worse than this,” he murmurs, breath smelling deliciously of mint and not a hint of anything metallic. “Especially on you.” 

His thumb brushes dangerously close to the rim of your purple and green eye and while even the slightest touch stings, it’s nothing compared to the bite of pain his words and soft tone inflict. You give him one more good shove and he backs off, thumb swiping briefly against your chin. His mouth is a straight line when he finally meets your glare. 

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t think you gave a shit, Max.” You’ve been in tense business negotiations all your adult life so standing your ground and not crying is something that has become second nature to you. And yet, your eyes grow hot and tight all the same. You’re not crying, but your body is remembering how good it feels to do so. “Ever since that night, you’ve been acting like I’m diseased or something. You made it pretty clear we’re not actually dating, so I called Tim because it was the path of least resistance. I was tired and I hurt and I didn’t want anything complicated. And I didn’t tell you because quite frankly I didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t there unless the breeze blew the wrong way and your dick got hard.” Every unanswered text and call straight to voicemail over the last two weeks flashes in your mind and your wrist twinges painfully as you gesture to your bedroom. “Because that’s what this is, right? Just a good fuck? A good time? For the record, you didn’t ruin that lingerie set. I put it on cold in the washer and the blood came right out, okay? Everything is totally fucking fine.”

You don’t realize how loud you’d gotten until your apartment rings with silence. It is the absence of noise, of only one set of lungs in use, that makes it so loud. 

Max’s jaw still hasn’t found a place to settle, to calm himself. He purses his lips as his bottom teeth grind against the top. His eyes are unreadable, black coals in his head, instead of that gooey warmth you swear you’ve only seen in your direction. He swallows once before opening his mouth.

“So then, do you want me to fix you? Just so we can get back to fucking and I can get what I came here for.”

Soft. Quiet. A rattlesnake you don’t see coming until its fangs are in your foot, pumping you full of poison. 

“Get the fuck out of my house. Right now. Leave.”

As if mocking you, he walks out the front door. He could be out and gone before you draw your next breath, but he chooses to click his fucking Armani leather shoes across your tile, open the door – the knob demonstrably small in his massive hand – and slam shut so hard the painting on the wall shudders. 

If the shower had been a separation by omission, this had been the real thing.

The heat behind your eyes becomes unbearable, sharp, painful as you begin to choke on everything you didn’t say to him lodged in your throat. Vision blurry, you yank your curtains close and flip the light switch, plunging the apartment back into darkness. 

It’s not until you’re curled up on your side in bed, duvet over your head, that the tears come. They’re silent, you’ve only ever known how to cry silently, but they fall fast, dripping off your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut and your black eye throbs, a thunderbolt in a storm. You cry out and touching it makes it worse and you cry because it hurts and you cry because you’re pathetic and you cry because, worst of all, you didn’t make Max realize what a fucking asshole he is.

It’s not until you wake up at two in the morning, suddenly and without a descent, that you realize Max walked into your apartment without a jacket on, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. As if he had heard the news and immediately left the office to come to you.

Days pass. And days turn into weeks. It’s two months later and you haven’t heard a word from him.

Everyone at the office has been very considerate about your injuries – holding doors for you as you hobbled through them, your team taking on more client-facing calls while your eye healed, typing up the last bits of the reports when your wrist started to ache. For a company that employed literal hell-spawn, you’d been rather touched by the kindness everyone showed you. 

Even Tim. Who offered, after clarifying he definitely wasn’t hitting on you (if only because he feared the legal repercussions you could bring down on him like a smiting hammer) to drive you home while your car got fixed. Those nights when Evan sat in the back because they were headed to a DnD session afterwards were always a little awkward. 

Everyone helped out, except one person. A significant person that made your chest twinge every time you saw his door close seconds after you came into the breakroom. You could hear your sister’s scolding voice now: never fuck where you eat.

For sleeping with a vampire, you supposed that statement was doubly true. 

As the world turned towards winter, night came early and stayed longer, eager for mischief. The air grew thin, cold, trees sagging, turning brown, and molting. There’s a smell to the air that usually excites you, usually makes you smile and yearn for your couch and a long movie night. But not this time.

Halloween falls on a Monday this year and given the majority of its workforce still remember when it was called Samhain, it’s a company holiday. Ahead of a long weekend, this late, the office is empty. With nothing (and no one) to greet you at home, you stay until it could be officially counted as pathetic to keep working in an empty and dark building, before powering down your laptop, gathering your things for what you foresee as just a long working weekend, and locking your office for the night. 

Paper bats hung from the ceiling, with orange and black table clothes thrown over tables in the break room. Cardboard witches and zombies grinned wickedly from the dark corners, woolen webs with freakishly large spiders hiding near the ceiling. The office manager, Carla, has really outdone herself this year, you think, as you unplug the rows of purple and orange lights looping around the ceiling tiles. With your leftover lasagna from Amanda (who insisted you still needed someone to make you dinner), you flick off any remaining lights, the red exit signs guiding you out in the dark. 

His office door is open, not unheard of but not common. 

The room is dark, so maybe he left early and just forgot to lock up. Your chest tightens at the thought that he ran out of there in a hurry because he was eager to meet up with someone, a pretty someone who looked great in a set of heels and had a fang fetish. You swallow; one of a dozen scenarios you’ve tortured yourself with over the past few weeks, particularly painful. 

It’s strange, to go on and live your life when there has been a fundamental and irrevocable change, when there is nothing where there once was something – an outline almost visible as though the air itself was trying desperately to remember, to hold on. 

Your eyes grow hot and you blame it on season allergies when you wipe your eyes with your palm. You blame it on the steady headache you’ve had all day. You blame it on the irritability that’s been rubbing you the wrong way for days now. You blame it on the lack of sleep you can never seem to get enough of. Fuck, is it possible to drink yourself into a wine coma? You’d really love to find out. 

Without the sun, the wind is particularly chilling, curling over the collar of your jacket and pinching the back of your neck. Your feet ache, the plastic holding the lasagna is starting to sweat, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a run in your nylons. Fighting back a shiver, you unlock your car and toss everything into the passenger’s seat when you hear your name. 

For a fraction of a second, you think it’s the wind. That your mind has been circling its own loneliness for so long, it’s taking pity on your pathetic ass and imagining comfort out of thin air. But you hear it again, stilling with one foot in your car, hand on the door. Your name – quiet, reserved, purposeful. 

So unlike him. 

“Can we talk?”

Just get in the car. Just get in, turn it on, and drive. Your fingers bite into the cold metal. 

“Max, it’s late and I’m exhausted –,” 

“Then I’ll make it quick.” 

His long coat flutters around his knees in the uneasy breeze, his hands in his pockets. You can’t really see his face in the shadows between the streetlights. 

You haven’t moved. One foot on the floor of your car, hand on the door. He sighs and tugs at the tie around his neck. You wait.

“You said you’d be quick –,”

His jaw ticks, finds your gaze for the first time. “It’s fucking freezing out – can I at least sit in the car?”

“There’s lasagna.” Max had the unique capacity to trigger your most basic instincts seemingly out of nowhere. Where did he get off demanding anything? You want to stomp your foot and stick your tongue out. “I mean, you have to move the lasagna . . . and some other stuff.”  

Briefly thankful for the dark shadows to hide your childish blush, you plop into the car seat without looking back at him. His figure moves around the car and you make the express decision to make him deal with all your shit in the passenger's seat. But to your enormous surprise (and swelling embarrassment), he gathers your briefcase, the plastic container, and your empty coffee mug without comment and puts them gently in the backseat – without flinging them or sighing like he just moved mountains. 

Your fingers curl over the stiff steering wheel as he folds his long legs into the car, fighting with his jacket, and grunting a bit when his knees press up against the dashboard. The click as his seat slides backwards to make room is painfully audible. 

The overhead light in your car fades long before either of you say anything. 

“Max, it’s cold and I wanna go home–,”

“Okay, okay, sorry – fuck –,” he twists the coat tighter around his chest, sliding low in his seat like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Okay. It’s just . . . this isn’t easy and I don’t –,” 

“You don’t what?” You snap, rounding on him, patience finally running out. “You don’t know how to apologize for being a fucking asshole?” 

“No – I mean, yeah, but –,” 

“So you admit it! You were being a shit and you know it!” 

“It’s not like it’s that fucking simple–,” 

“Yeah, it is. It really is, Max. You got scared the last time we were together and you took it out on me the first chance you got.” 

He shoves his palms into his eyes. “Okay, yes, I was scared, but not then. I mean, it freaked me out a little bit, but . . . it wasn’t the bite that got to me.” 

“Yeah? Then what was?” 

He huffs, lowering his hands slowly, his shoulders curving in as his hands drop into his lap. “You told Tim and not me. And,” he adds quickly at your rapidly reddening face, “and for about fifteen minutes, I didn’t know if you were alive or not. I just heard ‘not at work’ and ‘car accident’ and I assumed the worst . . . and because of the way I’ve treated this relationship, you didn’t think about calling me just to let me know you were okay. And . . . I fucked up.” 

You blink. Slowly, then several times rapidly. “You were scared that you lost me.” 

That pained grimace deepens and he scowls at you like you called his Tonka Toy Truck stupid. 

“Don’t say it like that. It makes me sound pathetic.” 

You scowl back. “Would it kill you to be genuine for two seconds? It’s okay to have feelings. Even ones about me.” 

“Of course I have feelings for you,” he rolls his eyes and you want to bite him on his finger. “Why would I put us both through the fucking ringer just so I can bite you if I didn’t care about you?”

“So then if you can easily admit that you have feelings for me, why were you so fucking awkward that last time? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why were you so fucking mean to me at my apartment?”

“Because I don’t wanna keep this a secret anymore!” 

Your car feels abnormally cramped as all the air is sucked out with a vacuum. But, as a vampire, maybe that’s not a problem for him. 

Or maybe if he stops, he’ll never be able to get it all out. 

His eyes are wide, his broad shoulders pressed up against the door, as if he is trying to escape the confines of the car, or look at you straight on. 

“I want to be the one you call when there’s a problem, not fucking Tim. I want you to know I’d never, ever hurt you, no matter how blood drunk I was. I want . . . I want to stay overnight at your apartment and I want . . .” he trails off, swallowing over the words that are seemingly choking him. “I want to be your . . .”

He murmurs something and you assume you didn’t hear him because you are simply too shocked.

“What?”

Max groans and puts his hands over his face as if he is being physically tortured. 

“I wanna be your boyfriend. In public. At work. All the time. I wanna . . . I wanna tell people I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.” He makes a face and sticks his tongue out, grimacing. “And I wanna fucking graduate kindergarten apparently. Get married on the blacktop. Blegh.”  

As he wrestles with the apparently juvenile terms, you fall into speechlessness. There’s a dozen emotions flashing through you like fire embers: relief, anger, embarrassment, curiosity, joy, sadness –

Desire.

Watching his tongue roll around in his mouth, even comically, reminds you exactly why you entered into this relationship/not relationship with him in the first place. 

Mouth finally closing, he lifts his gaze to you, chin tilted down, and you can almost imagine the ears turned back and low on his head.

“And I know that’s not what you want. I didn’t want to say anything but then it all just fucking snowballed, and it’s been killing me not being around you, so when I saw you leave tonight, I thought–,”

“Why do you think that’s not what I want?” Your heart rises, just a bit, in your chest, and you feel it tap against your breastbone. “Why wouldn’t I want to go public?”

Max watches you cautiously, eyebrows drawn down. “HR nightmare for one. But in the beginning, since we didn’t, you know, go public then, I just figured . . . Figured you’d want to end it before calling me your boyfriend.”

“But you didn’t want that either, in the beginning, right?”

He nods, suspicious.

“But things changed for you. And . . . you know . . . things might have changed for me too.”

God, maybe your mom can take pictures of you two together at the kindergarten graduation ceremony. Why is this so fucking hard to talk about? 

Max blinks at you, his turn to be struck silent. 

“So, theoretically, if I stop being an asshole and you call me for all your rides home, I can call you my girlfriend to Tim’s stupid face?” 

“If you’re ready to deal with the HR nightmare,” you say, meaning that and a handful of other things. If you really want to deal with all of that for me.

You swear Max’s eyes twinkle gold for a second. 

“Um, yeah. I mean, I am if you are.”

“I am if you are.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.” 

A grin sparks across his face, the tension leaving his jaw. Joy crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“Then I wanna kiss you first.”

Your heart is now knocking between your breastbone and your throat. You nod, swallowing nerves. 

“Finally, something we agree on.” 

For the first time in your memory, Max moves slow, hesitantly, but encouraged by the smirk on your lips. The car still feels small, but now in the best way possible. He leans forward, the console in the middle squeaking as you press your forearm against it, his hand sinking into your hair, nails against your scalp. 

You smell mint, coffee, and finally, something coppery. 

You lick your lip a second before his slot against yours. 

It’s chaste, as chaste as kissing Max Phillips can be. A thoughtful moment of rediscovery, of possibility, of relieved familiarity. He knows just how to turn his head, to press into you, to make you sigh into his mouth.

“Am I forgiven?” He teases, his voice soft and quiet, eyes half open as they take in every pore and feature of your face.

Desire, buttery and warm, melts into sticky arousal between your thighs. The fingers on his chest dig in as you grasp at the material to drag him closer. 

“I think you owe me a base, slugger.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Here? Now?”

“I’m pretty sure the office building is locked up, so unless you have another suggestion–,” 

He groans, hands immediately tugging around your knees to pull you literally out of your seat and into his lap. He grinds your hips down against him, as if he couldn’t help it, and you gasp, embarrassingly turned on from his hands on your hips and his sudden show of strength. That goddamn vampire strength. 

“I missed you so much, you fucking freak,” he mouths against your cheek, his hand squeezing your thigh once before curling around your neck and yanking you into his hot mouth. Your muffled noise comes across as protest and surprise, but he keeps you pinned, his lips and teeth and tongue fighting over themselves to get to your skin first.  “I’ll give you any base you fucking want, but I wanna neck in this car for a bit.”

You nod, quelling the flush of heat between your thighs and the subsequent whimper by burying your hands under his jacket, under his blazer, and tugging his shirt out from his waistband. His skin is cold, despite three layers of clothing and a heated seat. 

Max grunts as you palm his stomach, muscles tightening, and he dips his mouth to your ear, your cheek, your neck. The brush of teeth against your hammering pulse point carries only the threat of pain. His tongue circles your vein like a bullseye. 

His fingers knotted in your hair, Max rolls his hips once, breaking off the kiss to watch the shiver go through you and end in a subtle moan that has you knocking your forehead into his shoulder. 

He mouths your ear, that soft skin just below it, hands rubbing up your hips and inching your skirt up your thighs. 

“Are you sure you want it here?” His words are as gentle as his lips — which is to say not at all. He roughly captures your mouth again before you can answer and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth as if he can bleed the answer from you.

He’s kissing you so hard, your back nudges the dashboard. You respond in retaliation; swirl his tongue with yours like a goddamn preview, hands low on his groin as you push him back. 

“Yes,” you murmur against his mouth. “Yes, Max, please. Here.”

“Then we’re moving the fucking lasagna again.” 

He twists you as he opens the car door, and immediately the wet patch between your thighs is slapped by the cold air. You stumble, shuddering, your nipples tightening in the chilly air. But he’s already knocking everything on the back seat to the floor. Grabbing you and guiding you by your hips to lay back against the pleather and spreading your knees with the brush of his thumbs, his eyes darken as if he can see through your skirt and nylons. Like he can hear your cunt throb for him.

He hovers over you, his Armani fucking shoes hanging off the seat as he kneels on the seat, seemingly struck silent by the sight of you, even with all your clothes on. 

“Max,” you say against the swelling in your chest, “you can bite my calf if biting near my pussy is too much.”

Just the mention of that wet, warm place he is so ridiculously fond of has drawn his attention back from his distant thoughts. 

“So I can’t eat your pussy after I eat your pussy?”

“If you think you can handle it,” you nudge at his elbow with your toes, “go for it.”

Over his shoulder, you can see the wind tug on his jacket, hear it ghost over the treetops, but with his thick, broad body over you, you feel nothing but warm. Max unbuttons his collar and slides his already loose tie from around his neck. He tickles your nose with it before dropping it onto the floor. 

“Leaving this within reach in case you need to scream into something, okay?”

You roll your eyes, flushed hot at the idea that you’re about to have semi-public sex. “You’ve been gone for a while. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.”

Something in his eyes grows dark, sharp, and his chin tilts just slightly. 

“I guess you’ll have to judge that for yourself.” He pushes up your shirt to your throat, exposing your white linen bra (that’s what you get for assuming your sex life was over) and your twitching stomach to his hot, wandering gaze. Before you can pretend to protest being cold, he drops his mouth to the swell of your breast and teases your nipple with his teeth. “You tell me if I’ve lost my touch.”

Immediately, a full body shiver radiates from where his lips suck and you stretch out against the leather, eyes fluttering open and shut. He hasn’t earned a moan yet, a fact he seems acutely aware of when his eyes flick up to watch your face as he palms your other breast. He digs one finger over the cup, curling over the material and grazing your nipple with his nail, when you shake your head. 

“Too public,” you breathe, as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him against you because you want to feel how much this affects him too. “Someone could see.”

“But you want me to eat you out? That’s not too public?” He grins as he tucks his face into your neck, lazily rolling his hips because he knows that’s exactly what you want. 

“Just stick your head up my skirt.”

He stills, teeth ghosting your skin. “Yeah?”

You feel him twitch against your thigh and you have to remind yourself not to ask him to full out fuck you in the backseat of your car. You nod, your chin ruffling his hair. His grip on your ribcage tightens, an errant thumb swiping the underside of your breast, as he lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan.

“Have I told you you’re a fucking freak and how much I love it?”

Your toes curl in your shoes, heart in your ears, and blood hot under your skin. Just as he moves to shuffle back, you cup the back of his neck, turning your teeth and lips to his ear, the hairs there as soft as peach fuzz.

“No. I’m a monsterfucker.”

The sound that escapes him is no longer human, deep, jagged, a warning cry to hunted prey, and you feel just a prick of fangs against your neck. Immediately that rush of endorphins bows your back, a Pavlovian response to be fucked so good over and over again, and you keen into his chest. 

“Max, baby, please–,”

Your cunt actually aches. 

Max shoves himself away from you, yanking off his coat and suit jacket in one motion, and he actually lets them fall to the concrete parking lot. Before his sleeve is all the way out, he curls over you, one hand shoving up your skirt, and the other snagging the front of your nylons. His grip pinches the coarse hairs and your cunt involuntarily clenches as he peels the nylons over your hips and your knees with one hand. To get them completely off, you’d have to stretch out your legs, so he shoves your nylons to your ankles, before grabbing the backs of your thighs and thrusting you up the seat. Your head knocks against the car door, but he doesn’t seem to care – and neither do you. 

The back seat of your ford is not meant for two people, much less two people hellbent on oral sex. And yet . . .

He shoves one knee under your low spine, lifting your hips up and you acquiesce – tightening your muscles to keep the position that nearly folds you in half, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to breathe, honey,” he purrs into your thigh and takes your knee around the back of his head, and then does the same to the other. The height gives you enough leverage to balance against the roof of the car, giving your weight onto his shoulders, and your cunt exactly where he wants it. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Now, let me eat.” He sticks out his tongue, flat against his chin. 

He clutches your hips and tugs you closer, right into his waiting muscle. 

Your spine arches even further off the seat when he takes advantage of the position and licks you from the curve of your ass to your clit. He catches the dripping wetness in his mouth, using it to massage that bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, his fingers firm against your hip. Any more pressure and he’ll bruise you. Any more after that and he’ll crush your hipbones. 

Your hips thrust weakly, thighs squeezing his head, as he forcibly reminds you that he hadn’t lost his touch, with an additional reminder that no one else touches you like he does. No one. Not a living soul or otherwise.

A side lick to your clit and you bite your lip, eyes shut, your hands above your head to find leverage. You push back against him and he groans into your pussy, aquiline nose breathing harshly into your damp curls. 

“Fuck, Max – yes, right there – oh god –,”

That soft teasing feeling that makes your hips cant forward with a sudden desperate need expands with every swipe of your tongue. 

He’s never going to let you live it down if you come this fast. 

“M-Max,” 

He opens his jaw more, dropping his mouth to your exposed hole and licking so deep inside with a curled tongue, your thighs start to shake. You gasp, head lifting forward before dropping back, as he fucks you with his tongue. You want to ride his face. 

And then Max lets out a grunt, shifting underneath you, his gaze flicking up to yours. With a hand on your knee as he practically hangs you upside down, he pulls back.

“You taste different.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s said something coherent. “W-what?” 

He licks his lips, smeared with a wetness that makes the lower half of his face shine in the murky street lights. He licks you again as if to make sure. 

“Your taste . . . your cunt, it’s . . .”

Max’s eyes widen slightly like a wolf catching the scent of a deer. 

“Hold on, baby, I gotta try something.” 

Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside of you and sucks on your clit. He times his sucks with the rapid pump of his fingers and you’re at your peak in seconds. Your thighs shake, your cunt tightens, the sudden ascent overwhelming and intense, and with a tap against that spot inside you he’s forever marked as his own, you flatten against the seat, as everything inside you bursts, wet and bright, into his waiting mouth. His eyes flutter at the taste as it drips out of you, corners of his mouth smeared with your release. 

Max slowly slides his fingers out of you, watching you with apparent curiosity, pride evident in his eyes, and immediately your cunt aches, as if he had just given you three orgasms instead of one. There’s a low throb at the crux of your thighs and you groan, the pain only dull. 

But he doesn’t seem to notice. He nudges your thighs back from his ears, opening up you just a bit before he tucks his tongue into you again. The throb, alongside the still settling waves of your orgasm, wants you to push him away, but it’s not overstimulation. After being with Max for so long, you knew what overstimulation felt like and this is not it. 

“Max, c’mon, give me a second — fuck,”

Your eyes widen as you feel something wet trickle out of you and into his mouth, his eyes fixated on you. His grip around your waist pulls you closer to his chest. 

You watch each other the second you realize what’s just happened.

He leans back and there’s blood on his bottom lip.

Embarrassment scorches through your body and all the shitty feelings you had all week suddenly identify themselves as symptoms of PMS. Fuck. 

You immediately push on him, trying to de-tangle yourself from his shoulders, but he shakes his head.

“You wanted me to drink your blood, right? Third base? Well, now we don’t have to worry about where to bite you.” 

“But Max,” you struggle, working to sit up right but he won’t let your legs go. In fact, his grip turns rougher and you feel his fingers crush into your hip bones, his other hand pinning your knee to the back of his neck. “Max, c’mon, you don’t have to do that. This is silly and –,”

His wide palm smooths over your knee, like he’s trying to settle a frightened cat. 

“Who’s scared of genuine feelings now?” He murmurs. 

Only Max Phillips can go soft and sweet with your cunt inches from his face. Your apparently bleeding cunt. 

His hand moves from your knee, down your thigh and over your hip, before making the reverse trail, just as slow, just as comforting, while his gaze never leaves yours. You swallow something harsh in your throat, as your lower pelvis starts to ache. 

“The last thing I want is to hurt you, but I’ve heard that orgasms can actually help with cramps.” Max says softly. This isn’t a ploy to get (further) into your pants. He’s being genuinely – really, seriously, genuine. Your heart beats just as hard as the cramps as they settle. 

“What woman told you that?” 

Max huffs out a laugh, turning his head to nuzzle your thigh. “I was lonely without you and had to make do . . . so I befriended Carla and her gang.”

“The office manager?” You gape at him.

“They all tried to set me up with their daughters,” he chuckles, his hands still roaming over your body. He adjusts his knee so you have something to lean into. “So, pretty harmless. But they are also some of the most incorrigible gossip hounds I’ve ever known.” 

“They didn’t mind setting their daughters up with a vampire?”

“Not all of them are human, honey.” His eyes roll up your chest to your face. “And the ones that are were practically begging me to turn them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, baby, I didn’t.” He shifts again, tugging you further over his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the backs of your knees. “We don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.” 

“I know. It’s just . . .” You touch his thigh behind your back, needing to feel him to gather up the strength to say what you wanted to. “No one’s ever done this before.”

Max’s solid eyebrow jumps, lips pulling back into that wicked smirk. You swear you catch a glimpse of fang as he focuses back onto your cunt. 

“Well, you’re a monsterfucker and I’m your monster to fuck.” 

His mouth lowers, eyes on you, waiting and begging. You nod and he prods your clit with his tongue again, before licking anything and everything out of your hole.

Max doesn’t eat. He feeds. 

He grunts through his nose, trying to kneel as high as he is allowed in the cramped space. Finally, his gaze falls from you, eyes flickering shut, as the cramp in your pelvis digs deeper – you cry out – but then, it melts. The dull ache is spread across your hip bones until it is just warm, hot with your rushing blood. You moan, throwing your head back, and finally you dig your hands into his hair. 

As that warm bright coil begins to sink into your pelvis, Max groans between your legs. He pulls back just an inch, his lips a gooey red, to say:

“Pull on it if you need to hold yourself up.” 

Why you thought you could ever go back to a human lover after Max is a fuzzy, hazy notion at the edges of your mind when you dig your fingers into his hair, slightly longer than it’s been in the past, and pull yourself even closer to his mouth. 

In a truly impractical position, you feel his iron-hard cock poke your back, his hips stuttering, fucking empty air. His arm bands around your hips, your knees knocking against the ceiling, as he adjusts his grip. 

The inverse of blood has you going dizzy; blood rushing to your head as Max coaxes blood out of your cunt. 

And then you feel it. 

Behind your thighs, his chest vibrates and the air is filled with a delicious, primal sound. The sound of a beast being satiated, of a hunt gone well, a feeding that will sustain for a long, long while. Before you found it rather adorable, funny that a grown man like Max Phillips would purr when deeply satisfied, but now, it’s a hair-pin trigger to your demise. 

You cry out, loud and wet and wanting, as everything from your hips down starts to tighten up again. You lock your ankles together against his back, toes exposed to the night air, and you use the last of your waning strength in your thighs to lift yourself even further to him. Your hips thrust weakly and that grip around your hip bones seals you to his chest. 

Don’t fucking move. 

But it’s enough. Your inner thighs a gooey, hot mess, he prods his tongue deep, licking up every liquid that drips out of you, before coating your clit in your own mess. 

He sucks and you come. Long and loud. 

Your vision slowly begins to unblur, black spots fading, as he lowers you down, careful not to go too quick like he’s trying to not to wake someone from a light sleep. You can feel that sleep, that endless relaxation swelling over you as you go boneless while Max untangles you. 

Your eyes stay open long enough to see the smear of red across his lips before he wipes it away. The cramping in your pelvis has been reduced to a gentle throb. 

Gingerly, Max pulls your skirt down, hand arching your back so you don’t have to lift your hips as he adjusts you back into some modicum of decorum. He reaches back and snags his coat and jacket from the ground before tossing them into the passenger’s seat. With your feet in his lap, arm stretched out across the back of the seat you just debauched, he shuts the door and instantly the smell of his cologne permeates the air. 

You grin, wriggling down in the seat as far you can go like a housecat warmed by the sun. 

You sit in silence for a bit, content to just be, a welcome retreat for your breathing to go steady and his cock to soften. His hands brush against the heels of your bare feet. 

“You made me purr again,” he says with a grin. 

“There’s no way that’s the technical term for it, whatever it is,” you say teasingly as you watch him trace your ankles with his finger. “You should ask another vamp what you’re supposed to call it.”  

He chuckles, squeezing your foot once before glancing up at you. Whatever he sees in you, it makes his eyes go soft.

“You mean ask about the thing that only happens during the most intimate moments a vampire can experience? Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it up at the water cooler.” 

Satiated and warm and a little loopy from a truly record breaking orgasm, you stick your tongue out at him. 

“Fine. I’m going to tell people that you purr like a cute, innocent little kitten until you find a better term.”

He bends your knee so he can press his lips to the curve. 

“Just because you’re my girlfriend, don’t think I won’t turn you over and swat your bottom.” He nips at the hollow of the joint with flat teeth, opening up your legs to him again. You can feel that heavy wetness trickle down again, and you sit up, not embarrassed by your bleeding, but suddenly tired beyond belief. 

Max lets you move out of his lap as you curl a hand around his cheek. It’s a shame you only see that touch of vulnerability, the man without the quips and the teasing and the bravado, after a good fuck. But you think you might finally have it your way, sooner than you ever hoped. 

“Well if my boyfriend would drive us back to his place, maybe I could show how sorry I am for teasing you.” 

He studies you for a minute, a full minute that has you surprised he’s not roughly kissing you again.

“Sometimes, around the office, you’d smell different and I never knew what it was. I didn’t put enough thought into it to realize the pattern, but it makes sense now. And it makes sense why you were suddenly very busy during that week when I’d bootycall you.” 

You shrug, your neck suddenly very warm. “I dunno. I figured you wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m like that. Not to mention I dress in baggy clothes and wander around my apartment with a heating pad taped to my hips.

“Really? They’re that bad?”

You nod. “Women around the world rejoiced when working from home became an option. Video calls only show from the waist up.”

“Now that’s all I’m gonna be thinking about at the next all-hands meeting,” he grins and squeezes your knees. 

“I guess I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?” You shake your head. He nods, humming his affirmation, and kisses you. 

“Let’s go to your place,” he mutters against your lips. “There might be no place on earth less equipped to handle Shark Week than a male vampire’s bachelor pad.” 

“Shark Week?” You giggle. 

“Carla’s words, not mine. The Rising Red Tide. Code Red. Aunt Flo. And my personal favorite, communists in the fun house.”

Your giggle turns to a snort as you lean forward into him, laughing. His lips press affectionately into your hairline as you settle down. 

He moves to take your feet out of his lap when you gently take his elbow. 

“So we’re good, right? This wasn’t too much?” You are a little concerned by the total and complete lack of fang he showed, but entirely grateful.

As if reading your mind, he says, “the fangs only come out when I need to get through pesky flesh to feed. Your blood came out like a broken ice cream machine at McDonalds.”

You wrinkle your nose as he laughs and you push him out of the car. 

“That’s disgusting, Max.”

You snag the keys from your briefcase and toss them to him as he rounds the car and you crawl into the passenger’s seat. 

He drops in and immediately turns on your seat warmers. The gesture is subtle and thoughtful, things you thought Max Phillips never could be. 

“Speaking of which,” he holds onto the head of the seat as he backs out of the spot. “Carla also told me that ice cream is the cure to most cramps. So, with the lovely picture I just painted in your mind, do you want to go to McDonalds?”

As you look at him, shadows flitting across his face as he drives under streetlight after streetlight, his fingers that had been inside you minutes ago loosely holding the steering wheel, your heart twinges as you come to a certain realization.

This can’t last, right?

He’s only acting like this because he feels bad, feels guilty, right?

Max Phillips isn’t boyfriend material, despite his claims. 

As proven before, feelings can change. So you wonder how long until his feelings about you change again and he grows tired of you. Max Phillips is not a housecat. 

You swallow, glancing away before he has a chance to catch your eyes.

“Yeah, Max, let’s do it.” 

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[koenigsbleachedshirt]

Drippin' love [1/2]

Kinktober.

Warnings: fem! Reader, blood, violence, monsterfucking, vampires, turning into a vampire

Word count: 3.6k

Huge thanks to @kezzauwu for beta reading <3

Excuse any grammatical inaccuracies, I'm a German 💀👍🏻

Prologue:

It's been a few weeks since you've last had blood to quench your agonizing thirst. You're stumbling through the woods, desperate for anything, even a squirrel would do.

That's when you heard the sounds of fighting, your sensitive ears picking up on it. You follow the sounds, mindful of your steps, and come to find... a huge man, training alone in the woods. He's stabbing and punching at a padded tree. You feel your mouth watering at the thought of getting to taste the blood of a strong man.

He notices your silhouette by a tree and stops, looking at you through his hood, "May I help you?" He speaks with an accent, "Can I assist you in any way? You look lost." The tall man steps closer cautiously, halting about two meters from where you stand, eyeing you up and down.

You feel your fingers twitch, fangs almost throbbing, and your rationality almost flies out the window. "I'm itching for a kill..." Is all you say, tongue running across your teeth as you meet his eyes.

The man scoffs, seemingly amused, and bends down to your height. You see that he's raised a brow, "You're so small, what can you even do? You look like you're about to faint."

Your eyes narrow dangerously, and you flash your razor-sharp teeth with a growl. "I'll show you what I can do."

He steps back in shock when you lunge at him, barely avoiding your fingers. "Whoa!" He recovers and looks at you, "What kind of drugs are you on?!"

You hunch over, and your eyes flash red, "Oh, I'm not on drugs.." You smirk and slowly straighten up. "And you'll regret being out here when I catch you..."

His eyes widen, "What?! You're about half my size, I'll make sure you'll be the one who's going to regret this." He threatens and instead charges at you now.

You dodge him with ease, jumping over him and immediately run to tackle him from behind. "Gotcha." You say as he falls to the ground with a pained grunt. You pin his arms behind his back with one hand, the other one pushing his head down and you lean to speak lowly into his ear, "I was hoping you'd put up more of a fight..."

He struggles against your grip, eyes wide as saucers when he can't free himself, "Heilige scheiße..." He hisses to himself, and you can hear his heart beating rapidly as the panic settles in. He's never been caught so easily before, and the realization scares him.

You chuckle darkly and look into his eye, "Do you value your life, big boy?" You ask him, the grip on his wrists tightening, "Would you be missed?"

The tall man starts panting under your unrelenting grip, still trying to get up, "Why are you so strong?! It feels like there's a Boulder on me!" He's thrashing around, but it doesn't help. "Scheiße, ja! I'm a Colonel, and if something happened to me, you'd have the whole army on your back!"

You move off of him and kick his side so he's lying on his back. You pin his wrists above his head, completely ignoring his pained groan before straddling his torso. "Oh... a Colonel, you say? You've piqued my interest..." You say and get in his face, enjoying the way his eyes are squinted in pain, "I usually kill my food... but you... oh, you have potential... tell me your name."

He's still breathing heavily, realizing that there's no way out for him if you didn't want him to. There's raw, primal fear in his eyes when he answers you, "Bitte... my name.. is König..." He almost whispers, counting down his seconds.

You smirk and slide one of your hands underneath his hood, fingernails slightly scraping across his throat, "You think I'm scared of the military, König?" You ask with a condescending chuckle, "Just think about how helpless your subordinates would be, if even you, a mountain of a man, didn't stand a chance? Why shouldn't I just devour you? Maybe throw your body over your base's fence?"

His breath hitches, eyes screwed shut, "I... I don't.." He's at a loss for words, unable to think of a reason why you shouldn't do what you said. Because he knows you're right.

You lift his hood with a finger, catching a glimpse of his jugular vein. "If you don't give me one.... I might do what I said, so think, big boy." You say, dropping the hood on his face and leaving his throat exposed, "I'm waiting..."

"I- I can... I can fight!" He hastily replies, sounding like he's on the verge of a panic attack, "I... I can't leave my duties!"

"Aw.." You coo, face hovering above his, "That's adorable. You think I need someone to protect me?"

"No! I- I mean.." König is a mess, "I just- I don't want to die!"

Your hands rests on his throat, thumb caressing the vein, "Hm... It would be a shame to just... devour you and kill you.. like I said, you have potential, König."

He's never felt so powerless before, trapped by someone who's what feels like half his size and yet so much stronger. "Y- You won't kill me?" His voice is small, but hopeful.

You tilt your head to the side, red eyes boring into his blue ones, "I have a proposition. I don't think you'd pass this one.."

König shudders when he feels your sharp nail dig into his neck, your red eyes almost hypnotizing, "What is it..?"

Your face drops to his neck, and you can't help but drag your tongue over his jugular, "I can make you more... powerful. You can be like me." You move your head away, not wanting to get carried away just yet, "It'll feel like you're dying, but when it's done... you'll live for as long as you want."

König gasps when he feels you lick his neck, a shudder going through him. "You... would?" He exhales shakily, "I- I'll do it..."

You smirk, slowly releasing his wrists which you've been pinning the entire time, "If you try anything, I'll make sure you'll regret it."

He slowly nods, not daring to move, "I... I wouldn't. You've already shown your supremacy in every aspect." He then continues, "But... if whatever you'll do makes me.. dangerous, what then?"

You ponder his question before getting off of his torso, "You said you're a Colonel?"

König slowly gets back on his feet, hissing when he feels the throb in his side from where you kicked him earlier. "Ja, I am. What are you saying?"

You tap your chin, and then smirk, "Let's just say it won't be safe for you to be around people without someone to keep you in check for at least... a few months. This transformation is no joke." You explain and cross your arms in front of your chest, "Colonel is a high rank. I'm sure you can get me into your task force, no?"

He blinks twice, but nods. "Ja, I can do that... You need to undergo an aptitude test due to our regulations though." König says, "You... would make an excellent soldier."

Your eyes seem to sparkle, and you smirk again, "Oh, I'm aware." You say and walk closer to him, "I'll make sure you keep your word."

König can't even react when you pull on his left hand, pull his sleeve back and dig your fangs into his arm. "Ah, scheiße!" He almost screams at the pain, but it passes just as quickly when you pull away again.

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of his blood and snicker when he holds his arm, "I'll be able to find you anywhere now, so don't even try." You say and chuckle, "Now, what do I need to do?"

He breathes heavily, shaking from the pain, "J- Just come with me back to the base.."

You gesture for him to lead the way and follow him quietly.

The two of you walk, and you can't shake the dirty smirk off your face at how he keeps clutching his arm where you bit him. After a few minutes of walking, you see the giant base of 'KorTac'. "We're here." He says, voice strained, "Just follow me, I'll do the talking."

You do just that, listening to him telling the guards that you're a new recruit, which he personally will register. "Yes, Colonel, Sir!" They reply and salute, letting you pass behind him without issue.

"You'll need to formally address me whenever we're on base around other soldiers, alright?" König speaks as you make your way through a hallway, "You can drop it in private."

"Wasn't planning on embarrassing you, big boy." You say with a playful eye roll, "So... how quickly do you think I can climb the ranks? How does it work?"

He opens a door and gestures you inside. There's a man sitting there, who then looks at you two. "Ah, Colonel! What brings you here? Who's your.. companion?"

König salutes briefly, "Greetings, General. I brought a new recruit, scouted her out, and saw enormous potential. I want to oversee her personally."

The general skeptically eyes you up and down a view times with a frown, "Are we... looking at the same person here?" The man asks, not convinced at all.

"She beat me up while I was out training. With ease, too. I underestimated her as well." König explains, sounding utterly embarrassed. "She's... really strong."

The general still looks skeptical, but he sighs, "Fine, I'll believe you. I know you don't lie about these feats. I'll entrust everything concerning her to you." He says and then leans forward, "I expect to see her at rank Sergeant in six months since you talked so big. Copy?"

"Copy, Sir." König nods, heart beating fast, "We won't disappoint."

You nod along, not caring what rank it is, because you're supreme to everyone in this base, in basically every aspect. "Here's the paperwork. Give it back to me by the end of the day." The general says and hands König a decently thick bunch of papers.

König nods and then turns to you. "Let's go. We've got work to do."

You salute the general goodbye and follow König to his own office, plopping down in the chair in front of the desk after he closes the door behind himself. He drops the stack onto his desk and takes a seat on the rolling chair. "Fill these out as best as you can. The more accurate, the better. If you have questions, let me know."

You sigh and grab the pen he offers you and start filling out the papers....

[It takes you about 3 hours until everything is done and up to their standards, König reviewing your answers and pointing out what needs to be edited.]

"My, my... so we done?" You groan as König staples the stack together neatly. "I wanna fight... I wanna eat!"

He swallows and nods along, "I'll bring these to the general first. Then we'll grab your gear and then... then we're done for today."

You roll your eyes. "Fine."

After what he said needed to be done, he showed you your room in the barracks on the way back, and then he stopped in front of his. "So, uhm... this is done."

You smirk, knowing what's coming next, "Ohh, it's time to eat~" You say as you follow him into his room, not caring that he locked the door. "You might want to sit down, I told you it'll feel like you're dying..."

König swallows hard, but obliges and takes a seat on his bed, "C- Can you at least... try not to make it hurt as much? Because that bite from earlier still burns..."

"Aw.. fine, I'll spare you the main course's pain since you've been so helpful and nice." You coo and run your hand up his chest, and under his hood, lifting it up to reveal his throat. "Relax for me, big boy, I'll take care of you from here on out."

He tries his best to relax, going pliant beneath your touch. "I'll... do my best." König mumbles, but then gasps when you swiftly situate yourself on his lap and start licking his neck, coating it in your saliva. "W- What are you doing?!"

"I'll make it hurt less... now shut up." You speak against his neck, knowing that your spit numbs the skin and underlying tissue just enough for your bite to feel just like a dull ache.

König is still tense, but it slowly fades when he realizes he doesn't feel your ministrations on his neck anymore. You smirk, "Bon appetit~" and sink your fangs into his vein and hungrily suck his blood. His hands fly to hold your waist, digging his fingers into you and clenching his eyes shut. He feels how the blood drains from his body, feeling lightheaded, hot, and cold.

You moan at the taste of his blood and how filling it is. You hold him up from under his arms when he starts feeling faint from the blood loss... and you stop after you're fully satisfied, licking the puncture wound, sealing it shut again.

He feels like he's about to faint, barely able to keep his eyes open, vision dotted black. "You held out well... Now comes the fun part." You say and support his head with one hand, "Drink my blood."

König blinks blearily, barely registering what you're saying, "Ja.."

You chuckle and bite the tip of your pointer finger, drawing... dark blood. It looks almost black. "Open up." You say and stick your finger into his mouth, "Now suck. It doesn't have to be that much, but take as much as you can."

He does what you say, just wanting this nasty feeling of lightheadedness to go away. König's face twists in disgust at the taste of your blood, but he sucks hard and swallows it. "Good boy~" you say and remove your finger from his mouth. "The next phase will start slowly creeping in.."

You remain seated on his lap in case you need to restrain him, just holding and observing him. "It feels like I'm burning from the inside…" König rasps, having a hard time speaking, "Everything… hurts.."

"I told you, it'll feel like you're dying, honey, but you'll emerge stronger than ever~" You coo, gently running a finger down his cheek, "I'll take care of you, don't you worry… just let it out."

König didn't realize he was fighting against something so… primal inside of him until you told him to let it out. Because he did. The burning pain seemingly eating him from the inside out, the way your dark blood fights against his. "What's- What's happening..?"

You hum with a sly smirk, "I don't know? My blood is probably destroying your white blood cells right now… to replace them completely. I'm unable to catch human diseases, no matter which. My vampire genes are superior to those pesky human ones, and soon you'll be just like me~"

He's breathing hard and erratically, terrified of what's going on inside his body, but he also notices that he doesn't feel as faint anymore. He's able to hold himself without needing your support any longer, and when you notice, you take your hands away, resting them on your thighs instead. You observe him from your position on his lap still and feel excited when thinking about what happens next.

"I- I feel weird…" König pants, his whole body feeling hot with ecstasy, pants growing tight. "W- What's going on?"

"Oh… You're in the longest lasting stage now. The pain will subside and be replaced by… arousal. If you ignore said arousal, the pain will only intensify until your thirst is quenched." You chuckle, slowly unbuckling his vest and taking it off of him, "I didn't say I'd need to watch over you for nothing, big boy~ I've seen many turn who went unchecked and ended up getting killed… because you're still in a human body. You won't be nearly as invincible as me for at least a couple of weeks."

König groans deep in his chest, "Scheiße… are you saying- that I'm basically like an animal in heat?!"

You laugh, "If you want to describe it as such… sure. It happens to all of those who turn. You get a lucky pass if you're born a vampire.. like me."

His grip on your waist is tight. Like he needs to ground himself. "Don't… want to give in.."

"Oh, but sweetheart, if you don't, your burning pain will only increase… and when it gets to its peak… let's just say that the beast takes control." You playfully pout, slowly opening up his shirt. "C'mon, love, don't torture yourself.. I promise the sex is amazing."

König is shaking with desire at this point, unable to form a coherent thought anymore. He's trying so hard to resist. You can see and feel it. "You'll… take care of me, right..?"

"Of course I will~" You coo, "You'll have to take off your mask though…"

"I-" He swallows hard, "You're the only one who gets to see my face. Ever."

"You're safe with me now, honey~" You smile, "Unlike before… now you're under my care."

König rips off his sniper hood and looks at you with his blue eyes, hooded by lust. "There."

You gently trace the scars on his face before his hand snaps up to hold your wrist, his stare boring holes into you. "I- I'm… I'm going-"

He can't finish his sentence before he flips you over onto your back, "I. Need. It."

You chuckle, "Then take it."

König growls low in his throat and sheds both of your clothes in record time, and you see just how massive his cock is. "Huh.. I figured it'd be big… but this? Oh lord…"

"I'll make sure you'll remember this." He hisses and dips his head down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it.

"Ah!" You gasp in surprise, one hand burying itself in his hair, "Mh… keep going-"

But he doesn't. "I'm going to make you regret this." He groans low in his throat, "You'll be the one asking for mercy."

"Oh, sweetheart.." You say and harshly pull him by his hair, "You seem to forget who owns you."

"Ahh!" König moans when you yank his head back by his hair, "Y- You were the one who told me to let it out."

"Sure did. I didn't tell you to get ahead of yourself, though, big boy." You remind him and smirk, "Now… how about you just put that ridiculously big dick to use?"

König growls and pulls your legs apart, positioning himself at your entrance. "This'll hurt, you know."

"Oh, it won't." You chuckle, "Just go ahead. Slide in, you'll see it's easy."

And he doesn't need to be told twice. König stuffs you full of his cock, realizing you were right. "Scheiße… you.. feel so good." He can't restrain himself, grabbing you by your waist and roughly fucks your soaking cunt. "Du bist so… not even wet, you're soaking. Could drown in you."

You moan and your eyes roll back, his huge cock hitting all the right places. "F- Fuck, so big- so good!" Your nails dig into his massive shoulders, dragging claw marks down his back.

He thrusts harder when he feels the way you scratch up his already scarred skin. His movements become sloppy, and he almost drools. "Why.. Why do I feel like I'm gonna cum already? It's barely been five minutes!"

You laugh and wrap your legs around his hips. "That's how it is for the first few times." You clench up around him too though, "But I'm the same- fuck! Your cock just fills me up so well!"

"Ugh- Oh- Oh Gott, scheiße, ich kann nicht länger-" He's a stuttering and moaning mess and then you feel his dick pulse and ropes of cum filling you up deliciously.

Your eyes roll back and you feel your own orgasm rip though you as well, drenching his cock with your cum. "Fuck…"

But König doesn't stop moving, he keeps whining and rutting his hips into you slowly, "Can't stop.. feels so good…"

Your legs start shaking a little, "A- Ahh! Give me a break!"

"No, feels so fucking good…" He groans, "F- Feel it coming-"

And he suddenly cums again, spurting his seed into your dripping cunt once more. "Oh lord!" You wail and bite down on the juncture of his neck, moaning and cumming too when the taste of his blood hits your taste buds.

König's eyes roll back, and he starts shaking, "Scheiße, that feels so good!"

He can't stop from rutting into you for hours, both of you a sweaty mess, dried tears on both your cheeks and the sheets a mess. Your cum mixed with his is just continuously dripping out of your spent pussy, but König tries so hard to keep it plugged with his dick.

After he physically can't cum anymore, you're both laying there, his now softened cock still buried in you as you lay side by side, breathing heavily. "I… underestimated you… that was the most exhausting and best sex I've ever fucking had." You mumble into his chest.

König is so out of it, he only hums in response, "We should shower…"

"We're fine. Let's shower in the morning." You say and yawn, "I'll take good care of you… you feral thing."

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Parasite Kink, A Poorly Written Essay

I'm not sure how interested y'all are in an introspective essay of my parasite kink, but it's 12 AM and I got class tomorrow. I might as well.

Monsterfucker, as far as the word goes, is an umbrella term for sexual interest in non-human entities. In my opinion, the spectrum of Monterfuckery goes from nonhumanoids (tentacles, plants, insects, cosmic horrors, etc), (humanoids (werewolves, vampires, demons, robots, etc) and the very-humanoids (catboys, hucows, etc). All one needs to be a Monsterfucker is to have an interest in something distinctly nonhuman, whether that be through clear visual means or subtle mental and physical.

To that extent, parasites are a beloved monster of us fuckers, but rarely get the love they so deserve. Why is that? Well, across all monsters, parasites hold their own tropes that get covered just as well by others:

Want to be unknowingly corrupted against your will by a powerful foe that has no interest in your wellbeing? Demons, Cosmic horrors, Aliens, etc. got you covered.

Want to become a host to a growing population of critters within your womb? Any and all monsters can cover that front.

But what about carrying a disease that can be spread onto others, through sexual means with sexual side effects? Parasites are the only monsters that cover this within the Monsterfucker niche. (Though if you're willing to spread the Monsterfucker umbrella a little further, you got your Mad Scientist. But we're not talking about them here.) Regardless of prelude, you can have your Demons infect infect others with demonic STD's, an outbreak of tentacle monsters that can only survive within the innards of unsuspecting individuals, or even a lycanthropy parasite.

Though, that brings up the divide of the parasitism kink. On its own, it's a bit of an umbrella term as well. I personally count sex disease and parasites under the same niche (corruption and spread being the forefront of the appeal). Along with further division: its purpose.

Does it originate from a specific monster/place? A divine being looking to create worshipers regardless of consent? An asteroid some hapless individual happened to stumble upon? An insect species that only needs you for your body to grow its population?

Does it exist as a disease to take over the mind and body? Turn individuals into mooing cows that'll fuck themselves on the phallic object? Is it a demonic infestation to turn humans into proper cum factories?

Is the parasite mainly for spreading or corrupting? Is the victim unaware of their parasite? Do they care at all? Do they fight its corruption? Can they do it successfully?

Does the parasite want? Or is it as mindless as any virus in the real world?

All these questions. Because parasites are a rather vague monster. They can take on any origin and lore you could ever want. Though all monsters can have those similar qualities. However, monsters on their own don't take on the parasitism quality by default. But that's what makes monsters so lovely anyways. The ability to adapt them to your specific desires is what makes writing about them so fun. Why writing smut is so fun.

All this to say my enjoyment of parasites comes from my love of corruption of the self mixed with the corruption of others. A permanent change made against ones will by something using you for its own means while also focusing on changing others.

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol. 24

Howdy folks!

I love how I said I was never waiting two weeks to do a digest again and then almost immediately did it again. Anyway if you're new here, this is every new (to me) fic I read this week (and last week) and some of my silly little thoughts about them. I have 19 fics for you this week!

As always you can find all of my previous recs here and the original spreadsheet here (now updated with warnings, author summaries, and word counts + I'm checking for broken links).

Recs below the pedro!

Multiples/MMF/MMMF

Euclidean Geometry - Frankie/Jack/Pero one shot by @leslie-lyman

I’d never have thought to put these three together and even if i had, it would have been straight up PWP no feelings. But this is STUNNING. It’s only 1.4k words but there’s such a depth to it. The different dynamics each of the boys and reader brings to the relationship, the way they care for each other AHHH and then the little flash scenes of smut 🥵🥵

The Impaler - Tim Rockford/Max Phillips one shot by @kiwisbell

This is my first Tim Rockford fic EVER and I adored it. I’m a big fan of making Max into a more serious and scary vampire and this was… so fucking hot y’all. (kinda dubcon for Tim bc he seems to be under a bit of a trance). Guys this has like every MMF position you could ever want. DVP… Spitroast… It’s so hot. And reader is so hot. And I’m melting fr.

Joel

Attraction Spell - joel one shot by @jksprincess10

I love a vampire Joel, I really really do. And I love a witchy reader just as much if not more. TW for NonCon bc Joel like… stalks reader and then gets her to basically drug herself with an attraction spell and then he also like.. Is a vampire? So there’s that. I loved this so so much. Joel is hot and scary.

Made by Hand - Joel one shot by @tinycozycomfort

Reader is married and Joel is your lover. He doesn’t really have anything to offer you at all – I mean he can’t give you something that would get you caught and he doesn’t seem to have much to give anyway. But he hand sews you a pair of cuffs made from blue ribbon AHHHHH. This fic is heartbreaking and so beautifully written. Of course the smut is hot, but the peek into Joel’s mind is really what does it for me here. He is so sad. UGHGHGHGHGH. Gimme 800 chapters of this STAT.

Garden of Earthly Delights - Joel one shot by @thesimulationswarm

What’s Gin a slut for? That’s right. Sub!Joel. Reader is a little badass in this and Joel is honestly pathetic and it’s so hot. His general air of violence and like… being a terrifying man are still present, which just makes it better that reader reduces him to a pathetic whimpering mess. Submissive Apple Washing is my favorite tag ever, also. 

Balsam - Joel series by @thesimulationswarm

This one is great if you love characters. The author really takes the time to build up the characters in the town, really situating you in the lives of the people of Jackson. There’s no smut as of yet; this is a slow burn and Nina/Doc (the OC) is really just starting to connect with Joel at this point. I cannot say enough how much I love the worldbuilding in this. I adore the characters and their intricate and detailed relationships and the inner conflicts going on with each of them. This is gorgeous and I’m so excited for the next chapter.

@theywhowriteandknowthings Murder Daddy Kinktober

Neighbor's Gardener's Brother Joel, MDKT Sex Pollen - Joel, MDKT Day 17 - Din

Ok the neighbor’s gardener’s brother Joel is hotter than it has any right to be. He’s filthy, reader is filthy. It’s beautiful. 

The sex pollen fic… man I fucking love sex pollen. And you also get tentacles and mind fuck and all the other delicious monsterfucking things that drive me up a damn wall (dub con obvi…). 

And Day 17 - a bounty who keeps running from Din because she loves to be caught by him. She’s thrilled by the chase so much she…. Oops spoilers… Just read it. It’s being turned into a full series and I cannot wait to read it! 

Din

Good Taste - Din series by @charnelhouse

Pornstar!Din – the crack fic this came from is also great, but I really enjoyed this. Din is so fucking hot and like kind of a dick, which I love very much. I only read the crackfic and the main fic, but there’s a whole list of drabbles that I’m sure I’ll dig into later. 

Ezra

Long Fall into Oblivion - Ezra one shot by @oonajaeadira

As usual, Adira wrote something I love with my whole heart – who’s surprised? Not me. Anyway Ezra is training you to be a prospector and he is absolutely lovely. Reassuring, kind, protective. Adira does non-explicit smut so well she basically invented the concept. 

Shorn - Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Ezra really likes your body hair, but it is time for you to shave – I love a fucking weird ass fic and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say erotic shaving is weird. I also don’t normally love shaving scenes in fics/books because there can be an element of shaming the natural body? But this fic does the opposite. It celebrates the natural body through the lens of Ezra and is also just unreasonably fucking hot. I love that weird little man with all my heart. 

Dream Within a Dream - Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Incubus!Ezra – so yes, you die, because that’s what incubuses (incubi?) do. They rock your dream world and then they consume you. But listen… Ezra is ethereal and gorgeous, the dream world is absolutely stunning, the smut is hot, and honestly I’d beg him to eat my heart out too. I can’t say enough about this fic actually. I read it this morning and I’m still reeling. 

Javier Peña

you miss me? - Javi P one shot by @amanitacowboy

You tease Javi while he’s at work and he punishes you for it when he gets home… and it is so deliciously good. Dom!Javi has me in a chokehold (or I wish he did). 

The Raid - Javi P one shot by @toxicanonymity

Some dark!Javi from toxic! Your boyfriend or whatever gets his house raided by the DEA and Javi saves you from getting uhhh used… by his coworkers. But then he takes you for himself. Based loosely on her Raider!Joel series. Obviously non/dub con. Javi is so mean and hot pls. 

Pent Up - Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Javi hurt his ankle (which Ang did as a dig at me because I did the same) and can’t drive, so he hasn’t been able to get any… release… which leads to him jacking off at his desk after hours. It’s so hot. I was like laughing at him up til he actually touches himself and then I about fell over. What I wouldn’t give to be his lil stress reliever. Javi baby I would live under your desk if you asked me to. 

Frankie

You hired a cleaning lady, Mr. Morales? - Frankie one shot by @beskarandblasters

After the events of TF Frankie is in a bit of a depression (understandable), and his house gets more than a little messy. Santi hires a cleaning service (you) to help him out. Listen… I wish I was as bold as reader. After the sexual tension between you and Frankie gets too much to bear, you show up in a god damn sexy maid outfit to torture him into convince him to finally make a move on you. It’s so hot… reader is a sexy bad ass bitch and Frankie is adorable and so hot. 

snowball kiss - Frankie one shot by @beskarandblasters

The discord found this definition on urban dictionary and Kel ran with it. It’s filthy in the best way. Pussy eating king Frankie learned a new trick and honestly it’s devastating me emotionally that I can’t have him

Dieter

Dress me up and call me pretty - Dieter one shot by @morallyinept

Messy Messy Messy Dieter – my favorite type of Dieter. His drug addiction and overall patheticness are in full force here. He wants to make himself look pretty so he uses your makeup. You come home and make sure he feels loved and beautiful, and also ruin his makeup. Pegging/sub dieter/etc but also… this fic is really fucking sweet. It kind of broke my heart despite also being filthy and depraved and I love that in a Dieter fic. I love how reader is like "we'll try again" like??? How dare you make me cry when I'm reading sub!dieter. Dammit. 

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My most recent work is Starving Season - a twisted little Dave York love as consumption three parter that I plan to add a fourth part to soon.

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Happy Reading!

[lillyspeakz]

Answering the zombie necrophilia ask

no, no it does not count as necrophilia. I see this everywhere with characters that are ghosts or zombies or vampires so LET ME GET THE RECORD STRAIGHT

Necrophilia is the attraction to dead people or things: zombies, as are usually written in zombur fics, are not “dead” in the true sense of the word. They are conscious. They are sentient. The whole reason that necrophilia is…. Nasty…In real life is because the thing you are attracted to can’t consent (bc it’s dead). THATS what spurs necrophilia, not the rotting flesh or the idea of being undead— that’s more of an attraction to grimness/etc. falling under the monsterfucker umbrella

Thank you for the informational fill in!

[thesolarangel]

Trope rating game

rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic? -10 -> very dissuaded  0 -> don’t care either way  +10 -> very enticed  nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged. Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

see my answers under the cut:

Age gap: -2

I don't explicity search for it, but I have read Joel Miller x reader for example where there was a 15+ year difference, that's fine to me, as long as reader is over 20, 25 would be even better.

Codependency: 0

not my kinda thing... idk it could be cute sometimes..

Obsession/Possessiveness, jealousy: -10

naw, that just stressed me out! also not my kinda thing

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine etc): +10

all my fav pairings are like this: Steddie, Ineffable husbands, Thorki, ...

Enemies to lovers, Enemies with benefits: +2

oooh yeah, kinda!

Friends with benefits: 0

only if it's followed by "friends to lovers"

Sex to feelings: +10

hell yes

Fake dating/relationship: +10

I have explicitly searched for that one, I think it's really fun!

Friends to lovers: +10

yes!! OF COURSE

Found Family: +10

as a queer person I absolutely LOVE this one!!

Hurt/Comfort: -5

I don't really like reading about hurt or angst, even when it's being followed by comfort... But if someone would recommend a fic with that trope to, I'd trust them and read it, give it a try.

Love Triangle: -10

naw, I don't care for that

Poly, open relationships: +10

YES PLEASE

Mistaken/hidden identity: 0

I don't think I've read anything like this before, but I'd give it a try

Monsterfucking: +5

Oh well what can I say, I ship Sidon x Link, sooo.... do vampires count as monsters? Then Astarion counts, too, and I LOVE HIM

Pregnancy: HELL NOOOOOO

Second Chance: -

I don't know this one

Slowburn: +5

love it, but not too extreme

Soulmates: +10

heck yes!

tagging with no pressure: @starlady66 @fenharel-enaste @queenmeriadoc @lady-of-imladris @lordoftheelves @hippodameia @hammity-hammer @niennawept @runawaymun

[starflake-burning]

I saw @antimony-medusa doing ao3 stats, and since I have not made very many og posts on this blog after making a new multifandom blog, I'm using this as a opportunity to update everyone here on what I posted this year to ao3 :)

I'm going to be blatantly ripping off Medusa's format for this.

Overall stats for 2023

--User Subscriptions: 119

--Kudos: 5,606

--Comment Threads: 306

--Bookmarks: 1,618

--Subscriptions: 846

--Word Count: 174,435

--Hits: 64,821

Everything is almost the same, except for a decrease in kudos. That makes perfect sense since I wrote a couple of rarepairs in fandoms that are less hyped about multishipping.

My user subscriptions have basically stayed the same since I started posting, likely because I organize fics down into different series so that people can sub to those instead.

Fun Stats:

Total number of fics published: 40

This was my most prolific year of fic writing! For reference, my total number of fics posted EVER is 53. I wrote a lot of short fics as treats for two different extreme timed challenge exchanges. I also got into several new fandoms this year.

Number of One-shots: 24

There's the exchange fics coming in clutch! And also the bushel of smutshots (oneshots that are pwp) that I wrote for new fandoms I got into and got very excited about writing smut for.

Number of Multichapters (Including WIPs): 14

Some oneshots become twoshots. Some multichapters had planned chapter counts and many did not.

Number of WIPs (aka unfinished works): 4

Of these, one is the most recent fic I have posted, which is being actively written and updated. One is being co-written with someone else. And the others are one hiatus.

Number of Inspired Works: 1

My total number of inspired works ever is 2. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have plenty of ideas to work with on my own.

Longest Fic: Stealing Candelabras (10,797).

Most of my works this year were under 10k, and a lot of them were even under 1k. I started the year short and ended it long. And I anticipate writing much more longfic this year. This one was long because I love vampires and making up vampire lore.

Shortest Fic: shifting eyes and vacancy, vanished when i saw your face (476). A very cute prompt that I had to fill. Title courtesy of my partner's suggestion, since they love the song so much :)

Most Kudosed fic: On the Twelfth Day of Christmas My Twin Sons Gave to Me: The Child Spy of My Enemy (586).

:/ Ah yes the last vesitges of my Dark SBI era. Not my favorite thing I've written, but it has it's audience.

The second most kudosed is The Care and Keeping of Your Vash (406). I love you trigun fandom <3

Most Viewed Fic: Same as most kudosed! But those stats do build up over time so I'm gonna highlight my fifth most view fic that was only posted a couple months ago as opposed to almost a year ago: When I'm On the Throne it's a Total Freak Zone (3,366). My second foray into exploring a character being a soft dom.

Most Subscribed Fic: Same as the most kudosed and most viewed. To be fair it had the format of the twelve day countdown to Christmas, so it hooked people into sticking around.

Most Bookmarked Fic: Same one again. My second most bookmarked was Shot Through the Heart, and You're to Blame (110). Arguably my best trigun fic, I love writing monsterfucker porn, especially as part of a larger canon divergent au. Double points for also getting to write a trans headcanon.

Most Used Fandom: Dream SMP, at 13. But if you combine all the fics for books by the same author (MXTX), it comes out to 12, which is pretty close!

Least Used Fandom: There's a couple I've only written one work for so...

1. Big Dragon the Series. This is a tiny fandom for a BL drama that I am co-writing a fic for. If you go searching for this show MIND THE WARNINGS. It is very intense from episode one so proceed with caution.

2. SMP Earth. I wish I got into this fandom when it was more popular, Now I don't know where to find the stream archives to get into the lore :(

3. Supernatural. I came back to this fandom this year only to post a trans character study of Dean and then leave it again lol.

Most Used Rating: E, 15 fics.

Like I said, I wrote a lot of smutshots lol. Second place is Teen, at 11 fics.

Least Used Rating: Mature, 0. Alternatively, Gen, at 9.

None of my fics are rated Mature this year because I discovered the wonders of smut and I can no longer do things by halves.

Most Written Relationship: Still SBI, but Quackbur is a close second.

Most Used Additional tag: I can't be bothered to look through all of this year's fics right now, but for the E rated ones I'm 90% sure it's Biting. As I've been quoted saying "biting is sexy!"

Most Frequently Used Characters: Again, SBI wins out. Though I think of all of them I have more fics with Techno than the others. (Again, too lazy to look through 40 fics right now lol).

Hopefully this was fun for someone else, because it certainly was illuminating for me. I'm much more active on my @cosmic-starfall blog nowadays but I'm still doing mcyt stuff occasionally here as well :)

[danpuff-ao3]

ten books to get to know me

Thanks for the tag @wolfpants!! And @consistentsquash!! :D

Tagging: @perverse-idyll, @writcraft, @lizzy0305, @arrisha-ao3, @liladiurne, @bluesundaycake, @cindle-writes, @ripeteeth, @givereadersahug, @broomsticks, @charlotterhea, @ashesandhackles, @teacup-tai, @sugareey-makes-stuff, @mrviran, @yletylyf ....no pressure! Apologies if you've already been tagged or done this! And if you've not been tagged and want to play along, go ahead and consider yourself tagged!

Under the cut cuz LONG. (Y'all know I like to talk.)

The Harry Potter series

....I'm in the HP fandom, so that's probably 0 surprise. Also feels icky due to being written by Terf McTerfington. Buuuuuut. Well. The universe needs balance and HP's power was so great it could only be stopped by Great Evil, or so I like to tell myself.

The series was published in the U.S. when I was 7. I was already a big reader. I was a big reader from the moment I could read at all. But HP was the first series I fell well and truly in love with. I discovered fanfiction at 11, and started writing it at 13. The story and this fandom were there through the worst moments of my life. I'm not sure it will ever not be important to me.

The Percy Jackson series (Rick Riordan)

Honestly, I can't lie, I'm a big sucker for kids' books. They're just fun, dang it. Great literature? No. But I don't read to impress, I read to have a good time, and Percy Jackson is a good time. Also all the related series. Magnus Chase? Trials of Apollo? The Kane Chronicles? Yes yes yes BRING THEM TO ME.

There's a Potter-esque feel to the PJO series. Dark haired green eyed hero who didn't know he had magical abilities? Also the Cabins make me think of the Houses, even though it's more parentage than traits. It's a vibe, okay? And on top of that...mythology???? I'm a big ole mythology nerd, especially for Greek mythology. And let me tell you, I inhaled those books. And I still love them a lot, actually.

The Twilight series (Stephenie Meyer)

To round out the list of "stories Little Danni loved" is Twilight. Yes, I was a Twi-hard in junior high and high school. What's funny is all the modern "this is problematic because Edward is stalking Bella, and also he's a vampire and immortal and there's an age gap!" jabbering is probably what sold me on the story to begin with. Listen: I like what I like, okay? Also: vampire + human? Does that count as monsterfucking? Idk but it's at least different species which ticks some boxes, okay?

Honestly everyone talking about how effed up Twilight is was just a lightbulb moment for me of like "oh. No wonder I was so into it."

Twilight also played a role in my writing journey! In high school I joined a Twilight themed RPG site on proboards. I created a mega evil vampire named Danna Deville, whose face cast was Hayden Panettierre. This weirdly made me super popular because no one else was creating/playing villainous characters. Let me tell you, it did loads for my self esteem. Also it's funny to think about all those old friendships born of "hey let's RP together. I really want your character to torture my character."

Mistborn (Brandon Sanderson)

This one I have big opinions on. On the one hand, I really enjoy Brandon Sanderson's stories. On the other hand, while his magic systems are often highly praised, I hate them. Hate, loathe, and despise them. I'll not say more than that. I don't like to hate on things. And my partner really loves Brandon Sanderson and his magic systems. (I'm just over here muttering about "they eat metal" and have to actively not think about it.) It's just not my jam. I much prefer softer magic systems. Hard magic systems tend to throw me a bit. But Brandon Sanderson sure knows how to tell a story, dang it. He's super creative and smart and has these big sweeping ideas, with all these twists and turns! His worldbuilding is also insanely good.

Mistborn (Era 1) is probably my favorite of his works. One as an overall story (Vin, my love!) But also the connection to my Eddie.

You see, when my partner and I first met, it was in the book section of an entertainment store. Where we stood in the aisles and talked for hours. My very first impression was "who is this goofy man?" and I left the interaction fully smitten. And anxious, awkward lady that I am, my grand plan was to read the books he'd been raving about to have something to talk about. Idle chit chat? No can do. Book talk? That I can do! So I read Mistborn, for a start. Then worked my way through other book recommendations. And now that goofy nerd is mine. All's well that ends well!

The Wheel of Time series (Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson)

Once I worked my way through Brandon Sanderson's books, I moved onto The Wheel of Time, which was much more up my alley! I could not put those books down. (At least until I hit The Slog, at which point I still couldn't put them down, but I was mostly charging through waiting for it to get good again.) This was also the first time I tried to not look up spoilers before reading a book. (Blasphemy, I know, blah blah. Look: I have anxiety. Spoilers make my life easier and happier, okay?) Eddie is very staunchly anti-spoiler, so I did my best to try a spoiler-free experience. I made it most of the way through. Towards the end I accidentally spoiled myself on a big event. It was a bit foolishly done but I'd consulted google to refresh my memory on an event from an earlier book, and my Google excursions warned me of a few deaths ahead of time. Whoops. On the whole, though, me making it 10+ books with no spoilers was pretty dang impressive.

Also the book series is great. And I'm side-eying the show a bit. Just a little bit.

(Bonus: the band Blind Guardian has a song called "Wheel of Time" about the books and it's 10/10. At least if you like symphonic metal, which I do.) (Oh, "Ride Into Obsession" from the same album is also WoT inspired.)

Flowers in the Attic series (V. C. Andrews)

The fact that I read this series as a child might explain a lot. Also you should know my mother gave me these books to read. Child abuse, forced imprisonment, murder, and incest? Sign me up! It's all sortsa messed up and dark and to this day it's still my # 1 guilty pleasure series. I like...just don't care. You can tell me how badly written it is or how problematic it is, I don't care. This is the book equivalent to eating a whole bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos while watching true crime videos. This is indulgence, my friends. I'm having a great time, please leave me in peace.

Till We Have Faces (C. S. Lewis)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Idk what to say other than this book is perfect, I will hear no slander against it, and I really need to reread it, like, ASAP. Another link to Greek mythology this one. Also: I really love Orual.

(Does anyone wanna read/reread it with me? Lmk.)

The Song of Achilles (Madeline Miller)

Gorgeous, amazing, perfect, wonderful. Patroclus/Achilles forever. Ouch my heart. God it's beautiful. MORE GREEK MYTHOLOGY OF COURSE. Also all of Madeline Miller's stuff is stellar. (Circe and Galatea!!!! Read those, too!!!!) I have every feeling on planet earth about this one.

Widecare trilogy (Phillippa Gregory)

Beatrice Lacey is wonderful and amazing and also really messed up in the head. Historical fiction. Little Beatrice is in love with her family's land, Wideacre. And is HORRIFIED and OFFENDED when she realizes that, as a girl, she will not only not inherit, but will have to leave one day???? Cuz as a lady it is her purpose in life to get married and pop out babies???? But Beatrice is ambitious, clever, manipulative, and passionate and she doesn't let lady parts or the patriarchy keep her down!! And by that, she goes to rather dark and taboo extremes. Which I admire and respect. (I grew up watching horror films and reading darkfic. Trust me, I was having a great time with this story.)

Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)

I stg this book gets no respect. Is this a really toxic, dysfunctional romance? Absolutely. What else do you want in a story???? Oh OBSESSIVE, PASSIONATE, UNDYING LOVE??? GOT THAT, TOO. This book lives in my heart and soul. I can fully quote Heathcliff's speech to Catherine ("I cannot life without my life, I cannot live without my soul") on demand. I have read this book to death, through resurrection, and back to death.

...also it's hella Snarry, isn't it? That explains a lot.

(Also shoutout to other teenage obsessions: The Hunger Games and Divergent. Also the Three Dark Crowns series???? Loved that. Hannibal???? Yes please. Dan Brown's Robert Langdon series??? MORE! Oh and R.L. Stein's The Nightmare Room were the books of my childhood. Oh! Oh oh! And another thing! The Wonder by Emma Donoghue????? Incredible. Blow my mind. Oh and She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb is another case of "this is a very dark messed up story that a family member gave me that I inhaled because I really liked messed up stuff, actually.") (Is this cheating? Probably. But I've been a major bookworm since words even made sense to me, please cut a gal some slack.) (Please don't judge me.)

[thepastisaroadmap]

Fic in a Box Letter

Thank you for creating for me! I’ve included a list of my general likes (SFW and NSFW), my DNWs, and some thoughts on each fandom below. For this exchange, I’ve requested: Downton Abbey, The Locked Tomb series, The Magnus Archives, The Time Master series, Interview with the Vampire, and an IWTV/Vampire Chronicles crossover. For the ease of cross-checking, I’m aguntoaknifefight (swirlingvoid) on ao3.

Treats in any medium are welcome!

General likes:

outsider POV

situations where a character is forced to reckon with perceptions of themselves or their relationships (including but certainly not limited to time travel, time loops, amnesia, dimension travel, and truth serum)

character studies

forced proximity

complicated relationships

identity porn

period-typical and/or internalized homophobia

asexual and/or aromantic characters

non-sexual kink

second person POV

romance as horror & horror as romance

cracking a stoic character open like a clam (emotionally)

ambiguous endings, happy endings, bittersweet endings

relationships that are hard to classify or ping other characters as weird

characters who are torn between loyalty to an individual and their ideals

Smut likes:

un- or under-negotiated kink

voyeurism

watersports

proxy sex (both in the sense that — for pairing A/B — 1) A has sex with C while thinking about B, and in the sense that 2) there is a A/B/C threesome with C in the middle as an excuse to legitimize the sex A/B are(n't) having. I'm okay with C being a canonical character or an OC)

mutual masturbation

unresolved emotional tension

somnophilia

coming in pants & clothed sex

(non-literal) dollification

honor bondage

condescending praise

monsterfucking & shapeshifting

biting & blood-drinking (especially in a supernatural context)

“oh god why do I find this hot”-flavored sex of any consent level

psychological aspects of kink

submissive sadists with dominant masochists and/or sub tops with dom bottoms

dubcon

characters justifying why the sex* they're actively having doesn't count as sex* & other "intricate rituals"-type things (*or kink or incestuous relationship)

(To be clear, cracking a stoic character open like a clam, forced proximity, psychological aspects of kink, and “intricate rituals”-type things are equally appealing to me in sexual and non-sexual contexts, and could really go in either category)

DNW:

setting change AUs (ie. canon divergence or, say, soulmate AUs are fine, but modern AUs are not)

pregnancy

100% fluff

scat

foot fetish (boots and closed-toed shoes are fine!)

on-page scene negotiation, formalized safewords outside of CNC, or the traffic light system

trans male character(s) bottoming or subbing

a focus on a sexual relationship with character(s) under the age of 15

Interview with the Vampire/Vampire Chronicles crossover

This type of crossover really appeals to me in the “character is forced to reckon with perceptions of themselves or their relationships” sense. I’ve seen both seasons of the show and have read IWTV, TVL, QotD, and TVA, but am fine with you pulling from other parts of canon — if it helps make the fic stronger, don’t worry about spoilers. Additionally, discussions about or background depictions of other ships, including Louis/Armand, Louis/Daniel, Lestat/Armand, and Marius/Armand, are completely fine!

Fandom-specific like: Armand being into ageplay as the younger party. D/s dynamics between Armand/Daniel (whether acknowledged or not; I prefer VC Daniel as a sub but have no preference for IWTV Daniel, and like both Armands as switches).

Fandom-specific DNWs: IWTV Armand identifying as Catholic (or any Christian denomination). Both IWTV and VC Daniel as vampires in a fic where they appear (though both being human is completely fine!). I’d also prefer IWTV Daniel to not remember the entirety of his history with Armand at the beginning of the fic. If writing ageplay, the specific words ‘daddy’ or ‘dad’ as titles.

VC!Armand/IWTV!Armand/VC!Daniel/IWTV!Daniel

I think if you locked these four in the same room under the right conditions, you could get at least three of them to have an identity-related meltdown within a week.

I nominated this as a / ship, but I’m not opposed to that being fulfilled by attraction that exists but isn’t acted on (eg. pre-slash), depending on what you feel works best. I am here primarily for the drama.

Some optional prompts: 

How much of Devil’s Minion actually occurred in the IWTV-verse? (And how much did Armand and Louis still being together change how it played out?) Some possibilities which are all equally intriguing to me: all of it, none of it besides s2e5’s “locked in Armand’s basement” equivalent, it got postponed until the 2020s/post-season 2, or only some of it (say, Armand actually did get distracted for a bit after the initial chase since his attention was split between Daniel and Louis).

Daniel at twenty-something is recognizable to Daniel at seventy-something, but holy shit is he so much more embarrassing in person. Is Daniel at seventy-something recognizable to Daniel at twenty-something?

Also, if one of the Daniels is a vampire, what does the other Daniel think about that? What does the other Armand think about that?

IWTV Armand was turned ten years after VC Armand. How do they feel about that?

Do the Armands recognize each other as the same person, or conceptualize each other as occupying the role of ‘Armand,’ as created from scratch by trauma (to use a word that covers a very broad category of things)? Does Armand find it threatening or reassuring for someone to know his secrets?

If sex is involved: what are the reactions to IWTV vampires having functioning genitalia? (What is IWTV Armand’s reaction to VC vampires not, in light of Louis’s line during their fight about Armand ‘pretending he didn’t have a dick for 250 years’?)

IWTV Armand (/ or &) VC Armand

Essentially the same as above, but without the added factor of Daniel. Armand is someone who struggles with holding onto a concrete sense of self or identity, so what does being faced with a version of himself from another universe do? 

(Watch Blade Runner together, potentially. Or try to kill each other. Or have really, really ill-advised sex.)

I’ve requested this as both a / and & relationship, so feel free to write whatever version of their dynamic you’d prefer. Any era for each Armand is welcome!

IWTV Claudia & VC Armand

These two are only three years apart, physically, and I find their struggles with being eternally-teenaged really interesting. I would love to see them interact, particularly given how their respective canon feelings range from uninterested to outright antagonistic!

Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022)

Fandom-specific likes: Armand being into ageplay as the younger party; if digging into Armand’s religious background, present-day Armand considering himself Muslim

Fandom-specific DNW: if writing ageplay, the specific words ‘daddy’ or ‘dad’ as titles

Armand/Daniel

I like identity porn and am therefore particularly drawn to season one when Armand is acting as Rashid — what’s happening during the non-interview hours? How does Armand really feel about the interview and Daniel being the one to conduct it? What does Daniel think is going on? Is he having other dreams that are actually recontextualized memories, besides meeting Louis and Armand at the bar?

Background Louis/Armand is more than okay to include!

Solo: Armand

*marge simpson voice* I just think he’s neat!

Armand is someone who wears a lot of masks, and doesn’t seem to ever let up on that, even around people he loves (see: seventy-year relationship with Louis). He needs to have all the control in a situation but doesn’t like the responsibility that comes with it, and as a result he has such immense power in the later parts of his life but still doesn’t feel safe. And then this keeps digging him into a deeper and deeper hole. One of the most interesting aspects about him to me is the way that he just keeps going, just keeps surviving and making the best of things (terrible as that can be for the people around him).

Please note that the ‘focus on a sexual relationship involving a character under 15’ DNW does not apply here; if you want to write about Armand’s childhood/adolescence, go for it.

Downton Abbey

Fandom-specific DNW: explicit sexual content.

Thomas & Anna; Thomas & Gwen; Thomas & Tom Branson; Thomas & William; Thomas/OMC

I’ve grouped all of the requests together because they strike the same chord for me: Thomas interacting with people. I find Thomas’s relationships with the other staff particularly interesting, given the way he rails against the system while still being trapped within it (until the movies, at least). I think Gwen and Branson both play off of this in different ways: Gwen gets out entirely, while Branson becomes part of the family and has his politics sanded away. 

I particularly like how Thomas and Anna’s friendship is able to develop over the course of the show, and the little moment of comfort they share after Sibyl dies. Thomas and William don’t ever get this chance (in part because they’re in direct competition as footmen, in part because William dies), but is there a universe where they could have?

For Gwen, I am particularly interested in the period after she’s left service, but all eras of the show are welcome! 

I would also be interested in an expansion on some of the minor potentially-supernatural elements of the show (Mary’s premonition of Matthew, the ouija board). Is Downton haunted? Does our duo have to exorcize a ghost together? Is Downton, in itself, a malevolent house? Horror is more than welcome here, as are supernatural AUs that don’t change the setting away from Downton (eg. a character is a vampire).

Finally, I would be so interested to read a fic wherein any of these characters are also queer (particularly trans)! What does that do to the dynamic of the house, given that everyone seems to know about Thomas? He’s allowed all the drawbacks of the closet and very little of the protection; is that true for the other person?

I would prefer show- or period-typical attitudes towards queerness (ie. societal homophobia exists and characters who are sympathetic towards Thomas and/or gayness don’t frame their feelings in a 21st century way). However, it absolutely does not have to be a significant factor in the work. 

If a character aside from the OMC is trans, I would prefer their canonical gender to not be their actual gender/the gender they are written as (ie. they are not stealth and have not socially or medically transitioned; for example, Anna as a trans man or William as agender). Portrayals of dysphoria and euphoria are both okay to include. Nonbinary genders are more than welcome, although I would also prefer them to be expressed in period-esque language if discussed. (I would prefer the OMC to be either cis or a stealth trans man.)

The Locked Tomb

Alecto/John

I find these two absolutely fascinating — the term “complicated relationship” seems made for them — and would be interested in literally anything in any time period for them, including post-NtN. Some questions I’m interested in: How much does Alecto understand about humans? What did eating her soul do to John? What did it do to her? What were the pre-Resurrection days like for them? When she was Earth, did Alecto try to communicate in other ways before giving John necromancy? How do they actually feel about each other?

Alecto/Harrow

I find it so touching that Alecto makes Harrow want to live, when she first sees her as a child. I also like that Harrow is Anastasia’s legacy, and that’s why Alecto recognizes her. I’d love to see anything with these two, but I’m particularly interested in the periods where they can’t interact. How did Harrow build up Alecto as an ideal as a child? What are Alecto’s thoughts on HtN, where Harrow interprets her as a hallucination? 

Mentions of other ships, including Harrow/Gideon and Alecto/John, are okay to include.

The following worldbuilding prompts are just going to be peppering you with optional questions; pick whatever you’re drawn to, even if it isn’t listed here!

WB: The Culture of Different Houses

The following is a list of things that I think would be interesting to explore: marriage (intra- and inter-House) & marriage traditions, parenthood (particularly when the Fourth has such a high casualty rate and technology allows for external pregnancy), attitudes towards different disabilities (ie. the Seventh apparently finds hereditary cancer very romantic, but what about other Houses?), career paths, attitudes towards social issues, educational systems, literature (high-brow and not), race (the Houses are raceless, in theory, but what does that actually mean?), gender, historical beliefs, beliefs about war and the military, art, clothing & fashion, the economy, government, beliefs about sex, beliefs about necromancy and necromancers, beliefs about non-necromancers, beliefs about cavaliers, attitudes towards taboo sexual topics like incest and necrophilia (passe on the Third, but what about elsewhere?), birthdays & childhood, how living on (space stations on) different planets affects beliefs about (literal and personal) space, land, and food. How has any of this shifted over the last 10,000 years?

WB: Public Perception of Lyctors

We know that the personal names of Lyctors are not known, but are their faces? Are there particular legends associated with any of them? Do people pray to them, specifically? What do people think a Lyctor is (uber-powerful necromancers given power by the Emperor?) Is the process of becoming a Lyctor thought about? What about the military, who might be the only people to actually interact with them in person? What other holy documents does the Sixth have and study? What’s been written about them (such as the documents at the end of GtN)? How have perceptions of them shifted over the past 10,000 years?

WB: Theology

What does the Tome actually contain? Who wrote it? (Do just the Eighth have access to the original versions?) What gets taken metaphorically, what gets taken literally, and what doesn’t make any sense to someone without 21st century Earth knowledge? Are they adding stuff that Jod is saying currently, or is it a finished document? What apocrypha gets passed down orally; what doesn’t get shared between planets? Also overlapping with above, what does each House think about how the others practice? How do the different schools of necromancy (flesh, bone, soul.) affect people’s beliefs? What does day-to-day religious practice look like for an average person? What does atheism look like? How are views on personhood affected by concrete knowledge that the soul exists and is divorced from the body after death? What do people think about the River? Does anyone outside the Ninth think about Alecto? Finally, how have beliefs shifted over the 10,000 years?

The Time Master

Tarod/Yandros

The entire time I was reading this trilogy — which is essentially an amnesia plotline for a former god of Chaos who is currently a human wizard — I expected a third act betrayal from Yandros (his brother, also a god of Chaos), and I am so charmed that it did not happen. I love how obviously Yandros’s perspective of what’s happening doesn’t match up with Tarod’s, and how willing he is to go with Tarod’s plan even when he thinks it’s stupid. I'm also intrigued by the way Tarod's priorities and loyalties are altered by his physiology (whether he's a human, a human tapping into his power, or a lord of Chaos). Was this something they anticipated going in?

I think there's a lot of potential for interaction in the time between books where Tarod is trapped in the completely empty castle for ??? amount of time. They literally can't get the plot moving, so what else is there to do? (I think Yandros may not be able to contact Tarod at this point, technically, but I am more than willing to suspend my disbelief.)

WB: Religion

We see a lot of institutional worship over the course of the series, but what does it look like for your average person? How would it change going forward into Equilibrium? What does the average person actually know about the gods, either of Chaos or of Order? (Do any gods besides Tarod, Yandros, and Aeoris have names?)

The Magnus Archives

Fandom-specific DNW: allosexual Jon (he can be sex-favorable and/or have sex with Elias, I’d just prefer he was written as asexual), outright noncon between Jon/Elias (dubcon and non-sexual overstepping of boundaries is okay; noncon is okay for the Agnes solo)

Jon/Elias

This pairing is so appealing to me for the gothic vibes. Every season offers a slightly different dynamic, and I find the season three period particularly interesting, because it’s the point where Jon is aware that a struggle for power exists and begins to come into his own. I find the pairing appealing for the way it offers a view of a monstrous transformation which is not judged by the other person (and is in fact actively encouraged). I like Jon as both a reluctant monster, who is doing his absolute best to find a non-existent moral solution for his food supply, and as someone who gives himself over into it and is perhaps able to find some peace in it. 

Elias treats Jon like a lamb for slaughter, and I am fascinated by the real affection he has for Jon while at the same time he deliberately shapes him into something that will serve his own purposes. I love how delighted he is in MAG 102 when Jon unthinkingly uses his powers, and when Jon compels him in MAG 92. I like this as a point of tension in their relationship, particularly in season 3 and 4 where Jon is really struggling with maintaining his humanity. I’d love to see something where Jon is able to get the upper hand, or gets a moment of comfort from Elias (particularly in season four or five where it’s rough going with the other staff). ← I love how fucked up everybody’s interpersonal relationships get in the pressure cooker environment of the Archives/end of the world.

I can easily see either Jon or Elias having Reddit accounts, and I think there’s potential for a very fun You’ve Got Mail-esque plot there. Social media in general seems like it would be great for Beholding, and I would love to see anything you can come up with for in-universe posts.

Solo: Agnes Montague

It is the ruling principle of TMA that your choices are what matters: how does this apply to Agnes, who was literally born as an avatar? 

I’d love to see literally anything from her perspective, as she’s someone who is very much constructed by (very biased) others in canon. What does she think about things?

How does she relate to the Desolation, and how does she relate to other people? She killed people very early in life, and was very much raised in a cult — how does this affect her? What was her childhood at Hill Top Road actually like? (I would honestly take a whole middle grade book about Agnes’ time as a child in the ’60s.) Did she feel like a child, or did she always feel like something separate? Does she like what she’s doing — if not, was there ever a point where she did, or tried to? How does she feel about the other entities/avatars, and the jockeying for power with the rituals? What specifically leads up to her death? Was it a rebellion or what the Lightless Flame asked of her? How does she feel about being bound to Gertrude?

I imagine this could be quite grim, but I would also take something where she gets to be happy, even if just for a little bit!

I’m fine with either gen or shipfic (particularly Jude/Agnes, Gertrude/Agnes, Jack/Agnes, Jon/Agnes, or Annabelle/Agnes)!

[bosspigeon]

@omgkalyppso YOU HAVE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD AND THUS THIS INSANE WALL OF TEXT WILL BE GOING UNDER A CUT YEEHAW <3

OKAY SO. i am personally a HUGE FAN of the concept that a deity's power/status comes primarily from Belief. D&D lore has gods coming into power in so many different ways, and there are plenty of gods who are all of similar domains who duke it out when they feel like somebody is stepping on their toes (LOOKIN AT YOU, DEAD THREE) but there are just as many gods who used to be mortals who end up Ascending somehow through deed or deific favor! (there are also beings whos "godhood" is a bit murky/muddled, like certain Archfey and Archdevils)

i feel like Moss, as not just a Bhaalspawn, but a "perfect" Bhaalspawn, crafted from Bhaal's own flesh, already has kind of a leg up on this matter, even if he's resisting Daddy Dearest's wishes for him to be his Perfect Murderbeast with the power of love and big baby eyes 🥺i think he would technically count as a demigod/titan already? even if he winds up denying Bhaal's will in the end

this is all just a very long-winded lead-up to where this train of though originally started: Questioning just what to do, narratively speaking, about the SEVEN THOUSAND VAMPIRE SPAWN being released into the wilderness to??? idk decimate local populations of horny monsterfuckers with eyes bigger than their body's capacity to generate blood???

i don't think it's a perfect solution, especially in the beginning, but i do think Moss has learned one thing from his journey to becoming his own person is that nobody gets where they are without help, whether they acknowledge that or not. Kindness is what got him as far as he did. Curiosity, certainly. But he made friends. He grew to trust and care about people, and they helped him to find himself outside of the murderous urges stitched into the very core of his being. He wouldn't have gotten as far as he did if he did not make bonds with people and realize that if he were to give in to those Urges, if he was to give in to his "destiny," those people he grew to care about, the bonds he'd created, would be gone forever.

His greatest act of defiance against what he was meant to be was a hand outstretched.

And so THIS is where "belief as the root of a deity's power" comes into play.

So there are Seven Thousand Vampire Spawn suddenly released into the big ol world after several centuries of imprisonment. I imagine, when given freedom, a ton of them probably scamper off into the wilderness. Maybe they survive, maybe they don't, but at the end of the day, you can only help the ones who want to be helped.

So Moss, awkwardly, clumsily, but earnestly, offers his hand to the ones that are willing, and to the ones that aren't, he sends them off with the best chance at survival he can give them. Maybe he passes on information/tips that Astarion is too unpopular/guilty to pass on himself. He's also a big reader! He reads every book he can get his hands on. He fell off a goddamn spaceship with all the knowledge of the world of a newborn creature, and sort of learned as he went. He does his best to give the ones willing to listen what he can offer in terms of advice, and whether they take it or not, he makes sure they know they can always seek him out of they need his help again.

So, I imagine these fledgeling vampires have their own little familial units they've sort of bonded with over a couple hundred years of captivity in close quarters, and from there i'm sure plenty of little splinter communities form. Plenty of lone wolf types, sure, but covens are a thing for a number of magical creatures--hags, witches, and vampires included.

Most of them likely don't interact with Moss directly. There are literally thousands of them, after all. He can't talk to all of them, it would take ages. I think a lot of his advice and well-wishes and offers of aid are passed on by word of mouth. He likely also acts as a sort of mediator between them and those who, while just as unwilling as they were, were still complicit in what happened to them.

Things like this take time, of course. I'm not saying Moss just up and decided to become the Shepherd to this wayward flock of bloodthirsty orphans. This is probably months, if not years, of slow progress. Moss's Deification is definitely epilogue territory. The Spawn are probably all lying low while the world deals with Plot Shit, and then they come out of the woodwork when things have settled a bit.

So Moss? Is a big presence. Not just in terms of physicality (the mf is 7'3" and built like two or three brick shithouses cemented together) but in personality. Before, with the Urges, there is definitely something haunted to him, something wild and barely leashed. Once he's free? He's just so calm. A soft voice and a soothing presence, but one that radiates a sort of raw, wild power. Eyes that seem endless, soft and dark and fathomless. That hand outstretched seems big enough to break you, but it doesn't, and you trust that it won't.

I imagine that's the sort of thing that's sort of talked up, when word is being passed between these little splinter communities of lost and uncertain vampires. Word of mouth is a powerful thing, after all, and stories become bigger and bigger as they spread. There's a Larger Than Life idea of him that spreads.

And maybe those spawn do just split off into the world, cause problems. Some starve, some go deep underground, some kill and are hunted down, and some become the hunters that stalk the night. But some? Some think back to those stories they were told, or to the glimpses of the behemoth of a man they saw convince one of their own, with soft words and soft eyes to spare them all, to be better than what made them, and they seek him out. Seeking guidance. Seeking refuge.

And that is how Moss, the Dark Urge, the Spawn of Bhaal, becomes the Savior of the Undead and the Damned.

why does my endgame for my ocs at least half the time wind up "becomes a god ig"

[angry-geese]

Absinthe

Vampire!Choso x reader

Warnings: nsfw/mdni. shameless smut. mentions of murder/suicide, blood and gore, slight body horror, mild predator/prey dynamic, yandere!choso. monsterfucking, biting, blood play, blood drinking, face sitting/riding, cunnilingus, semi-public sex, somnophilia mention, mildly dubious consent (the reader is into it but they're also slightly terrified, tagging it as this just in case), mild praise kink (choso calls the reader a good girl), fem reader.

Summary: when a series of violent murders plagues your sleepy town, your life is seemingly turned on its head. more and more women are being killed by the day. the possible threat of a serial killer looms over your head. you find yourself seeking comfort in your strange, but beautiful roommate

Word count: 7.6k

jjk masterlist

tagging: @naoyas90dayfiance @jujutsukuna :)

There's something weird about your roommate.

More specifically, his older brother.

When you first found this place, it almost seemed too good to be true. A three bedroom house for rent, within walking distance of your work, with rent going for dirt cheap. The one—and seemingly only—downside was that the top floor of the house was under renovations, and was barren, leaving only one working bathroom downstairs. Which you didn't mind. The owner of the house was an older woman, renting the place out to earn some extra money after the death of her husband.

In a town full of college kids, the offer was too good to pass up. Who knew when an opportunity like that would just fall into your lap again?

Though you and your roommate could cover the rent together, having a third roommate would take some stress off the two of you. Along came Itadori, a freshman at the nearby college. Yuji was a sweet kid. A little odd, but not outstandingly weird. Although ideally you wanted your third roommate to be another woman, he was nice enough, and he could pay rent on time. Yuji was the least strangest person out of everyone who applied, so not long after he was moving in.

And in the first few months, you didn't see much of him. Your work schedules are complete opposites, and he had class during the day. He always says hi to you when you run into him in the hall, and he gladly takes any leftovers you have when you cook. He’s a little dumb, but sweet, and seems to make friends with everyone he meets.

After your other roommate found a job in another city, and had to move out, you were desperate for another one. Between a college student making slightly more than minimum wage, and your job at the morgue, there was little money to spare. Plus, there was an extra room in the house. Soon, finding a new roommate became a priority.

Then along came Choso.

Choso is pleasant enough, albeit stranger than his little brother. You've met him a handful of times. Mostly on late, drunken nights where you're fumbling with the keys to your house. You can't say you know him too well. Your conversations were typically short, and always in passing. Even before he moved in, he was often over, visiting Itadori. The two are close. Yuji vouched for him, your landlord liked him well enough, and soon he was moving in.

Over the past few weeks, not much has changed in your daily routine. Your job consumed most of your time. Choso, however strange, yet oddly charming, became nothing more than background noise. He settled in rather fast. He paid his rent on time, and though he seemed to sleep at the strangest hours of the day, he was respectful, and quiet. A step above some of the previous roommates you've had.

Slowly he fell to the back of your mind.

Then it happened.

A body was found. Out in the woods behind an apartment complex. On the riverbank trail. As it's a fairly busy path, the body was discovered quickly.

The first was deemed an accident. Primarily a suicide, as the woman showed no signs of self defense, but had a boxcutter on her person.

Her body was completely drained of blood.

You've never seen anything like it.

It's an odd way to commit suicide. Women generally overdose as a method. Such a gruesome act is uncommon. As a whole, such a method is hard, as not many people are able to stab themselves in the throat in such a way. When people end up on your table, it's usually from natural causes, and the occasional car accident. Not suicide. That’s not to say it's impossible. But it's rare.

It's a big city. One near a college. People—usually students—go missing. Either of their own free will, or from drunken accidents. Murders happen, sure, but not frequently. And most are often solved within weeks. There's no rivaling gangs, or some sick serial killer on the loose.

Or so people first assumed.

The incisions on their necks are clean. Not clean enough to have been done with a scalpel, but clean. No tears. Right down to their carotid artery. Severing it completely.

Such a cut would kill any normal human in minutes. Seconds, sometimes. Blood loss would kick in and they would fall unconscious. But they show no signs of fighting back. There's no signs of a struggle at each of the crime scenes. The victims either knew their attacker, or were caught completely off guard.

But none of them knew each other. One girl wasn't even from town. There's nothing connecting the victims that keep appearing on your table, except for they are all around your age. Mid twenties. Young, but not too young. Most are freshly out of college, or are in their final years. And they’re all women.

Worst of all, where does all the blood go? Though it's rare for you to see the crime scenes itself, you’ve been shown photos. The blood is gone. If the women were killed there, there would be blood. Everywhere. But there isn't. And if the bodies were moved, there would be bruising, or dirt on the deceased. But again, there isn't. There's no sign of the bodies being moved after their time of death.

For others, this was worrying. For you, this became a typical Tuesday. If it was a murder, it’d be solved soon. But tracking down murderers isn't your job. Dealing with the dead is. Slowly you pushed these thoughts to the back of your mind.

He comes to you in the dead of sleep. Soft. Cold. Silent.

You used to find solace in being alone. You're a solitary person, finding comfort in loneliness, taking much joy in it. Often you'd make jokes that you prefer the dead over the living. But lately, you find yourself turning from your solitude. Wondering what the dark on your walk home brings. What lurks in the shadows that follow you.

His visits are fleeting. So is his touch. But in its wake it brings a cold comfort.

At first they were nightmares. Sleep paralysis. Or so you've explained it as. In the late hours of the night, bleeding into the early hours of the morning, you find yourself frozen in fear. The silhouette that lurks in the corner of your room never speaks, only watching you with cold eyes. Some days he comes to sit on the edge of your bed. You don't truly know if it's a he. But the figure much resembles a man, though you never get to see his face.

You've stopped drinking. Alcohol only makes you feel sick. And the older you get, the longer your hangovers last, and the more your anxiety spikes during them. You don't understand how Yuji can go out partying each night, and come home to get ready for classes the next morning.

The boys continue on with their daily life. Yuji goes to class. Choso goes to work.

You find comfort in being around Choso. Yuji is gone most hours of the day. Hanging out with friends, or going to classes. Choso works nights. Though his schedule seems to change around a lot. You're not quite sure what he does for a living. He sleeps all day, only to be up and ready for work by the time you arrive home in the evenings.

More bodies appear. Two women.

They were discovered the same day, but times of death varied. The one had been dead for over several days when she was found, while the other was still warm. Medical examiner placed her time of death a few hours before she was found, not far from the other body. Neither bodies showed any sign of being moved—or other traumas—after death.

It's slowly sinking in that there may be a serial killer on the loose. One that takes much joy in draining the blood of young women. A silent, cold terror falls over your sleepy town.

The killings were slow at first. The original was discovered weeks before the second two. But the cause of death was too similar in both cases to overlook.

It didn't start to get to you until one of your coworkers wound up on your table. Her pale body drained of blood. She had invited you out for drinks. Which you refused. You had said goodnight to her the previous evening.

And little did you know, you would be the last person to see her alive.

You can't help but wonder what would have happened to you if you agreed. Would that be you? Would you have been the one on your cold metal table? Would your family be called in to identify your pale, bloodless body?

You were quickly ruled out as a suspect. The cameras outside your work caught you heading home at 6:30pm. She was killed somewhere around midnight. Not to mention, the cameras at the train station caught you taking your usual ride home. Out of everyone questioned, all of them said you weren't capable of such a thing.

The rest of the day was a blur of questions. That night you would come home, dragging your feet through the door. Yuji was away at a party. Choso was the only one home, sitting on the couch, idly switching his attention between his phone, and a movie. It was his day off. Even when he's not working, he's practically nocturnal. Though he's rather quiet, and respectful of everyone's sleep schedules, so you can't complain too much.

Maybe he noticed your grim appearance. Up until now, he'd been distant. He was rather timid, and shy. You made polite small talk when you ran into each other before work, but aside from that, your interactions were few. He was a little awkward, but had the same charms as his brother. Talking to him was rather easy.

"How was work?" He asks.

"Okay," you say. Out of respect for the dead, you generally skip the details. "Tiring. But since when is that new?"

You join him on the couch, tossing your keys and purse onto the coffee table. There's a certain slump to your shoulders that he hasn't noticed before. The dark circles under your eyes are only getting bigger. You're practically dragging yourself through the house. You’re not certain you have enough energy to both cook dinner, and shower, so you find yourself wondering which one you need to do the least.

"What's the matter?"

You're silent for a moment. You consider whether or not it's a big enough issue to tell him, or to just drop it.

"I had to process one of my coworkers today." You say. "I don't know what the hell I’m supposed to tell her husband. She invited me to go out to a bar with her last night. I didn't feel up to it, so I cancelled on her,

“And I know it's probably selfish of me to think this, but I could have just as easily been the one on the table today. Ready to be dissected by all my unknowing co-workers. And I'm just relieved it wasn't me,

"I realize that's a shitty thing to say. That doesn't suddenly exclude me from this guy's sick fantasies. The police aren't any closer to finding him than they first were!"

He can hear the anger in your voice. The frustration, and grief. He wants to do something to help, though he’s struck with uncertainty. You need time to grieve. Perhaps being alone is what's best for you right now.

Though you aren't looking at him, you feel his gaze turn to you. His eyes linger on you for a while before he speaks.

“I think you’re smart enough that he won't go after you.” He says.

Somehow you don't believe him.

Because you’re the killer’s type.

"I know this sounds weird," you say, "but can you… hold me? Just for a little bit?"

He nods, and opens his arms, not even taking a moment to consider it, just agreeing. Almost as if he's been waiting for this moment. Instinctively you go into them. He's not very warm, but there's an odd comfort to his presence. He pulls you to sit in his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. His body rocks yours with each breath he takes.

You could swear there's not a heartbeat in his chest. You chalk it up to the thick hoodie he wears. The fabric of it is rather soft, and you run your fingers across it to help calm yourself.

"You really tired yourself out today, huh?" He asks.

You nod.

It would be easier to stay awake if you weren't so tired, or if his hoodie wasn't so soft, or if he wasn't softly rocking you in his arms.

He's there when you fall asleep. By the time you wake up, the sun has long since set, and he's gone to work. A blanket has been thrown over you, but you're still wearing your work clothes.

As time wears on, you spend more time around Choso. Exhaustion seeps into your very core. No matter how many hours you sleep, you wake up bone tired. He helps you cook, clean, and keep things around the house in order. Though you can very well do them yourself, he insists. And some nights you're too tired to refuse.

Mysterious scratches have begun appearing on your body. You've always moved around a lot in your sleep. At first, you didn't think much of it. But as more kept appearing, and as you grew more tired despite sleeping the same each night, you began to get worried. This prompted you to visit your doctor. It was about time you go in for a yearly checkup anyway.

Your doctor said your iron was low, and gave you a prescription for some vitamins. After taking them, and getting more rest, you began to feel better. Healing was a gradual, slow process, but soon you were cleared to go back to work. Choso still helped around the house. The routine you settled into felt like that of partners, more than of roommates.

And when more bodies would wind up on your table, lifeless against the cold metal slab, you would fall asleep in his arms. Sometimes on the couch. Sometimes you'd crawl into his bed, like a child wanting comfort from their parents after a nightmare. Seeking out his presence for the few hours before he had to leave for work. And most nights he was awake, Opening his arms for you to crawl into. He was always respectful, never making any odd comments, or touching you if you didn't want to be touched. There was a healthy apprehension behind his actions, that of any man thrown into such a position. He was sweet. Always making sure you were eating enough, and getting enough sleep, never wanting to make you uncomfortable.

More often than not, you were in his bed. Even when he was away, it provided a sense of comfort. It always smelled so nice—like him, and his cologne—and was far more comfortable than your own. As fall turned into winter, and the house's heating stopped working, you found yourself seeking him out more. Together the two of you would nap, and bask in the other's warmth.

Or his lack of such.

You hardly remember the night. It was a Friday. Yuji was—to no one's surprise—out partying, and would be gone for most of the weekend. After work you stopped at the farmers market, catching it before it shut down for the night, gathering some ingredients needed to make a soup.

The walk home was uneventful. Normally you'd take the train. But it was nice out, and the sky was clear, albeit cold.

Choso is sitting on the couch when you get home. A movie plays on the tv, though he pays no attention to it. He's only wearing sweatpants. His hair is down loose around his shoulders, and is still damp. He must have just gotten out of the shower. You hope there's still some hot water left.

You're not subtle in the way your gaze lingers on him. He’s attractive, you won't deny that. He hides himself in baggy clothes. It's no surprise to you. You've spent many nights tracing the hard planes of muscle. His arms have always brought you a feeling of security. Many nights you spent with your head leaned against his chest, listening for the beating of his heart.

You set the groceries down, and head to your room to change out of your work clothes. From a pile of clothes abandoned on your chair you pull a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. You've been meaning to fold your laundry, but between work, and everything else going on in life, it's slipped your mind. You make a mental note to do laundry tomorrow morning. Your basket is getting full.

He’s still on the couch when you come out, idly scrolling through his phone. You sit beside him. Though you’re hungry, you’ll wait a bit to start dinner. It won't take long, it's only a matter of thawing some meat, and boiling everything in a pot together. Not particularly complex, though a bit time consuming. With the weather growing colder, it sounded nice.

You join Choso on the couch, practically sprawling out across his lap. His arms find your waist and pull you to sit a little closer to him. You lean into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck.

"How was work?" He asks.

"A shitshow." You say. "Another girl turned up."

"That's the second one this week?"

"Third." You say. Though you didn't know her personally, she worked in your building. A receptionist. Only a few years younger than you. Out of college for two years. Studied mortuary science. “This keeps happening! They’re never going to find who’s doing it!”

The irritation in your voice is palpable. Choso doesn't like seeing you in distress. One of his hands finds your head, stroking your hair. His nails are getting long, and feel nice against your scalp.

"You'll be alright.” He says. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

He can't promise that unless you never leave his side. Which you just might.

That's when he pulls you into a kiss.

It catches you entirely off guard. His lips are soft, and the smell of his shampoo is so inviting you can feel yourself leaning into him. For a moment you forget to breathe.

He’s the first to pull away. A faint blush dusts his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and his ears. He turns his head away to hide the smile that creeps up on his lips. From this angle, all you can see is the panic that flashes across his eyes.

“I sorry if that was too forward-” apologies are spilling from his mouth in an instant.

“Choso,” you say, “we’ve been sleeping in the same bed. I'm alright with you kissing me.”

He takes that as permission to continue, pulling you back to deepen the kiss. Your hands tangle in his soft hair. His hands find your hips, greedily kneading the soft flesh of your ass. It's hard to deny the heat that pools between your thighs. His touch sends shocks of electricity up your spine. Wherever his fingers touch, warmth blooms across your skin. You're left with an ache in your core, one that can only be fixed by his touch. He doesn't protest as you grind down against his toned thigh.

You don't even know how long he's wanted to do this.

It's only when you're out of breath, and have to come up for air that he speaks.

“Ride my face.” He says.

You stop. And for a moment he worries he's crossed a line.

"I'm too heavy," you say, "I-I'd suffocate you-"

"Please do." He says, swallowing hard. “I’d die a happy man."

The thought of you using him to get off in such a way warms his cold blood. His pupils have shrunk down to pinpricks.

“Just… shove me off if it gets to be too much,” you say, “or pinch me, or something. I don't want you dying on me.”

“Of course.” He says. The monotone edge to his voice is forced. Behind it you can hear excitement bubbling through.

He's quick to help free you of your shorts, letting out a soft hum of amusement as he realizes you have nothing on underneath. You rarely slept with panties on. Or at least you didn't until you started crawling into bed with him. Either out of modesty, or respect for him, you started wearing shorts with every night shirt you wore to bed. He misses when he could get a good look at your sleeping body. But having you in his own bed was far better than watching you sleep from the corner of your room.

Before you can even stop him, he’s leaning back, pulling you to rest over his face. He's a lot stronger than he looks, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. The feeling of your warm thighs around his head is nearly enough to make him moan. He's not shy about how he adores this. How the taste of your cunt is enough to make his cock stand to attention. How the gasps and moans that leave you are like music to his ears. Your body is so warm and full of life against his. He’s savoring everything about you; how you sound, how you smell, how you taste. He’s quick to bring you to orgasm, working you up with his skilled tongue. Maybe it's the stress. Maybe it's because you haven't had sex in a while. You’ve had past partners, but none as attentive as him. Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought.

You ride out your orgasm on his face for all it's worth. Choso practically forces it out of you. He won't let you go until you’re shaking, and whimpering, and crying out his name like a prayer.

He helps guide you to sit in his lap. Exhausted, and thoroughly fucked-out. Your head falls into the crook of his neck, pressing soft kisses to the junction of flesh where his neck and shoulder meet. Idly your fingers trace the muscles in his arms. Those strong arms that have always made you feel so safe and secure.

Your free hand works lower, palming the bulge of his cock through his sweatpants. The sight of it is nearly enough to make you drool. You’re certain he wants it too. He’s painfully hard, leaking precum against his equally toned thighs, letting out the cutest noises as you grind against him.

The kiss he pulls you into is soft. You can taste yourself on his lips. Not that you mind. His hand moves to cup your face, his thumb tracing slow circles across your cheek.

You hardly hear the jingle of keys in the door.

Yuji drunkenly stumbles through the front door. You pull a blanket into your lap to help cover yourself, and hide Choso, who doesn't seem to be bothered by this at all. You should consider yourself lucky the couch is faced away from the door.

"Oh hey roomie!" Yuji says. "Where's Cho?"

You lean to the side, giving Yuji a better look at his brother. He greets him, and leaves, heading for the bathroom, where you soon hear the shower running.

He either does know, and is choosing not to say anything, or is blissfully ignorant. Both of which are equally possible. Yuji may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but credit where credit is due. He's not too stupid.

As much as you’d like to return the favor—or go for another round, as Choso tried to insist—you went straight to bed. Separate this time. You’re not about to fuck your roommate with his brother in the next room over.

Choso managed to keep his promise.

Less bodies began showing up.

It wasn't a gradual thing. They quite literally stopped appearing. There was the one unrelated murder, and a suicide, plus your usual deaths from natural causes, but no more exanguanations.

Slowly things returned to normal. It was like a fog had lifted. Winter dragged on like an endless death march, leaving the trees dead, and the grass brown. The new year rolled around, though you didn't do much to celebrate. Less and less you found yourself looking over your shoulder.

Choso was worried he had made things awkward. To be fair, things were awkward from the start. You began sleeping in your own bed again. Though you weren't necessarily cold towards him, you were more distant than in past weeks. As things at work began to settle down, you went back to your old routine.

Something has to change.

Maybe it started because of the colder weather, or lack of sunlight. You often found yourself exhausted, and sick. You were colder than normal. Not that the cold has been too much of an issue for you in the past, but it was like you couldn't warm up.

Choso—poor, sweet Choso—had a heated blanket that you spent many nights curled up under, on the opposite side of his bed. You sought him out for the little warmth he could provide.

And provide he did. Letting you curl up next to him, bringing you tea and soup when you’d fall sick, eating you out when you’d wake up in the early hours of the morning begging for him, a growing wetness between your thighs. It was odd how he rarely asked you to return the favor, but you did little to protest when he insisted on a second—or even a third—round.

If his younger brother noticed something was up, he never said anything about it. Though, knowing Yuji, he might have just thought the two of you were close friends.

The presence of his younger brother didn't stop him from fucking you across every flat surface in your house. In your own rooms, over the counter in the kitchen, on the couch when you have the place to yourself. Sometimes Yuji was home, sometimes he wasn't. He’d take you on the porch outside if you so pleased. But you don't. And you don't want your neighbors complaining any more than they do. You’re loud enough as it is with several walls separating you. But you make such sweet noises, and Choso wants everyone to hear them.

There are few things he likes seeing more than your pretty body writhing under his.

It was one of the not-so rare days you were calling out sick from work. You were told to rest up, and feel better soon. Which you had all intentions of. Choso had errands to run, and was gone before you even woke up. The other side of the bed was cold by the time you were up and moving.

You go about your day as normal, making tea, and breakfast although it's well past noon. Eggs and bacon sounded good. After breakfast, you settle down on the couch, with a blanket and more tea, intending on marathoning movies. The late morning turns into the early afternoon. Before you know it, the sun is setting.

When the door opens, you expect it to be Yuji, coming home after his classes.

In walks Choso, his arms drenched in blood.

It takes you nearly a minute to process the scene in front of you. During that time, the two of you both stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

Did he get hurt? Did someone attack him? Is this serial killer going after men now?!

“Holy shit!” You say. “What the hell happened?! Were you hurt?”

“Oh,” Choso says softly, “you’re home. I thought you’d still be at work.”

Though his tone is monotone, as usual, there's a hint of excitement behind his voice. Barely restrained. Like he's holding back.

“Come here,” you say, and slowly he walks forward, joining you on the couch, “are you going to tell me what happened?”

You give him a once over for any injuries, but find none. Is this blood even his?! The entire time he's silent, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Most of the people you deal with are dead. The living aren't exactly your forte.

“Hey, we need to get you to a doctor.” You say. “I can only do so much here. Why don't you go get changed. I’ll give you a ride to the ER.”

That's when he licks his hand.

“Gross!” You say, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it from his mouth. Is he having some sort of mental break? Do you need to call an ambulance? “Don't do that! Do you know how many diseases you could have just given yourself?!”

You cringe away as he tries to kiss you, planting your hands on his chest and giving him a good shove. Even as you think back to the morning’s—and the previous night’s—events, you find nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing outside of your normal routine has happened.

Aside from you calling out of work sick.

“Why don't we go get you cleaned up,” you say, trying to guide him to the bathroom, “we don't need you getting any blood on the furniture.”

Maybe if you distract him long enough it’ll give you time to call an ambulance. Or the police.

Just what has your poor, sweet Choso gotten himself into?

He doesn't protest as you run a bath, and help him get undressed. He tries to help you undress, but you simply swat his hands away, and tell him to let you take care of him.

If something happened, then his clothes might be evidence, so you make a mental note to not wash them. One of your neighbors must have seen something. A man walking home covered in blood in almost broad daylight wouldn't go unnoticed. Or so you’d assume. Granted, the overcast weather, and the setting sun would leave it pretty dark.

What makes you the most worried is the lack of wounds overall. If he got into a fight, it's more than likely he would have wounds on his hands. Even if he were using a weapon, the force needed to stab, slash, or cut another human being would bruise him. It's a lot harder to stab a person than you’d think. Not to mention you’ve got bones and muscles in the way. Unless you truly knew where to aim—or got really lucky—there would be signs.

The water turns a bright shade of pink as you help scrub him down. He can't help but think of how much better it’d be if you got into the water with him. And how nice your body would look covered in red.

Choso can sense the way your pulse quickens. You're very good at hiding your fear. Though you must be terrified. Years in your line of work has hardened you, and left you calm and collected under pressure.

He hates seeing you in distress. But there's a sweet, intoxicating feeling that accompanies it. He wonders how sweet your blood has gotten, mixed with adrenaline. Fear makes it taste better. He hopes you know that. But yours never needed fear to make it the best he’s ever had. You couldn't imagine how many nights he spent debating whether or not to drain you dry.

To kill you would be a waste. You are truly something special.

In his defense, he never took enough to kill you. Really, he didn't need to drain all those women. He doesn't need to feed that much to survive. It was only a plus that you curled up to him each night, seeking his presence. Oh how he’d kill a hundred men just to suckle at your neck while deep in your cunt.

It'll be even better now that you’re awake.

“Get in the water with me,” he says.

“Once I get all this blood off,” you say, holding his hand up to inspect it, “then I’ll refill the tub and get in. I don't want to get sick.”

But he wants you in now.

You stay true to your word. Once you get the majority of the blood off, you drain the water, and start refilling the tubm watching the last of the pink water swirling down the drain. In the meantime, you get undressed, and settle into the shallow, slowly rising water. You add in some soaps, and bath salts you’ve been saving for a special occasion. Supposedly they help with stress, but you’re more anxious than you’ve ever been.

In his arms you used to find comfort. Now they're little more than something to keep track of in case you have to run.

His grip around your waist tightens, pulling you to sit in his lap. His lips find your neck, littering it with kisses, and softly sucking at the sensitive skin. Your neck smells so nice. He finds a washcloth, and some soap, dragging the rough fabric across your skin, admiring the softness of it. If the context were any different, such an action would be completely innocent.

"Choso?" You can hardly choke out his name. "Did you kill all those people?!"

"Not all of them," he says, "some were accidents. But they were done by my kind, if that's what you’re asking.”

Does Yuji know about this? You doubt it. You’d be hard pressed to find something Yuji does know about. You're mentally steeling yourself, eyes frantically scanning the room for a way out. There's nothing nearby you can use as a weapon, save for a ceramic pot, still holding a houseplant. Maybe a good whack over the head will deter him. But knowing Choso…

“I can get to the door before you.” You say.

“Can you?” He asks. “I think I’m faster.”

There's a sharp, stinging pain and his teeth dig into your neck. Though you’re mostly silent, caught by surprise, a small squeak escapes you. It only hurts for a moment. His grip around your waist tightens. And he's saying something- but your head is too foggy to make out any words.

What the hell was that? Did he just draw blood?

The warm feeling of his tongue against your neck is enough to make you shudder. A shock of pleasure is sent up your spine, one which should most surely be pain. Your body is a little too receptive to this. Maybe it's the warm water, but you could almost swear your body is heating up.

Danger and arousal practically overlap in the human mind. Those neurons are very close, practically crossing over in some cases.

While part of you is frozen in fear, part of you finds this extremely hot.

"Sorry, love. I hope it doesn't hurt too bad," he says, "I can't help myself. Yours is the sweetest."

Nobody else compares to you.

He does let you break free. Though you’re soaking wet, you make it out of the bathroom, and down the hall before he catches you. This time you scream, only for one of his large hands to cover your mouth.

“Don't run,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s swooping you up into his arms bridal style, “I’ll always catch you.”

Your elbow swings out, slamming into his sternum hard. He lets out a soft grunt of surprise, though it hurts you more than it hurts him. He's a lot stronger than you. A shock of pain is sent up your arm. It's like hitting a brick wall. By reflex, he drops you, giving you an opening to dash for the door.

But that's where he’s expecting you to go.

You make a sudden left for his bedroom, where there's a sliding glass door that leads out to the porch. From there, you suppose you’ll yell for help. Maybe one of your neighbors will take pity on you, a poor, naked girl running from her insane lover.

In your moment of hesitation, he’s caught up to you, grabbing you by the shoulder and yanking you back. Your terrified gasp much resembles a moan in nature, as heat pools not only in your face, but between your legs.

You’re enjoying this little game of cat and mouse…

In Choso’s mind it only solidifies his view of you as his own. A pretty little thing to preen, and feed off of. His partner. His mate. Oh how pretty your sleeping form looked, oblivious to the way he fed from you.

You pray for Yuji to come home early. For him to not go out partying for once. But your prayers are ignored.

“Don't get my intentions misconstrued,” Choso says, “I have no plans to kill you.”

You're far more valuable to him alive.

You swallow hard. The heat between your legs only builds in intensity. Your teeth find your bottom lip, digging into it hard. Soon the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth.

The sight of him standing before you, naked, with water still dripping off of him is enough to pool the fire that burns in your belly. His hair is loose around his shoulders, his long, dark locks falling into his face. Albeit terrifying, he is handsome.

The worst part is his eyes.

They aren't the eyes of a monster. Nor do they hold any sort of malice, or anger. He looks at you with such adoration that you want to sob. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Like you’re the world to him.

In his defense, he does love you. Just in the twisted way that his undead heart will allow. You loved him too. At one point.

“There was only so much I could take without harming you.” He says. “Only feeding from you proved to have detrimental consequences to your health. If I didn't feed from others, you likely would have died.”

Is that why he’s been so nice? Why he’s been cooking for you, and insisting you take your vitamins?

Your head spins. Maybe it's from the hot water. Maybe this is a nightmare, and in a few minutes you’ll wake up.

Your hand falls to your neck, where warm blood trickles down onto your heaving chest. You don't expect it to come away wet with blood. The red sight makes you nauseous.

“Your neck,” he coos, “why don't you let me help with the bleeding.”

“Like hell I will!”

You back up, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. With a gasp, you fall, hitting the mattress. The bed that was once so inviting is now cold, and unforgiving.

You hardly notice as he crawls in beside you, pulling you to rest against his chest. His lips attack your neck, sukling the small wound. The pleased grunts and groans he makes are enough to fuel the fire burning in your stomach. Every cell in your being is crying out for him to touch you, though the rational part of your brain wants you to fight.

His hand trails lower, eventually finding the slick that pools around your entrance, humming in amusement.

“My good girl,” he coos, “so wet for me.”

His words are enough to send a shock of pleasure up your spine. The months you two have spent together have given him enough time to figure out just what makes you tick. His fingers find your clit, working circles around the bundle of nerves, eliciting a small moan from you. You're so soft, so warm and reactive to his touch. When around you, Choso feels truly alive.

His thumb works circles around your clit while he pumps his fingers. His touch leaves your body feeling warm. And though most of your being wants you to run, you can't help but relax into his touch. He’s your Choso, after all. The same man that let you curl up next to him after a nightmare, and would bring you tea and soup when you were sick.

How could someone so doting be such a monster?

It doesn't take him long to settle into a pattern that makes your toes curl, drawing soft moans from you. Tension builds in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. He's making a mess out of you both. And he’d make a mess out of you every day for the rest of your lives if you’d let him.

This is so wrong. Not that you're complaining.

He's a murderer! But complying might be your best chance at getting out of this.

The heat in your stomach is practically unbearable. Your face buries in his covers, unintentionally inhaling his scent. He just smells so nice. More than anything, you want him to fuck you.

Slowly, gently, he guides you to lay on your back, caging your body under his. You clench around the sudden emptiness, wishing for nothing more than his hand to return. His eyes meet yours for only a moment. Though yours are full of fright, his are filled with affection.

He really does love you. Just in his own way. One that humans don't understand. One that borders on the line of obsession.

Choso leaves a path of wet kisses down your stomach, his lips stained red with blood. The wound on your neck has mostly stopped bleeding. The pain has reduced to a dull ache that throbs with each beat of your heart. The small ways your body reacts, your back arching up towards him, your pulse quickening, only solidifies the thought in his mind that you’re his.

His head comes to rest on your stomach. His hair tickles the sensitive skin of your lower belly, and thighs. You nod, giving him silent permission to continue.

You gasp at the feeling of his cool tongue against your clit, lavishing it with affections. Your cunt is almost as sweet as your blood. And he makes sure you know that, moaning nearly as loud as you at the taste. His arms hook around your legs, pulling you closer to him. Choso is a lot stronger than he looks. You get the impression that—if he so pleased—could keep you there forever.

And he just might, working you closer to orgasm, letting you creep up on that edge but never falling down the other side. Not until you’re crying out his name, and begging to cum. He's making such a mess. Out of you, and himself, and the sheets. If Choso could purr, he would be.

“Please, Cho,” you whine, “I wanna cum!”

This only draws a dark laugh from him. He pulls away, his chin covered in saliva, and your own slick.

“Not yet, love.” He says. “It’ll feel so much better when you finally cum on my cock.”

He wastes no time in lining himself up, giving his already hardened cock a few pumps before pressing into you. There's no stinging as he pushes in. There hardly ever is. Choso isn't a selfish lover in the slightest. He knows his size is intimidating. He always makes sure you’re prepped enough to take him.

Choso doesn't bother using a condom. There's no need, now that you’re his. Oh how he’s been waiting for the day to see your fucked-out form leaking his cum. You truly are his now.

It's oddly intimate, the way he litters your neck with kisses as he ruts into you. His lips leave your skin feeling warm. He tries to pace himself, really, but the warm, velvety feeling of your cunt is too much. You feel too good, he can't hold himself back. Though he hasn't felt human in a long time, you truly make him feel like one.

His hands plant on the back of your knees, shoving them up towards your chest. There's a pleasant stretch in your hips as he guides you into a mating press. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room. Your moans are hardly drowned out by his words of praise, calling you a good girl, telling you how well you take him, how much he loves you.

And you really are starting to believe it.

“Cho- I'm gonna-”

“Do it then,” he says, “cum for me.”

When you finally cum, you cum hard. Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, pulling you under, and spitting you back out wrong. Your body twitches, overcome with pleasure, riding out your orgasm on his cock. Exhaustion slowly sets in, leaving your limbs heavy, and your eyes struggling to stay open.

He’s not far behind, his thrusts growing unsteadier. His words of praise turn into babble, incoherent sentence fragments, mostly which consist of “I love you”s. He gives no warning when he’s about to cum, instead, making sure that you take every last drop of it. The cold feeling of his cum makes you shudder. It's not outright unpleasant, though it feels strange. He doesn't bother pulling out, only settling down beside you on the bed, softening cock still inside you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest.

Just what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

Part of you wishes for your roommate to stumble through the front door. Part of you is content in your lover's arms. Has anything really changed about your Choso? Would Yuji even help? He’s his brother after all.

Your limbs feel heavy, though your head feels light. Weightless. It's not a normal feeling. It's like you're drunk, but you haven't touched a drop of alcohol. His lips find your neck, lapping at the steady stream of blood from the reopened wound.

You’re completely helpless as you fall into the cold grasp of sleep.

[kiame-sama]

I have decided! Monsterfucking and Furries are fully acceptable.

See, the I had been grappling with the difference with Bestiality and Furries. As I understand it, the Sentient Mind of a being must be taken into account and as far as Bestiality is concerned, that Sentient Mind need not be present. For those who are Furries, the Sentient Mind must be present but not always stronger than instinct.

Take SCP-682 for example; the Hard to Destroy Lizard is sentient and is aware of themselves and others as individuals (it just hates humans).

Space faring creatures (ie Xenomorphs, Promethians, Yautja, ect) also count under sentient as they literally travel through space and kill other species. They are sentient.

Sea entities (ie Cecaelia, Mer folk, ect) count.

Non-human entities (ie Demons, Angels, Fae, werewolves, vampires, ect) count.

Hybrids (Cloud Meadow monsters, Monster Musume, ect) count.

Do with it as you will!

[ash-rigby]

Hey! Would you rate your favourite type of monsters on a scale of ten? Like werewolves, vampires, eldritch, alien, etc.

Oh, absolutely! It's a bit hard for me to assign specific ratings, so I hope that listing my top 10 will suffice.

10. Merfolk: Especially shark merfolk. Or just the addition of monstrous features to the conventionally beautiful idea that people typically have when thinking of them. Sharks. Octopi/Squids. And oh my god; deep sea merfolk? Take me now.

9. Haunted Armor: Totally underrated in my opinion. I always love seeing artists make really creative and/or intricately beautiful designs for the armor itself.

8. Faeries: Faerie folk are lovely and can vary a lot. Elegant, fun or something darker. And you've got to love the potential for the inclusion of wild, weird sex magic.

7. Werewolves: A classic; many monsterfuckers' gateway monster from the sound of things. I like the usual narrative of protectiveness. Not in a possessive way, but just like a big creature being naturally inclined to make you feel safe? Top tier. But even when that's not an aspect, I still love a good werewolf.

6. Lizardfolk: I'm counting all kinds of anthro reptiles under this by the way. Strictly anthro. I'm not into feral dragons even if they have sapience. But damn, do I love scales and reptilian noises.

5. Eldritch Creatures: What better way to conquer a fear of the unknown than a little personal exploration😉? Jokes aside, there's a lot you can do under the definition of "eldritch" and I have a high appreciation for monster designers that go whole hog with the concept.

4. Robots: Kind of the same answer I gave for haunted armor. Lots of cool design potential. But I also always find the concept of synthetic life to be very interesting. I adore the idea of a being made that way possibly learning to love (platonically or romantically) despite it probably not being programed to--because how would their creator do so? It's a beautiful idea.

3. Demons: Demons are just inherently hot. I don't know how they do it. There's not a long-winded explanation I can give. But they are the best creatures to make hyrbids of other monsters/nonhumans with. Demon merfolk, demon anthros, demon robots. Just like, "Here's an already great thing but we added some spice".

2. Aliens: Aliens have so much potential and I'm a slut for interesting and unique species design. Like, don't give me "human woman but blue". Give me a monstrous space babe, if you please. Extra tentacles on the side.

1. Minotaurs: I. Fucking. Love. Minotaurs. So much. I don't really know the exact reason, but I latched onto them as my favourite and haven't let go. I just find them really sexy and it's as simple as that.

[ladyshinga]

#are... are we gatekeeping the monsterfucking#why are we doing that#the vampire might be pretty but an undead predator using you as their personal sippy cup is still a monster at the end of the day#i'll grant that the ghoul's KIND OF a grey area but like he's an irradiated mutant. still othered as monsters in the genre. still counts#yall confusing 'humanoid' with 'human' they ain't the same lol#the question of 'is this creature truly monstrous or a man who's been ostracized and othered by society' is worth exploring and often is#but that wasn't the question on offer#/soapbox

ikr something y'all should know about me, i am gonna always try to be the OPPOSITE of a gatekeeper. do I PERSONALLY count pretty human-lookin vampires when i think of monsters I'M PERSONALLY into? no. my monsters usually have more tails and claws and wings going on. horns MINIMUM. but some one dipping their toes into the monster genre with vampires and ghouls ain't gonna bother me, i will welcome that. because it's all the same ways we approach monsters, yes? because ghouls CAN BE monsters, they go feral - we see this OFTEN in canon, there are many perfectly normal ghouls who "are just people with different skin" but they OFTEN become something much worse.

so yeah i'm not gonna gatekeep and i will keep those doors open for everyone who can love something changed so deeply they stop being fully human, cause that shit rocks and is under a wider monsterfucker umbrella that we're ALL UNDER even if these folks aren't into tentacles and whatnot yet. let them have the starter kit characters it's fine and good

[pomrania]

Great AO3 tags V

(I) (II) (III) (IV)

Taking a dive through the Magnus Archives tag, and here's some things I found. As before, only one tag per fic; so if some seem amusingly linked, it's a lucky accident. And since this is the result of me going through over 150 pages of AO3, it will be in multiple parts.

I am a touch-starved lesbian and that's everyone else's problem now

only sexy vampires allowed in this household

Victorians were kinky freaks

when you're bad at saying "I care" but great at knowing how to annoy the other person

seducing your monster boss as a way to get him under your thumb

the summary's pretentious im just a stem major whos doing their best to write okay

make sure to check which tabs are visible before you ask someone to fix your computer

pure visceral hatred for old rich men with libraries

the timeline of this is "I'm having fun"

the idea of road trips was only created by americans to cope with how outrageously big america is

working title for this was 'evil reprehensible men have been divorced 7 times & counting'

not canon compliant! everyone is alive and well definite

i didn't know that was a tag but i guess that applies

The Weed Socks Stay On During Sex

this is half meta half fic and half projection

Elias gets punched by a child and clawed by a cat

must a story be good? is it not enough for it to simply be extremely self-indulgent and sappy?

If you stop your husband being murdered in his sleep it probably does mean you like him

I can't be proven wrong in-between episodes

Need a beta reader but might just die like men without one

i hate that i feel deep emotions about these evil old men IN LOVE

nothing says lonely like sad masturbation on the sofa

i was absolutely drowning in sad gay bitch juice the other morning and this is what came out of it

listening to people ramble about their highly specific knowledge and interests is a love language

Character Death and Undeath (Not Necessarily Correlating)

we're all here for monsterfuckers... but what about monsterLOVERS.....

overuse of uk specific school words i will explain promise

this fic is meant to reach an audience of me

everyone has trauma and I Will make them talk about it

it’s just a lot of meta and it gets more and more meta each chapter that’s really all this is

Sentences That Don't Make Sense In Order To Evoke A Specific Emotion

i don't feel right calling this hurt/comfort so let's call it...bittersweet lol

i wrote this at 1am bc i wanted to be in pain apparently

honestly fuck America and their fucking werewolves