#like would drink from him and then have daniel drink his blood

[brain-rot-central]

Book Daniel and Armand really are toxic young man yaoi

[iydiamartinx]

THE ART OF RESTRAINT II

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 2.3k synopsis: At Gotham’s most exclusive gala, your calendar shoot with Bruce Wayne has made you the center of attention. But when admiration turns inappropriate, Bruce intervenes… and stakes a claim that ignites everything you’ve tried to bury. a/n: Due to popular demand here is part 2! Also I think I might make this a series, what do you all think?

A month later, Gotham’s elite gathered beneath chandeliers and champagne towers, draped in couture and cloaked in vanity. The Gotham Foundation Gala had always been an affair of power, legacy, and whispered deals between glasses of merlot.

You and Bruce were always considered the most powerful and wealthiest donors in attendance but this year, thanks to the calendar shoot, the two of you were the main attraction.

You in black silk, the fabric hugging just the right places and cut high all the way to the thigh. You in heels sharp enough to draw blood. You standing beneath towering canvases of the now-infamous calendar shoot—each photo blown up and framed like art, lit from below in gold.

There you were, pinning Bruce Wayne to a bed with a mouthful of fire and a stare that had made half of Gotham’s boardrooms sweat.

And beside it?

Another photo: Bruce above you, hand at your throat, the whisper of his lips nearly brushing yours, both of you suspended in a moment so thick with tension, it still made you hot under the collar.

Compliments followed you all night.

“You looked incredible in those shots—was it really staged?”

“Don’t you two have insane chemistry?”

“I’m shocked the sheets didn’t catch fire.”

You smiled politely. Nodded. Deflected.

You were swirling your drink near one of the gallery displays—your own photo looming behind you in all its controversial glory—when a man stepped into your periphery.

Tall. Well-dressed. Mid-forties, maybe. Clean-cut and confident in that way men get when they think their money makes them interesting.

“You know,” he began conversationally, his tone easy, “I don’t usually like these calendar stunts.”

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

“But this year?” His gaze flicked to the framed shot of you straddling Bruce, lips nearly touching. “I might frame that one for my office.”

You offered a tight smile, the kind that conveyed your disinterest with causing such a scandal you would be plastered over the front page of the news. 

“You’ve got half the room talking,” he continued, holding out a hand. “Daniel. I run acquisitions over at Monarch Holdings.”

You took his hand briefly. “Pleasure.”

“Is he here?” Daniel asked, nodding toward the photo. “Wayne.”

“He was as much a part of this as I was, so yes—he’s here.” Unfortunately. But you didn’t tack that part on. Instead, you simply nodded toward where he stood, surrounded by a cluster of socialites, all of them fawning as he gifted them one of his signature, devastatingly charming grins.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, the stem of your champagne flute pressing tighter between your fingers—just enough to betray the irritation you refused to show on your face.

“So,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly, “are you two…?”

You gave a bland smile. “Are we two what?”

He laughed like he hadn’t been fishing. “You know what I mean. That shoot didn’t look staged.”

“That’s the job,” you replied coolly. “To make it look real.”

“Right,” he said, eyes still on you. “Well, it worked. Hell of a performance. Intense. Sexy.” He took a sip of his drink, then leaned in just a little. “He’s a lucky man to have had this opportunity with a woman like you.” His eyes raked down your figure, slow and deliberate. “You belong on camera. Honestly, if you ever wanted to do something a little more… private, I know a few people who’d pay a fortune to see it and wouldn’t mind seeing you in something even racier. Hell, I’d fund the shoot myself. Bet you’ve got a few poses he couldn’t pull out of you.

You blinked once. Your eyes narrowing into slits.

The chill in your stare should’ve been enough.

The audacity of this man, propositioning you like you were some whore.

You were one of the richest, most powerful women in the city—your name carried more weight than some entire empires. You had more money than you knew what to do with—the only reason you agreed to the shoot and didn’t tear your assistant a new one was because the proceeds were being donated to the less fortunate. And yet, here he was. Looking at you like you were a toy he could buy. Like some bored little trophy to pose next to him at the next shareholders’ gala.

Your jaw tightened. The words burned behind your teeth, sharp and exact, already forming—

But before you could let them fly, you felt it.

A presence at your back.

Broad. Warm. Unmistakable.

A hand rested at the small of your back—large, steady, and maddeningly familiar. His palm pressed gently against the silk of your gown, anchoring you. Possessive in the subtlest way. Protective in the most public one.

You didn’t have to look.

You already knew who it was.

“I’ve always admired ambition,” Bruce said, stepping into view with a glass of champagne in hand and the kind of effortless grin that made people underestimate him.

His eyes met Daniel’s. Calm. Almost friendly.

“But approaching another man’s date in front of a twelve-foot photo of them practically making out?” Bruce tilted his head, faux-impressed. “That’s bold.”

Daniel blinked. “I didn’t realize—”

He stepped in a little closer, casual and unbothered. The warmth of his hand still lingered at your back.

“Oh, it’s alright,” he said with an airy wave of his glass. “You couldn’t have known. We’ve been keeping things quiet.”

You fought the urge to bristle.

The words we’ve been keeping things quiet scraped against every instinct you had. You wanted to cut in, to correct him, to remind everyone in earshot that there was no we.

But you didn’t.

Because as much as it made your blood simmer, Bruce was helping you—even if you hadn’t asked for it. Even if you didn’t need it. And calling him out now, in front of half the gala, would only turn eyes and whispering mouths on both of you and not in a good way.

“You know how it is—mixing business and pleasure,” he went on, voice dropping just enough to feel like a secret. He leaned in slightly, as if confiding something scandalous, though every word was meant to be overheard. “Gets messy. Especially when other people try to insert themselves where they don’t belong.”

“I do applaud the attempt, though,” Bruce said lightly. “but the truth is… most men wouldn’t know what to do with someone like her.”

Daniel opened his mouth, perhaps to disagree but Bruce didn’t give him a chance.

“Just friendly advice,” Bruce added, with a wink and a sip of his drink. “I’d hate to see you step into something you can’t afford.”

Dan’s smile froze.

For a moment, he just stood there, caught in the pause between realization and retreat. The veneer of confidence he wore so easily began to splinter, cracking beneath the weight of Bruce’s words—a quiet reminder of exactly who you were, and more importantly, who he wasn’t.

He shifted his drink, fingers tightening slightly around the glass. Cleared his throat. Laughed—too light, too forced.

His eyes flicked between you and Bruce, searching for a foothold, for some hint that he hadn’t just been publicly dressed down by Gotham’s most powerful man for daring to proposition a woman so clearly out of his reach.

Bruce didn’t blink.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t give him an inch.

Eventually, Dan let out an awkward chuckle and took a careful step back. “Didn’t mean to step on toes.”

“You didn’t,” Bruce said, smooth as silk. “But it’s best to watch your footing anyway.”

Dan took the out and disappeared into the crowd, ego limping behind him.

The moment he was gone, you turned to him, jaw clenched.

“What the hell was that?”

He took a sip of his drink, looking far too pleased with himself. ““Just offering an innocent man a word of warning,” he said, his expression was all practiced innocence. “He seemed a little too eager to bring the devil into his bed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to slap the glass out of his hand. “You were marking your territory like a dog in a tux.”

He smiled. “A charming dog in a very expensive tux.”

You grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the crowd, weaving between silken gowns and murmured gossip until you found a quiet corridor near the ballroom’s edge. You shoved him through the first unlocked door you found—an unused sitting room glittering with old portraits and low lighting. 

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, muffled by velvet walls and the hum of distant music. 

You turned on Bruce before he could say a word.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He stood there, cool and collected, the very image of effortless wealth and unbothered masculinity. The undone bow tie at his collar made him look almost disheveled. Almost. Just enough to make your jaw clench.

He set his glass down calmly, unbothered. “He was a jackass.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you snapped, voice rising, heat flooding your cheeks. “We’re not together. You don’t get to claim me like that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t see you stopping me.”

You glared. “I was about to.”

You both knew that was a lie.

His smirk said it all.

He stepped closer, closing the space like it didn’t exist—until you could feel the heat of him again.

“So do it now,” he said softly, voice like smoke. “Tell me to stop.”

You stared up at him, fury and something else flickering behind your eyes.

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, fists clenched. “You can—”

But the rest never came.

Because the next second, his mouth was on yours—hot, demanding, claiming.

It was months—no, years—of tension, weeks of silence, and one steamy photoshoot slamming into you like gravity. He kissed you like he’d been waiting—like he’d been starving—and you answered without hesitation, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket as your back hit the wall.

He tasted like champagne and fury. His mouth crashed against yours with months of tension behind it. His hands found your hips, your thigh, your waist—hoisting you up with barely a grunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed you harder into the wall.

Your dress hitched up as one of his hands trailed dangerously high. His jacket slipped off his shoulders. The kiss deepened. Frantic. 

It was messy and heated. 

All the unspoken tension that had stretched between you for years—every boardroom standoff, every argument, every glare that lingered with too much heat—snapped in an instant, and now you were pouring it into each other like gasoline on a lit match.

If only the photographer could see you now.

“You’re impossible,” you gasped against his mouth, barely able to catch your breath between kisses.

“So are you,” he muttered, voice rough with want, dragging his mouth down the curve of your throat. “So damn impossible.”

Then he found it—your sweet spot—and latched on, sucking hard.

Your head tipped back against the wall with a quiet, broken whimper as pleasure bloomed hot and dizzy beneath your skin. Your nails scraped down his chest, dragging across fine fabric and hard muscle, just to ground yourself.

You were lost in it—In him, his mouth at your throat, your legs locked around his waist—when the door creaked open. 

Laughter spilled in.

“Oh—oh my God.”

Both of you froze.

And there they were: three socialites standing in the doorway with wide, sparkling eyes and champagne flutes frozen mid-air. One covered her mouth in dramatic glee. Another whipped out her phone. Behind them, of course, stood Dan, red-faced and horrified, looking like he wished the marble floor would swallow him whole.

Your legs were still locked around Bruce’s waist.

His hands were still on you—one gripping your thigh, the other splayed possessively against your lower back, as if even now, he had no intention of letting go.

Your lipstick was halfway to nonexistent, the rest smeared across his mouth.

And then there was the mark.

The very visible, unmistakable claim he’d left on your neck—dark, blooming, and already turning heads.

There was no hiding what you two were doing.

The girls giggled like it was the juiciest scandal they’d ever seen and pulled the door shut behind them, their laughter echoing off marble.

You exhaled sharply, head thudding back against the wall.

Bruce’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard—still tangled in the heat of what almost happened, and the reality of what did.

You shoved lightly at his chest.

He let you.

Then his hands slid to your waist, steadying you as he helped you down. His hands didn’t linger.

He fixed your hem without being asked, then straightened his jacket.

Then Bruce cleared his throat and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone. “So… dinner?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Just turned, reaching down to grab your fallen clutch. You swiped your thumb across your smeared lipstick, and headed for the door.

At the threshold, you paused.

“Pick me up at eight,” you said, trying—and failing—to hide the twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Saturday.”

Then you turned and walked out, heels clicking like a gavel against the marble floor.

Behind you, The Bruce Wayne stood grinning like he’d just closed the biggest deal of his life.

And maybe… he had.

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Tag List: @jeudieohvjdjtg

[iwtv-theories]

Similarities between Daniel & Armand (analysis)

In the iconography: 20 y old Daniel is on his knees (and 20 y old Amadeo is on his knees in the painting). I also have to point out that young Daniel has a startling resemblance to the white-washed Amadeo painting as well. A visual cue that they’re more alike than meets the eye.

"Bartering with desire" vs "in kind". At 20, both were 'rent boys'. Daniel 'bartered' himself for dr*gs. While Armand was 'donated...in kind' to pay for art work . "In kind" = payment in goods or services as opposed to money. "Bartering"= trade by exchanging one commodity for another. 

At the end of Louis' interviews both get their heads shoved into walls.This could be visual symbolism : both their ‘minds are broken’ because both of them can’t recall a decade’s worth of memories. Ironically, Louis may know more of his own story , than Daniel or Armand .

"curiosity"

“An instinct to self efface" . Effacement :“to erase oneself from a situation (to keep oneself in the background ) ” . Cough Armand literally erasing himself from memories & his Rashid disguise. Interestingly, out of all the traits Armand lists about Daniel this is the one trait Daniel agrees is true about himself. Both of them use ‘self-effacement’ as a manipulation tactic to find connection with others. Armand does so to stay with Louis. Daniel uses it to "get angles” and get people to "open up" to him. Literally right after Daniel said this he almost got Armand to open up about his life story

Armand:" That warrants investigation" vs Daniel the "investigative journalist".

Daniel & Armand lounging on the couch and saying Louis is being overly dramatic XD

"Lestat, Lestat , Lestat..."

being turned while having terminal illnesses : Parkinson's (Daniel) & in the show an unknown illness (for Armand) . Similarly , in the books Daniel was turned due to alcohol poisoning and Armand due to being poisoned.

Armand says in ep 4 his memories as a human are “all fragments” vs Daniel saying his memories from the 70s-80s were a “all a blur” .

Both are called “boy” despite being old men. Santiago, the youngest coven member referring to the oldest : “I don’t know what the boy sees in him.” Louis: “he looked like a boy masquerading as a gentleman.” Daniel: “I’m not your f*cking boy! I’m an old man with all the triggers that come with it.” Daniel : “save it for the rent boy.” Armand looking visibly triggered by the comment then asking to leave the room . Armand to Marius (who often called him “boy”) : “I hate you! I’m a man and you deny it!”

As a human , book Amadeo had a drinking problem while book Daniel almost died of alcohol poisoning. Young Daniel (in the show) may also have drinking issues like his book counterpart /book Amadeo. Armand to Daniel in episode 5 : “a genteel drinking problem , like your father .” Armand’s dad : “Ivan the drunkard… Ivan was hopeless. Ivan would never see another sober night or day .Ivan would die soon poisoned by liquor./ a soft prayer for my father that he would not freeze to death tonight as he had almost done so many times, falling down drunk as he did in the snow. (*this echoes human amadeo getting so drunk he fell into the canal)”

Show Armand says Marius called him his "beloved Amadeo", which seems like foreshadowing/an easteregg of 70s dm since "beloved" was his nickname for Daniel in the books. Armand tries to emulate the Marius/Amadeo dynamic in his future relationships since he still equates it to love. Like how he tries to put himself in the Amadeo role with Louis as his 'Maitre (master) '. But for d.m he put Daniel in the Amadeo position (partially because it’s his first relationship with a human , since becoming a vampire and his relationship with Marius is the only vampire/human relationship he’s had) . So at least on some superficial level he recreates some aspects of the Marius/Amadeo dynamic, with Daniel .

In the books Marius feeds human Amadeo his blood, like Armand does to human Daniel. In the books amadeo says Marius’ blood tastes like “honey”.Cough- Louis describing Armand's blood as tasting like "honey" and Armand saying to Daniel in ep 5 "like honey on your tongue" (*this could be foreshadowing he will drink Armand's blood in the 70s/80s… or simply when he was turned).

Armand , during their first encounter, and while describing death says “it’s okay it’ll be like a bath ” . Before Amadeo died he was bathed first by his maker . Armand also uses a rag (to remove the dried blood from daniel’s neck). This reminds me of when Marius first met amadeo and used a rag to clean his face / give him a bath. “He bathed me slowly . He had a soft gathered cloth with which he wiped my face.”

Human Amadeo/daniel were incredibly sarcastic and snarky to their future vampire makers

In the books, when Armand reunited with Marius in Tva he mumbled annoyed “same old tricks”. In tqotd , when Daniel reunited with Armand he says “same old dance.”

And both of their makers abandoned them

The parallels between Armand/Daniel persist throughout ep 5 , Daniel says he’d be a good companion to Louis because he has traits similar to Lestat and Claudia . 

But the IRONY is throughout the whole episode we see Daniel has A LOT of similarities to Armand . Possibly laying the groundwork for devil's minion in the 70s-80s.

I think while Armand was reading Daniel’s mind -whether it was subconscious or conscious - it irritated him even more that they had so much in common. Or at least how similar Daniel was to Amadeo. Especially because he was trying to discern why Louis found him “more fascinating” .

For Example , all the other traits Armand lists out about Daniel could also be attributed to himself

'Dirty'

'Deceitful'

'Enterprising'

'A splinter of coldness ' .

“He wants you in pieces for the privilege of putting you back together “

There’s also other more superficial similarities like Daniel saying he’d do night swims if he was a vampire (similar to Armand who swims often). Or the fact they both read the newspaper often.

I feel one of the MANY reasons Daniel and Armand were probably constantly butting heads and being snarky to each other in the present timeline is because on some subconscious level they remind each other of themselves (and they don’t want to acknowledge that). Especially Armand who is constantly playing a new character to placate his lovers . Young Daniel definitely reminded him of Amadeo . Similar to how Claudia reminded Armand of his past self as well .  

If I missed anything feel free to add to the comments or in a reblog :P

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Lestat de Lioncourt x reader

Synopsis: sick and tired as you are of Lestat’s treatment you decide to put your situationship on hold, until he comes for you. Inspired by the SDCC trailer.

Warnings: toxic relationship, kissing, p in v sex, blood drinking, biting, choking, clit pinching, edging, violence, butchering of the French language.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used, but French is a gendered language, which forces me to decline the adjectives as feminine whenever Lestat uses them when referring to reader.

The bustling in the dressing room is doubled by the fact that there’s no space to move; the concert is due to start in no time and you are all still running about, trying to prepare the man of the hour, the rock star the people in the arena are cheering, whose name they’re screaming at the top of their lungs: The Vampire Lestat. The one and only.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Your current walking, not breathing headache. The undead man you’re trying to ignore with all your might.

You had asked a colleague to do his hair and makeup these last few nights, even though you’re supposed to be his personal stylist, and threw yourself into working with the rest of the band as a revenge for the way he’s been treating you lately; you know you’re on borrowed time, that he’s letting you give him the cold shoulder that, if he truly wanted, you’d be still working on him, whether you liked it or not.

You almost crash in one of the documentary crew people: they swarm everywhere and are always in everyone’s general space, filming and asking questions. You try to lay low, do your job and then hide until the next concert, yet you feel like the journalist, Daniel Molloy, has his eyes trained on you behind his tinted glasses, and you don’t like it: Lestat has a rabid fanbase, if anyone had the inkling he’s fucking you (because to call whatever it is what you two have a ‘relationship’ would be an exaggeration), you’d have no peace.

Lestat has been a menace, more than his usual self, during rehearsal and in his dressing room, unhappy with the various options for the Halloween concert, changing his outfits too many times and now your colleagues are in a hurry to prepare him, hence why you’re here instead on your perch backstage, ready to do touch ups in between songs.

You ignore his stunning eyes as you bend to finish applying the last layer of powder on his forehead and nose.

“Ma choue.”

You can hear is deep voice in your head, almost snapping the small brush in a half in annoyance: he knows you hate it when he calls you ‘my cabbage’, it makes your blood boil that it’s supposed to be a term of endearment; who, in their right mind would call someone at least dear to them ‘cabbage’? Might as well call them ‘lettuce’ or ‘ tomatoes’!

“Tu me manques.” He continues, his face not betraying any emotion, while his hand moves sneakily to caress the inside of your tight; in your head his voice has taken that low timbre of when he’s deep inside of you, fighting his orgasm.

“Would that be all, Mr. De Lioncourt?” You ask, coldly, moving away from his grasp. “You don’t look like you need me.”

Your words echo his when he dismissed you, not longer than a week ago, right before the first day of shooting.

As used as you are to his mercurial moods, that day you were already angry with him, his careless words were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back and made you decide to put whatever the two of you have going on (“Still better than Twilight” a voice in your head keeps telling you) on an indefinite hold or, as indefinite as he’ll decide it’s going to be.

Before leaving for the backstage, you let one single thought ring through your mind, positive as you are that he’s listening:

“Fuck you Lestat! The only thing you miss is my blood!”

To everyone else his face betrays no emotion, you’re used to read in between the lines with him and the twitch of his mouth tells you there’s going to be hell to pay: you’ll burn that bridge when you’ll get there, if ever, now it’s your time to be an asshole, and have fun while you’re at it.

You run into the dressing room swearing under your breath: how in the name of all is holy and sacred you forgot one of the foundation sponges here? You didn’t even use it on Lestat!

In a hurry you start rummaging through all the crap and garbage your colleagues and Molloy’s crew have left around: between your crazy work hours and the concerts dates being so close to one another, you don’t have the time to buy a new one and you find yourself hunting for this stupid one that’s finished God only knows where.

“Looking for this, ma choue?”

You turn around too fast, whipping the muscles of your neck painfully to look at Lestat, who has closed, and locked, the door behind his back and is leaning against it, pink sponge in his hand.

You know he’s fresh off the stage after the third encore, the pinkish red of perspiration is staining the dying makeup and collar of his elaborate shirt.

“I should have known you had taken it.” You growl back.

“What should a man do when he’s been ignored?” He says nonchalantly. “You left me with no choices, ma belle.”

Instinctively you start looking for a way out of the small room, knowing all too well there’s only the door, and that he stands on your pathway out of here and towards the safety of your hotel room.

“Perhaps, a man, should ask himself why he’s been ignored.”

You square your shoulders, yet your insecurity is betrayed when you start pinching the inside of your right arm, where he’s first bitten you.

The wound has healed nicely, the scar remains, too small to be truly noticed if not for the constant redness of your picking at the skin there.

You remember when he first drank from you, so many months ago when you still believed the whole ‘Vampire Lestat’ persona was just a stage play; he had looked at you with those eyes, mesmerizing, whose color you couldn’t truly name, making you feel like a lamb would in front of a hungry wolf, right before gently grabbing your uncovered arm to bite the delicate skin and drink enough blood to make you feel dizzy on your feet.

“And what did a man do?” He asks, advancing like the predator he is, as if he owns the room hell! The entire building.

You try to stand your ground, shoulders squared, legs firmly planted on the floor: the bridge is here, you might as well go down swinging.

“Oh, I don’t know, treat me like a blood bag and demean me in front of the cameras?”

Two days before your personal bombshell, he had complimented the taste of your blood, and responded a second too late, when you had bluntly asked if he looked at you like he would a steak, then the whole ‘Do I look like I need you?’ incident had happened: the proverbial icing on the cake.

To be absolutely clear, you don’t expect anything from him that is not great sex (narcissist or not, he knows how to show you a good time and not having to breathe to live helps when you’re going down someone) and a bit of consideration.

“Oh, that.” He stands in front of you, impossibly tall, cutting off any escape route. “Would you like me to apologize publicly? Perhaps in front of the crowd tomorrow?” He mocks you.

And you fall for it: hook, line and sinker.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You growl, invading his personal space, as if you’d ever pose a threat for him.

In a second you find yourself against the wall, arms stretched over your head, your work bag on the floor.

“What would you do, ma choue, how would you stop me?”

You’re so angry you’d kill him with your mind, if only you could!

Uselessly you try to kick him, squirming in his light hold, until he’s plastered against you with your legs around his trim hips.

“Let me go, now!”

That wins you a laugh, a low rumble against your chest: he knows that you know that he loves when you fight back, that your fascination with him doesn’t stop your fiery spirit to burn bright, like a light in the darkness.

“Why would I do such a thing?” His lips leave butterfly kisses all over your pulse point. “After scheming to have you here. That would be most stupid, wouldn’t it?”

Slowly, seductively, his hips grind against yours, his erection already pushing against your core, almost forcing a wail of need from your lips: even angry you missed the liquid need pooling in your belly as soon as your bodies are near, how his touch would ignite your desire and burn any reasoning to keep him away.

“I hate you so much!” And you both know is a lie.

“Then why can I smell how ready you are for me, ma petite?”

You let your head slam against the wall, baring your neck to his fangs, now tracing a path of goosebumps leading to your collarbone and heaving breasts.

You squirm against him, not trying to evade him, but because you need him desperately: you want to tear his clothes off his body and fuck your rage and pent up desire until you are both spent on the filthy carpet of the dressing room.

The words almost leave your mouth, when knocking on the door, followed by the voice of your fellow make up artist stops you, and him.

“Are you coming or not?” She asks from the corridor. “I need to shower! Come on!”

“I’m on my way!” You shout back, your desire retreating as your brain reminds you of the way he’s been treating you.

Lestat eyes you with a smirk on his lips; for a moment you think he’ll not let you go and blow your illicit relationship for the whole crew to see. His eyes seem to shine as he stares into yours, searching, searching as you wonder, again, what color they truly are.

“Saved by the bell.” He murmurs in your ear, letting your shaky legs off from around his hips. “Off you go, ma petite lapinou. You’re not going to be as lucky the next time.”

You’re still trembling as you grab your bag and rush to your friend, cursing yourself for being so weak in your resolve.

As per your contract you, and the other two make up artists, are supposed to share the hotel room to kill the costs for the whole production; the rest of the crew does the same, while the actual band members have rooms for their own, usually in a better hotel than the one chosen for you all.

The wandering life you have all chosen has changed those plans: in fact you have the hotel room all for yourself, since one colleague is in a committed relationship with one of the sound technicians (they always crash together), the other is in a situationship with a girl from Molloy’s crew; the relationship is even more toxic than whatever you have going on with Lestat, yet the two always bunk down together.

You don’t mind having all the space, and the bathroom for yourself: you love the quiet after a concert and before you are all on the road again.

You exit the bathroom, your skin still warm after the shower. You hear the TV on in the background, not giving it much attention: it’s just white noise to keep you company as you dry your hair and decide what to wear to go out with some colleagues.

“Now, what is this?”

You screech in surprise and almost slip on your ass.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why are you here?! I’m naked!”

Lestat looks at you from the armchair where he’s sitting, long legs encased in skin fitting leather and a white shirt half unbuttoned to showcase the hard planes of his chest you’re trying very hard not to ogle.

“You haven’t answered my question, ma petite lapinou.”

He’s holding your Taylor Swift pink T shirt, showing it to you with a frown on his brow.

Him and Taylor, better, the respective fan bases have this crusade going on, sniping at each other: the swifties being absolutely rabid whenever one of Lestat’s songs is higher in the charts or his tours sold out faster than hers. Taylor has published another remastering of her latest album and Lestat responded with new songs that beaten her to the top: it’s an ongoing messy feud and Lestat loves throwing jabs at her and her fans in his interviews. Thank God he has no control over his X and Instagram accounts.

All of this considered, you bought it before your fallout with him, as a prank: you thought about appearing in his hotel room clad only in that to see how he would react, and reap the benefits. You deciding to withdrew from the ‘relationship’ killed that idea; you have been using it to sleep.

“It’s a T shirt.” You answer.

“That I can see.” He says reigning in his annoyance at your pretend ignorance. “I have never pegged you as a fan of mademoiselle Swift.”

“With the things you don’t know about me, you could build a ladder from here to the moon.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping he’s not snooping in your mind right now.

He throws the T shirt in the general direction of the bed and spreads his legs even more, the outline of his bulge clear against the tight fitting leather.

“Going somewhere, ma petite?”

His voice is a low rumble that goes straight to your core.

“Yeah.” You feign indifference. “Out with some people, have fun. I have decided I’m going to play drunk trick or treat.”

He’s not wearing any makeup now, he looks like a carved marble statue come to life, yet you can see curiosity etched on his beautiful, alien features.

“I am not, comment tu le dis, privy to this particular brand of trick or treating.”

You tighten the towel around your head, you’re going to need it.

“It’s pretty simple, actually. I go out, get drunk and fuck the first person I meet. Having an orgasm, finally, is going to be my treat. It has been too long.”

In a heartbeat you find yourself slammed against the wall. You should be used to his inhuman speed, yet he’s managed to knock the breath out of your lungs again.

Your ears are ringing, the towel having done a poor job at shielding your head from a hard knock against the wall: one of these days you’ll get a concussion. How fucked up is it that you’re accepting your fate so calmly?

Your vision swims as your eyes try to focus on his face, now contorted in rage: Take that asshole, you think.

“Who would be the lucky candidate, ma petite?” He growls, his hand finding home around your throat. “Perhaps one of Molloy’s subordinates? Or one of the sad men drinking themselves in an early grave in the hotel lobby?”

“Anyone would do.” You spat back, despite the pressure of his hand. “You wouldn’t know how to find my clit with two hands, a flashlight and a neon sign pointing at it!”

For a second his hold is too tight, cutting off your air supply completely: is this how you die?

The thought flies out of your head when you find yourself on the bed, coughing and trying to absorb as much air as your poor lungs can manage, Lestat between your splayed legs: you have gotten to him, to his pride and possessiveness. Revenge tastes so sweet, knowing you can slither under his skin the same way he does with you.

“Ouch!” You whine when he strips you of the towels, uncaring of the cotton burning your skin.

“Two hands, a flashlight and a neon sign, is that what you said ma belle pute?”

You try to push him away, fruitlessly: he’s far too heavy and strong for you, even if he were a human man, yet you trash under him and try to go for his eyes, like a cat, until two of his long fingers pinch your clit cruelly.

You cry out in pain, arching under him in the vain attempt to escape your punishment.

“I hate you so fucking much! I wish I could put a stake through your heart and see you die!”

He doesn’t move for a second; he truly seems a marble statue, Bernini’s masterpiece, betrayed by the shining of his eyes.

You scream when his fangs pierce the delicate skin of your neck, and his cock slams into you.

The pleasure is a wave that engulfs you and your senses. You don’t know where you are, who you are, you’re only feeling his heart beating to the rhythm of yours as his hips meet yours, again and again, fast and hungry in the desperate pursuit of his own end.

You can’t plant your feet on the mattress, too taken by the impossible high you’re experiencing, all of your senses drunk on him and on the pleasure burning through you, the tight band in your belly snapping, forcing another scream from your lips.

You whine when his fangs leave your neck.

Through the roaring of your own blood in your ears, you can ear his moans of pleasure when the pain of your nails in his back finally register in his brain. Through hooded eyes you look at his beautiful face, now marred by the red of your blood, his pupils so enlarged you can’t see the color of the iris.

He’s still hard inside of you, not pounding away anymore his hips have taken a sensual, slow rhythm, meant to savor the warmth your body provides.

He kisses you when you try to say his name, your taste, metallic and heady in your mouth, pushes you into a frenzy he doesn’t let you follow, forcing you to go slow and feel the way he owns your body.

You arch your spine when he starts kissing your neck and chest, unhurried and possessive, his cockhead finding your G spot to bully it again, to feel your walls clamp again around his erection, too slow to throw you into the throes of another orgasm but enough to keep you on the razor’s edge, your moans and keens music to his ears.

You buck under his weight when his skilled fingers find your center again, massaging your bud with slow, deliberate motions.

“Two hands.” He groans after a vicious push. “A flashlight and a neon sign, n'est-ce pas? Then why are you moaning, ma belle?”

You grab his arms, needy and desperate for the end he’s denying you, embarrassed by the squelching sounds your cunt makes around his cock.

“Anyone would do.” He spats in your face, pinching your clit cruelly, to enjoy your whines of pain and how your body squirms under his.

You want to beg for mercy, scream how sorry you are but his devious fingers have rendered you speechless and thoughtless, mad for an orgasm he’s denying you with a cruel smile.

His forehead meets yours, now that the pace is slow. He’s switched to French without truly realizing what he’s doing, too lost in feeling your muscles clench and massage his cock: he’s missed your body, something you must never know.

His tongue finds the bites on your neck, licking lazily at the blood still spilling as his hips pick up the pace again, grinding cruelly against your puffy clit, drunken words of appreciation fall from his lips when your cunt wounds so tightly around his cock, forcing him in deeper and deeper, the fullness blanking your mind to his words and to the world around you.

You shatter like crystal again, forcing him over the edge as well, your combined screams of pleasure reverberating against the cheap walls, his breaking the table lamp on the desk.

Your cunt milks him of all he can give and robs him of his strength; it’s a miracle he manages to pull out and fall by your side, unfocused eyes trained on the chipped ceiling.

You hear him stretch luxuriously next to you as you try to find the strength to go to the bathroom and deal with the mess of blood and semen he’s left on your body.

Your legs wobble when you stand and the room spins as you bend to retrieve your Taylor Swift T shirt fallen on the floor, after your ‘activities’; you hear him say something in French, his voice a low purr and you can feel his eyes trained on your naked arse.

“Shall I remind you I have taken Spanish in high school?” You say, wobbling to the bathroom as you feel his come slide down your legs, ignoring how he grabs his shirt to wipe the excess of blood on his face.

When you come back he’s still laying in bed, smoking, arms spread on the headboard as if he owns the place.

“This place is horrible.” He says, as if you had chosen it yourself. “Sincèrement affreux."

“Your tour manager picks the place for us, which means that you did.” You retort, sliding in bed to put your head on his naked shoulder. “This one isn’t so bad. The clown themed one was worse.”

“Clown themed?”

He wants to know more, but you’re already asleep, out like a light; he can hear the whooshing of your blood through your veins, now that your heartbeat has calmed into your usual tattoo.

Without waking you up, he kills his smoke and tries to make himself comfortable on the lumpy mattress: perhaps that’s why you have been in such a bad mood lately. He will look into it as soon as he wakes up from his slumber: he’s going to be famished and his tour managed looks delicious.

[ihatesmiggles]

The dracula case.

Richard Chase , aka The Vampire of Sacramento.

He was nicknamed this, as he drank the blood of his victims and cannibalized their remains.

Richard Trenton Chase was born on May 23rd in 1950, he was an American spree killer who murdered six people in Sacramento, California. He was allegedly abused by his mother whilst growing up, though his father also physically disciplined him but that was usual for the time. By the age of 10, he already checked out for the MacDonald triad, which is bed wetting, animal torture and fire setting.

Chase realized very young about his dark urges, though not ever being able to be in with a girl due to his impotence, he in adolescence then became an alcoholic with a chronic drug problem. Chase, keep in mind, was a paranoid schizophrenic, moving out from his mother because he personally believed his mother was trying to poison him.

He moved in with a couple friends, they often complained that he smelt of weed, though he never cared, paying no attention to guests, walking around naked, they eventually got tired of him, telling him to move out. But he refused, so they moved out instead.

Whilst alone, he began to torture animals, he would dismember these animals, making them into milkshakes blended into cola. He had a belief that his heart was shrinking, that it wasn't beating correctly since his childhood, he believed consuming blood and the animal remains would help him from not dying.

In 1975, he was institutionalized due to his blood poisoning from injecting animal blood into his veins. He scared the patients horribly, even the nurses, they gave him the nickname "Dracula", being described as awfully bizarre. He was then prescribed medication, being taken out from the ward in 1976 after being deemed safe (My god, were they wrong.) Anyways, he was placed in the care of his mother.

His mother, the cruel woman she was, got tired of her son, kicking him practically out, forbidding him to take his anti psychotic medication, claiming that it made him boring, dulling his personality, like a zombie, even though advised not to by the doctors. So she instead got him his own apartment.

When he got his own apartment, he began to eat dogs and birds, hanging them up. Chase's neighbor, said she saw cats and dogs enter the apartment then never go out, so she never knew what happened to them, though she could have reported it, as it was not allowed for them to have animals.

The killings

He used a .22 Automatic handgun to kill his victims, first was a drive-by shooting, then the rest were home invasions. After shooting his victims, he would mutilate, drinking the blood, he would engage within necrophilia with female victims only.

The victims include :

An unidentified woman ( Shot, but missed )

Ambrose Griffin, 51 ( Shot in the chest. )

An unidentified boy, 12 ( Shot, missed. )

Teresa, 22 ( Shot twice in the head, then once in the hand. She was repeatedly stabbed, her organs removed, cut off her nipples, forcing her to eat dog feces, partially eaten at. Richard proceeded to commit necrophilia was done to her body, three months pregnant. )

Daniel Meredith, 51 ( Shot, then mutilated. )

Evelyn Miroth, 38 ( Slashed throat, shot, disemboweled, partially eaten, failed to take out one of her eyes, engaged in necrophilia. )

Jason 6, ( Shot, then brutally mutilated once dead. )

David 1, ( Shot, eaten partially and mutilated. )

Facts

In 1977, Chase was arrested in Lake Tahoe, he had a bucket of blood, also guns in his car. He managed to convince an officer it was just from an animal, so there was no report made. ( He claimed it was cows blood, specifically. )

Witnesses saw him with a dog once, though the dog was never recovered so they truly never saw it again, so they never knew what happened to it, this is the same time the lake incident had happened.

He had delusions of an alien force, and insisted he only ate humans because the outside forces were going to steal his blood. He thought his heart was shrinking as I mentioned, so ingesting blood also helped him from not dying.

He had schizophrenia noticeable in his childhood, but it worsened throughout when he got older.

He had a stable life at 20, but it crumbled. He then got into the ward, though he had killed one before, his mother insisted and weared him off his medication, making him go onto a whole spree.

He also had hypochondria.

Neighbors heard him shooting at the walls, he claimed it was the voices he had heard. He lied about his mental illnesses, so he could get his weapon of choice, it happened after he had purchased it.

He killed small puppies, trying to steal a large dog, but luckily, he failed.

His sister was afraid of him.

In prison, he spoke about ufos and nazis, being afraid of them, wanting to get a gun to protect himself, he also claimed to be jewish, drawing the star of david on his forehead. He believed the prison leagues were in contact with the Nazis, trying to kill him with the food.

He was sentenced to death by , but instead, at 11:05 am, December 26th, 1980, he killed himself from an overdose when he was hoarding his medication. The reasons truly were unknown.

[theodorenmyth]

If your requests are open could I possibly request a Theodore Nott x ex!male reader where after many months after breaking up with Theo reader finally starts dating someone else and Theo would do anything to get reader back. Like something inspired by the song Kill Bill by SZA?

Kill for You

Pairings: Theodore Nott x Male!Reader

Summary: It’s been months since you broke up with Theodore Nott. You’re moving on—or at least, you’re trying to. But Theo doesn’t want to move on. He wants you. And if getting you back means destroying the person standing in his way, then so be it.

A/N ; it was so fun writing this, enjoy :3

Warnings ; Possesiveness, obsession, slight smut, mentions of murder

Word count ; 1.5k+

THEO NEVER HANDLED LOSS WELL.

Especially when it came to you.

Losing you? Unacceptable.

And yet, there you were—sitting at the Three Broomsticks, smiling at some Ravenclaw nobody like he mattered.

Like Theodore Nott hadn’t spent years memorizing your every movement, every sigh, every little thing that made you his.

His fingers curled around his glass, his jaw tightening as he watched from across the room. His usual table was full—Mattheo Riddle, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, and Astoria Greengrass were all seated with him, drinks in hand. But he wasn’t paying attention to them. No, his eyes were glued to you.

"You should see your face right now," Mattheo mused, smirking as he swirled his Firewhiskey. "It’s actually terrifying."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Y/N finally moved on, huh?"

Theo’s jaw ticked. "No. He’s just pretending."

Draco scoffed. "Doesn’t look like pretending."

Lorenzo hummed, tapping his fingers on the table. "I mean, they do look kinda… happy."

Theo’s glare snapped to him. "Shut the fuck up, Berkshire."

Astoria exhaled, crossing her arms. "You broke up with him, Theo. You don’t get to be angry that he’s trying to be happy again."

Theo turned his gaze back to you, his fingers twitching. Happy. What a fucking joke.

He knew you.

Knew you better than anyone else.

And he knew that this wasn’t real.

He could see it in the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you laughed, but it was slightly off—not as soft, not as genuine. The way your shoulders tensed every time your little boyfriend leaned in too close.

You weren’t happy.

"You should just go talk to him," Blaise suggested, sipping his drink.

Theo smirked darkly. "Oh, I plan to."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Your evening was going fine.

Daniel—your boyfriend—was nice. Smart. A bit of a goofball. He made you laugh, and he treated you well.

So why did it feel like someone was watching you?

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. You could feel him.

The moment you glanced up, Theo was already there, sliding into the empty seat across from you like he belonged there.

You stiffened immediately.

Daniel blinked in surprise. "Oh, hey! You’re Theodore Nott, right?"

Theo’s lips twitched into a smirk. "And you are?"

Daniel smiled. "Daniel. Y/N’s boyfriend."

Boyfriend.

Theo’s grip on his wand tightened beneath the table. Boyfriend. The word made him sick.

"Boyfriend?" he echoed, his eyes flickering to you. "That’s cute. Since when?"

You glared. "None of your business, Theo."

Theo leaned forward, smirking. "I think it’s a little bit my business."

Daniel chuckled, oblivious. "Look, man. I get it. You and Y/N had history, but we’re happy now. I don’t want any bad blood."

Theo’s expression darkened. "Oh, no bad blood." He glanced at you, voice dropping to something dangerously soft. "But you’re not happy, are you, love?"

Your breath hitched.

Daniel frowned. "Of course he’s happy."

Theo tilted his head. "No, he’s not." His gaze didn’t waver from you. "Because he still dreams about me."

You inhaled sharply.

Theo saw the way your fingers twitched. The way you swallowed hard. The way you clenched your jaw, trying to stay indifferent.

You could pretend all you wanted, but he knew you.

"You don’t own him," Daniel said, his voice gaining an edge.

Theo smirked, tilting his head. "Oh, but I do." He looked back at you, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Tell him, love."

Silence.

Your fingers curled into fists. You looked furious—but you didn’t deny it.

Daniel exhaled, shaking his head. "Come on, Y/N. Let’s go."

You stood, ready to leave—

But before you could, Theo grabbed your wrist. His grip was firm, possessive.

"You’re mine," he murmured, his lips ghosting against your ear. "You always will be."

Your breath caught.

For the slightest second, you hesitated.

And Theo saw it.

He won.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The next few weeks were hell.

Daniel started losing things. His notes. His books. His quills. Everything.

He started getting hurt—his chair collapsed beneath him in Charms. His broom was hexed before practice. His cauldron exploded in Potions.

And you found notes in your bag, written in Theo’s elegant script.

'Did you think I’d let you go that easily?

He’ll never love you like I do.

You were mine first. You’ll be mine last.'

You knew.

You knew it was Theo.

But you could never prove it.

One night, you’d had enough. You found Theo in the dungeons, waiting for you like he knew you were coming.

"End it," you hissed, shoving him against the wall.

Theo only smirked. "End what, love?"

"You know what!" Your breath was ragged. "This obsession. The notes, the hexes, the fucking stalking—you need to stop."

Theo exhaled, his fingers brushing against your jaw. "You think I can just stop loving you?"

Your stomach twisted.

"You think I can watch you be with someone else and just let it happen?" His voice was calm, but his grip on your wrist was iron. "I don’t work that way, darling."

"You have to let me go," you whispered.

Theo leaned in, lips just grazing your jaw. "But I don’t want to."

You shivered.

"I want you," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. "I want you like I want air. Like I want magic." His voice darkened. "And I don’t like sharing what’s mine."

You pushed him back, breath shaky. "I’m not yours anymore, Theo."

His eyes flashed. "That’s a lie."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The next day, Daniel disappeared.

People whispered theories—some said he’d gone home. Others said he’d been hexed so badly he had to be taken to St. Mungo’s.

You knew.

You stormed into the dungeons, finding Theo lounging on the couch, twirling his wand.

"You bastard," you snarled. "What did you do?"

Theo looked up, eyes shining with amusement. "Hello to you too, love."

"Where is he?"

Theo sighed. "He’s fine. Just… unavailable for the foreseeable future."

Your stomach twisted. "You ruined his life."

Theo’s gaze darkened. "He was in my way."

"You can’t just—"

"I can," he interrupted, stepping closer. "I did." His fingers traced along your jaw, his touch dangerously soft. "Because you belong to me."

You swallowed hard. "This isn’t love, Theo."

He smirked. "Then what is it?"

Before you could answer, he kissed you—possessive, desperate, claiming. His fingers tangled in your hair, his body pressing you against the cold wall.

And the worst part?

You kissed him back.

You could lie to yourself, pretend that your lips weren’t tingling from the way he kissed you, pretend that you weren’t breathless, backed against the cold stone wall of the Slytherin dungeon, Theo’s body pressing flush against yours like he never wanted to let go.

But Theo wasn’t fooled.

His hands gripped your waist, firm and possessive, his nails digging in just enough to make you shiver. His breath was hot against your lips, his gaze hungry, dark, dangerous.

"You can fight me all you want," he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing, but dripping with something dangerous. "But we both know how this ends."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "Theo—"

His fingers tightened around your hips, pulling you even closer, so there wasn’t a sliver of space between you. "No more excuses," he whispered, lips ghosting over your jaw. "No more pretending."

You let out a sharp breath as his lips trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate, pressing against the spots he knew made you weak. His tongue flicked out, barely grazing your skin, and a tremor ran through you.

"You taste the same," he murmured against your throat. "You feel the same." His voice darkened, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your skin. "And you’re still mine."

Your breathing was uneven, your resolve crumbling with every second.

But you had to fight it.

"This isn’t—" You sucked in a breath as his teeth nipped at your collarbone, his other hand trailing lower, dangerously close to the waistband of your trousers.

He chuckled darkly. "This isn’t what?" His voice was velvet, smooth and taunting. "This isn’t love?"

You swallowed hard. "It’s obsession."

Theo smirked. "So what if it is?"

His fingers slid lower, grazing the sensitive skin just above your waistband. "I don’t need to be good for you, love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I just need to make sure no one else gets to have you."

Your knees nearly buckled when he bit your ear, just enough to make you shudder.

"You belong to me," he murmured, his tone shifting—darker, more desperate. His grip was bruising, his lips moving hungrily over your skin, as if he wanted to mark you, as if he wanted to make sure everyone saw. "I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll ruin anyone who touches you, Y/N."

Your breath hitched.

"Say it," he demanded, his fingers slipping beneath your waistband, teasing, taunting. "Say you're mine."

You bit your lip, your pulse hammering. "Theo—"

He growled, pressing his thigh between your legs, making you gasp. His smirk was wicked, knowing.

"Say. It."

Your head was spinning, heat pooling in your stomach, your body betraying you, giving in to the way he touched you, the way he devoured you with every kiss, every lingering brush of his fingers.

You exhaled shakily. "I’m yours."

His lips crashed against yours again, hungry, desperate, claiming, his grip ironclad, as if letting go would kill him.

"You always were," he murmured against your lips. "And you always will be."

[collegeboysam]

Armand worries for/about Daniel in so many little moments even since season 1, it's driving me INSANE.

It's Armand the one who tells Daniel he's going to take his medicine there and how his doctor has already been contacted for the details. He says Louis arranged it, but did he? We have seen Armand arrange everything in there, we even see the doctor sitting next to "Rashid" after he gives Daniel the iv drip. When Louis is feeding from "Rashid" in front of Daniel, Louis asks Daniel if he wants a taste and Armand gets this weird look about it (we know Daniel gets addicted to Armand's blood in the books) and then starts to get upset telling Daniel he wouldn't let him near his neck/his blood. He has a worried/unsettled look when Louis says he would give Daniel the dark gift now. Armand even asks Louis if he can leave at that moment. He's the one who stops Louis when he's ramping up Daniel's parkinson's. He reassures Daniel when they bring up Alice and apologizes for it afterwards, he knows how to make drinks exactly how Daniel likes them, asks real Rashid if anyone approached Daniel when they were out, he mentions how doing drugs back in the day caused more damage to Daniel than anything Armand ever did. He looks miserable when Daniel says he doesn't forgive him.

Armand is Daniel's all-loving demonic god indeed.

[gregrulzok]

Devil's Minion is an interesting title though, isn't it.

I mean one of them is a creature designed and all but required to kill. He could eat animals, technically, but we know that isn't sustainable long term - even Louis, who genuinely tried it, wanted it so bad, couldn't keep the diet up for long. That's just not sustainable for their bodies, not what they were made for.

And the many long centuries of isolation, many long centuries of being unable to go out during the day, to talk to people without raising suspicion - and the changing of times, watching the culture shift and drift away from you without being able to fully follow it... Anyone would be distant from humans, from humanity, it's a shift in the psyche supported from every angle to make you view people as prey rather than equals.

And then the other? Human. A guy. He had relatives, friends, probably. He's more than likely lost people before, knows the grief of death far more intimately than a being designed to take two or three lives in a day ever could.

And yet, night after night, he holds the hunter in his arms. Cuddles up to him, ignores the fact that any warmth in his lover cost another human being their life. He ignores the pain and suffering they went through despite being fully equipped to understand it, ignores the grief and heartache he knows their close ones must be feeling - more than that, he takes pleasure in it! He drinks the blood of the monster, for no reason other than his own pleasure, and he tastes in it the wails and screams and desperation of those that were killed for it, and he's addicted to it. He wants more. He craves it, needs it.

More than THAT, even, he wants nothing more than to be part of it. To have the power to take human lives, to be the same as the alleged devil. Armand had no choice in the matter, not really, and has no choice but to kill - Daniel wants it, more than anything, he's constantly preoccupied with it, begs for it over and over and over.

.

And on the other hand, it's Daniel who gets his wishes granted. Daniel who can point at anything he wants and have it in his possession the next moment. Sure, he has to follow Armand's whims and impulses, teach Armand, follow him everywhere, but at the end of the day Armand is serving Daniel as much as he is himself, if not more.

And it's Armand who has to, through arguments and tears and heartache, defend what he sees as the one boundary he set in the relationship. The one line he has begged Daniel over and over again not to try to cross, Daniel has to test again and again.

He'll do anything for Daniel, anything, except for the one thing that would hurt him most - and its still not enough.

...

Devil's Minion, huh.

[lsunstreakerl]

part sixteen of the maxiel corporate au! this has continued to get out of hand. but rico is here!

2.8k, explicit, rico POV, max POV

relevant heads up: hello we are now introducing the daniel shaming tag. brief max shaming at the beginning, but mostly max and his praise kink. because rico.

Max: hi

Max: are you busy

Rico: Not too busy for you.

Rico: How are you doing? Still staying with Daniel?

Max: yes

Max: about that

Rico: If he kicked you out...

Max: NO

Max: not like that

Rico: Okay, good.

Rico: Is he being a jackass again?

Max: sort of

Max: look this is awkward

Rico: ?

Max V. is calling...

Rico startles, squinting down at his phone screen as he tugs at the strap of his glove with his teeth, yanking it off and pressing accept.

"Max, hey. What'd he do?"

"It is less what he did and more what he is not doing. And I would not- ugh. I would not even be telling you, but you've sort of gotten wrapped up in this whole thing, and really it's your fault that I can't finger myself anyways-"

Rico's eyebrows fly up his forehead, and he makes a gesture at his team before stepping out into the hallway. Max is lucky that he wasn't drinking anything.

"Sorry, say that again?"

Max sighs over the phone, frustrated and borderline- Rico would almost call it whiny.

"I can't- I can't do it myself, I'm not any good at it. It doesn't feel as good as when you do it, and Daniel noticed, and-"

Rico narrows his eyes, already disliking where this is headed. He's mildly curious about how many bones he's allowed to break before Max gets upset about it- better to do them one at a time and make it look like an accident? Or all at once, to really make it stick?

"Was he upset?"

"No- not really upset at all, which is kind of weird now that I'm thinking about it. He is being a dick though."

Rico can't find it within himself to be too surprised. Daniel's got all sorts of weird hangups about sexuality and Max, even after his brief interaction with Rico- which clearly wasn't enough.

"How so?"

Max huffs again, definitely whiny this time, and amusement curls in Rico's chest. It reminds him of late nights in uni, listening to Max complain about assignments over takeout boxes. He's familiar with whiny Max.

"He said if I was so hopeless about it without you, to just-"

Max goes quiet, breath hitching oddly, and Rico pauses, jerked out of his thoughts.

"Max, are you touching yourself?"

There's a soft moan over the phone, and Rico slips from the hallway into an empty bathroom, palming at his dick. The blood has rushed out of his head, phone pinned between his shoulder and ear.

"I'm sorry, yes, need it so bad-"

"Fuck, you're being so good Max. Keep talking honey, tell me what he said."

Max whimpers over the line, and Rico hears a rustling noise before he speaks again.

"He told me to just invite you over, and I could- ah, could come on your cock if I wanted it so much."

The dizzying blood rush leaves Rico gripping the edge of the sink. His sweet housemate, smart and dorky and inexperienced- he may not be a virgin anymore thanks to Daniel, but Rico knows that doesn't necessarily mean Max has been treated right.

Rico's been told he's a good partner, that his endless patience and gentleness during sex helps balance out the size of his dick. He's diligent about prep work, but Max. Max would cry about it, Rico just knows it.

Daniel's not treating him right. If Rico goes over there- he's going to need to educate. Show him why it's so much better when your partner is a sated mess, why the aftercare is the best part.

He needs to take care of Max first. He presses the heel of his palm into his shorts again, trying to decide.

He and Max have been headed down this path since the first night. Rico would be perfectly content keeping their relationship in its weird nebulous state, but he's here for what Max needs.

Max wants things to be good with Daniel, which means it's Rico's job to facilitate that- and if part of that process includes giving Max the best lay of his life, than Rico's just setting the bar of Daniel.

He breathes out slow, forcing himself to focus. At least one of them needs to be thinking.

"Do you want that? No hard feelings Max, I want you to be honest."

Max makes a punched out noise, and his voice is wavering when he speaks.

"Yes, I- but only if you also want it, I wouldn't-"

He's getting stuck in his own head, Rico can tell.

"I would love to come do that for you, Max. But I've got some time left at the gym, so you might have to wait a little longer. Are you still touching yourself?"

"Only a little bit, Rico, please- need it so bad, I want to come, I'll be good-"

Rico hums low, hand shoved into his shorts, fingers curling around the tip of his cock.

"You are being good for me. I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise. Are you going to be okay for another hour or two?"

Max whines again, needy and pitchy. Rico tries to imagine what he might look like-

"Yes, I'll be okay, I'll be good."

He knows Max is going to be good. He wouldn't be upset even if Max wasn't, because the entire thing is hot.

"I'll be there before you know it. Send me the address, yes?"

Max's shaky sigh goes straight to his dick, and his fingers are smeared with precome as he slowly jerks, careful not to be audible.

"I will, thank you Rico, thank you, I'll be good."

"You don't have to thank me for anything, Max. I want to help take care of you."

It takes him another minute or so to get through Max's haze, reminding him again to send him an address, that Rico will be there as soon as he can.

He double checks that the call is disconnected before he really gets his hand wrapped around himself, painfully hard. His brain is stuffed full of thoughts about Max- the way he fits so perfectly underneath him, the way his legs might look wrapped around Rico's waist, how it might feel for his nails to claw down Rico's back-

This might be his only opportunity to show him what good sex is supposed to feel like. Rico is going to make it stick.

------

Max is sulking, hips lazily grinding into the bed as he waits. His call with Rico had been almost an hour ago, and he's been hard ever since- every time he tried to stop thinking about it, it creeps back into his brain- along with the reminder of what he knows Rico looks like when he isn't hard.

Max should probably be using this time to stretch.

He ruts his hips into the mattress again, fingers curled in the sheets.

"Having fun?"

Daniel's voice from the doorway startles him, and Max gasps, cheeks burning as he freezes.

He can hear Daniel laugh, and then there's fingers lightly tracing across the back of his ankle.

"Well don't stop on my account babe. I was enjoying the view."

Max twists his head back into the pillows, flush with embarrassment, hyperaware of Daniel's fingers.

"Did you call Rico?"

He nods, rolling his hips again without realizing, caught up in the thought of Rico's fingers, Rico's hands, his cock inside of him-

Daniel hums lightly.

"Good."

Some part of Max is aware that Daniel's got a weird hangup about the whole thing, but he can't figure out what it is, and Daniel told him to call Rico, so Max isn't going to feel bad about that.

There's a loud buzzing noise through the apartment for a moment, and Daniel steps away, leaving a friendly little pat on the back of Max's thigh.

"Concierge is letting someone up- hope you're ready, babe."

------

Daniel has a nice condo. Rico doesn't want to think about the eye watering price tag on it, this high up in the heart of the city, but he can respect the work of whatever interior designer Daniel hired.

He's setting his keys and wallet down on the entryway shelf when Daniel comes around the corner, casually dressed in lounge clothes. It's different from the last time they'd met, when Rico had pinned him against the concrete wall, watched him pretend like it didn't make him hard.

He's looking down at him now, unimpressed.

Daniel offers him a blinding smile, completely fake.

"Rico, mate, glad you could make it."

Rico keeps his face flat, narrowing his eyes slightly as he steps forward into Daniel's space, towering over him as he rests one hand gently on his waist, leaning down next to his ear.

He keeps his voice low and soft- they don't need Max any more in the middle of this than he already is.

"I'll deal with you later."

Daniel's pupils blow wide, mouth parting as Rico gives his waist a harsh squeeze, stepping away from him.

"Where's Max."

Daniel swallows, and then he's leading them down a hallway, socks quiet against the hardwood floor. Rico can see Max as soon as the doorway comes into view- the bed is positioned to be seen from the hallway when the door is open.

He's splayed out on top of rumpled sheets, the muscles of his back flexing as he rolls his hips down into the mattress. His hair is wild in the way it gets when it's dried from the shower without styling, and Rico takes a moment to simply watch, drinking in the sight before he steps forward.

Daniel is still hovering in the doorway, and Rico eyes him, wondering how much his fragile mentality can handle.

Ultimately, Daniel's miraculous ability to get this far in life without confronting who he actually is isn't Rico's problem. He nods his head at the chair, cocking an eyebrow when Daniel pauses.

There's a thread of satisfaction in his chest when Daniel slinks over to the chair, fidgety and nervous.

Rico turns his attention back to Max. It's about teaching now- a hands on practical lesson.

He settles his palm between Max's shoulders, dragging it slowly down as his back as Max gasps underneath him, arching and twisting his head to meet Rico's eyes.

"Rico-"

"Hi, sweetheart."

Max's face is flushed, pink across his cheeks and ears, eyes glassy and wide as he grips at Rico's arms, practically dragging him into the bed.

Rico allows it, maneuvering so that his back is against the headboard, Max pressing into his lap. He steadies him with his hands across his waist, fondness lighting up his chest.

"Easy, Max."

Max frowns, lips pressing into a pout.

"Rico, I have already been waiting, I want-"

He's whiny, clearly having expected Rico to just come in and fix things.

Rico runs his hands down Max's sides, thumbs brushing over the soft skin under his ribs.

"You have to let me prep you, okay? You've been very good, waiting this long, I just need a little bit longer."

He brings one hand up, carefully cradling Max's face. They've crossed just about every line of their friendship lately, and Max gets clingy, needs reassurance- Rico's willing to take the risk that this might help.

He leans closer, carefully watching Max, still running his other hand soothingly down Max's side.

"This okay?"

Max nods, eyes blown.

"Please."

Rico's gentle with it, carefully shifting Max in his lap as he kisses him, chaste and easy until Max's mouth falls open. He's eager, focused on getting more, moving easily where Rico wants him.

He pulls back, heart tugging at the mournful noise Max makes.

He's pretty like this, perched over Rico's thighs, pale skin and lean muscle on display, pink flush down his chest.

Rico's eyes flick over briefly to Daniel, mesmerized in the chair, fingers gripping tight into the fabric of the arms. It'll be interesting to watch him fall apart over this- but he's not Rico's priority.

There's a bottle of lube on the nightstand, easily within reach for Rico, and he pressed a brief kiss to Max's lips before leaning over and snagging it.

"You're doing good for me sweetheart, keep being patient."

He arranges them so Max is laid out on his back, hands wrapped around Rico's arms. It's easy to flick to cap of the bottle, even easier to quirk an eyebrow at Daniel, a silent motion for him to pay attention.

He lets the lube sit between his fingers for a moment, letting it warm to body temperature as he leans down and kisses Max again, making his way across his jaw, down his neck.

Max presses up into it, breathy as his fingers tighten around Rico's biceps.

"Ah- feels good, fuck, please-"

Rico hums against his skin, bringing his fingers down to trace against Max's ass, kissing against his jaw.

"I know, I'm on it."

His first finger goes easy- he could probably do two right now, but that's not the point. The point is showing how prep can be good, just as good as the actual sex.

Max's legs fall open for him, gasping as Rico works his finger carefully, letting him adjust.

His nails dig into Rico's arms when he brushes against his prostate, arching up into his grip.

"Missed you, missed your fingers, I can- I can take another one, please-"

Rico grins, presses another kiss to Max's lips as he pushes in his second finger.

"So pretty for me, Max, all stretched out here on the bed- you put up with so much, don't you?"

Max blinks up at him, wiggling his hips when Rico's fingers fall still.

"Rico."

He laughs softly, scissoring them slowly inside of him.

"Really, Daniel here is very lucky you're as sweet and patient as you are, yeah?"

He deliberately looks up at Daniel, who's white knuckling the fabric of the chair with one hand, the other shoved into his pants, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

His eyes widen at being addressed, cheeks flushed. Rico scoffs, looking back down at Max.

"He's just ungrateful, Max. That's his problem to solve, not yours."

Max's head drops back as Rico teases a third finger, moaning.

"How- How many, please, I'm being good."

Rico kisses him again, appeasing.

"I want to get to four, sweetheart. You're being perfect, don't worry. I just want to make sure you're nice and ready for me- I'm not going to hurt you."

Max whines, shifting his hips to try and get Rico's fingers deeper, starting to get impatient.

"I'm ready, Rico, I want-"

Rico curls his three fingers against Max's prostate, watches him arch underneath him as he moans.

"Please, please-"

Another soft kiss to Max's collarbone, and he's carefully working the three fingers, trying to stretch him gently.

"I want you to tell me something first, yeah?"

Max's eyes flutter back open, watery and wide as he looks at him.

"Whatever you want, I'll say whatever-"

There's a smile tugging at the corners of Rico's mouth, working one of his hands up Max's chest.

"I want you to tell me that you're good, and that you deserve better."

Max's breathing stutters, confused. There's a sharp inhale from the chair, and Rico's mouth curls into a vicious smirk, tucked by Max's jaw where he can't see.

He looks up at Daniel from under his lashes, braced completely over Max as he works him apart with his fingers.

He deliberately stops moving his fingers, and Max makes a frustrated cry, gripping Rico tight enough that he's half expecting to have little fingerprints bruises tomorrow morning.

"Rico-"

He doesn't break eye contact with Daniel, speaking low near Max's ear.

"Say it, sweetheart."

Max bucks his hips impatiently, squirming under Rico. His blush has gotten darker.

"I-"

Rico lets his pinky tease at the edge of Max's rim, but he doesn't move the other three fingers.

"You're good, and you deserve better."

"I'm good-"

Rico curls his fingers directly into Max's prostate, and he chokes out a loud moan, eyes wide.

"Almost there."

His pinky slips in easily, and he carefully scissors them, testing the give.

"And I- I deserve better."

Daniel's squirming in the chair, head tilted back as he palms at his dick, and Rico doesn't know him very well, but-

"Stop touching, Daniel."

Daniel freezes, and Max squirms under Rico again, impatient.

Rico locks eyes with Daniel, smug.

"I think you know that I want you to behave- and it's not like it's hard, is it? Max is doing such a good job showing you how to be good."

Daniel gulps, mouth opening for a moment before Rico turns his attention back to Max. He's not interested in anything he has to say.

Max tugs at his arms, pulling him down for a kiss as Rico finally pulls his fingers out.

He brushes a thumb across Max's cheek, watching him pant underneath him.

He's so good- Rico has no idea how Daniel has fucked this up so bad. Max is perfect, easy to work with and eager to please.

"Want to show him how pretty you are when you get fucked properly?"

Max flushes deeper, fingers tightening across his biceps.

"Please-"

[giuseppe-yuki]

maneater

sebastian vettel x vampire!reader

briefly: mark webber x vampire!reader, daniel ricciardo x vampire!reader, pierre gasly x vampire!reader, alex albon x vampire!reader, lestappen cameo

w.c.: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of death

summary: who's to stop a girl from having a little fun?

a/n: sigh.. ok guys ik i said i was working on the spiderman!au fic but i heard "maneater" by nelly furtado and got a lil inspired. anyways, this mini fic is dedicated to the awesome @n0vazsq who sends me nothing but the kindest and supportive messages ever.. ly girl 🥹🫶

picture credits from pinterest :)

you weren’t going to sugarcoat it. you were a maneater, plain and simple. 

every few years, when you got bored of frolicking among the misty forest, feasting on rabbits and elk, or people-watching in the nearby towns, you would fly up to the fancy lodges up on the ocean-side cliffs to have a little fun. 

when you flounce into the entrance with your white frilly dress, pearls, and blood-red ribbon-bows, the wealthy patrons of the red bull chalet were none the wiser to your intentions. 

it was almost too easy, the way the men you picked fell for your facade. one look, one touch, one whisper in their ear, and you had them in the palm of your hand. they liked it really, making it seem like you were the prey. they led you into their rooms and pushed you against a wall for a searing kisses. that’s what made it oh-so-fun when you finally were able to sink your fangs into their necks- a nice snack before you robbed them blind and left their cold, dead bodies splayed on the bed.

stern businessman mark webber was your first.

he stood out from all the other rich pricks who frequented the chalet- dark, handsome, and mysterious- the type of guy who could be the main love interest in one of those trashy romantic paperbacks. 

he sipped from his crystal glass- whiskey, neat- looking so forlorn at the empty lobby bar. 

“aw, why so sad, mister?” you had inquired, taking a seat next to him. 

even when he didn’t reply, you knew you had enchanted him the way his eyes scanned your alluring body. 

all you had to do next was to flutter your eyelashes and put a well-placed manicured hand on his muscled arm for him to invite you to his room. 

he smelled just like he looked, all leather and musk. maybe it was you who was enchanted after you ghost your glossy lips down his neck and sank your fangs into his neck.

charismatic daniel ricciardo was the second that you decided to snatch in your claws. 

when you spotted him from the chalet’s entrance foyer, lips stretched into an almost-permanent smile and reeling with a big honking laugh at the bartender’s words, you knew you just had to have him. he exuded a type of youthfulness that you once had all those years ago. 

you barely had time to order your drink, a singular flute of champagne, before he slid into a seat next to you with his own drink of choice, the chalet’s infamous vodka red-bull. 

“a pretty thing like you should be careful around here,” he lilts in an australian accent. “didn’t you hear? a man was murdered here in one of the rooms a few years ago.” 

you take a sip of champagne, purposefully tilting your head up. his eyes trail your soft throat as you swallow the bubbly liquid. 

he subconsciously gulps. 

when you finish, you flash a sharp smile at him. 

“well then, i’m glad i’ll have a strong man like you to protect me.” 

it took all but a second for him to take your hand and lead you through his room entryway, a massive oak door marked with a simple gold 3 in the middle. 

it took all but a second more for you to pounce and sink your fangs into his thick neck the second he closed the door.

playboy pierre gasly was your third. 

even as a self-proclaimed heartbreaker, it was laughable- you didn’t even have to try. 

when he saw your big doe eyes staring at him through the gaggle of girls crawling on him, he had tipped the bartender to bring a fruity little cocktail your way- sex on the beach. 

later, pushed onto the cream white sheets of his bed, he swears he saw your same warm irises turn a blood red before his vision turned black. 

bashful billionaire alexander albon was your fourth. 

to be honest, you saw his flashy oslo blue porsche before you saw him walk through the gilded doors of the chalet entranceway, but how could you resist his bleach-blonde hair and shy smile? 

you had to work a little harder this time- sliding him a negronis, giving him enough compliments, and drawing him in with your melodic voice before he gave in and stuttered through a request to join him at his suite. 

barely through the doorway, he had kissed you against the door with a fiery passion, in a way that was totally opposite of his demeanor. 

he tasted real sugar sweet, but his blood was sweeter.

when you prance into the red-bull chalet once again, hungry and determined, you scan the surroundings for your next victim. 

the first man you see underneath the glamorous decorations of the lobby is gorgeous, with blonde fluffy hair and big blue eyes. he huffs, bored, standing idly with his designer luggages propped next to him. you just about lick your lips. he looked like he would taste like sweet syrup. 

however, another man in a blinding red sweater breezes by, wrapping the first person into a hug and kisses him on the cheek, effectively eliminating him from your list. victims that travelled with another person were too risky, too messy to deal with. 

peering toward the high-end bar, you spot another man, head bowed and nursing a ruby red shirley temple. 

he blushes a pink hue when he looks up and sees you studying him across the high-ceilinged foyer. 

perfect.

sebastian, is what he says his name is. his blonde hair ruffles as he talks, and his voice is thick with a german accent. 

well-versed in the art of allure, you try all your tricks on him. leaning in- wafting your intoxicating smell of perfume on him, sweeping over your too-white canines with a your tongue, toying with the lace trim of your low-cut dress. 

like all the men before, you catch him hook, line, and sinker. 

you straddle him on his bed, after he leads you to his room. it’s almost a pity you have to do this, as the moon shines through the window and makes his blonde hair glow a shiny gold. 

“aw seb,” you coo, tracing a finger down the side his face.

he stares back at you with his greyish-blue eyes. 

when you extend your sharp fangs and lean towards him, you half-expect him to impulsively fight back and run.

he doesn’t. 

instead, he laughs before beaming back at you, curling back his soft pink lips. 

where his canines were sat a pretty pair of fangs, mirroring yours. 

general taglist: @ellelabelle @n0vazsq

[pia-nor481]

She…What? Part Seven

Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris x reader

Oscar admits to her that he’s not particularly experienced in the world of sex, yet he doesn’t feel as ashamed about it as he expected. Lando and Daniel have their usual hotel chat in which Lando reminds his friends of his impeding bedtime. Although the Australian would rather spend an evening with her

2.4K words | 18+

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

She pulled back slightly, remaining in his lap. "What do you mean, Oscar?" She whispered, eyes wide as her hands slid up his arms slowly. "I'm not really experienced with this kind of thing." The Australian's eyes were closed, hiding his embarrassment. "Ever? Or in terms of a contract relationship?" She questioned with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. Oscar's hands would have made dents in her skin if he was training any harder. "Well I've done some stuff. Just not all the way." A blush rose to his cheeks as she was finally able to see his eyes. 

She slowly moved behind Oscar, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's okay. Usually I'd be a bit of a tease and and walk away from you right now, leave you high and dry. But I don't have to tease you too much." She giggled resting her chin on top of his head, making his hair impossibly messier. "There's no need to be mean." He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest in disgust. "Hey. I'm not trying to be mean." She gasped in false offence, squeezing his arms playfully. "I'm just informing you of what you're getting involved with." She smiled, pulling away and standing up. "Then we can just talk for a while. Perhaps we can get to know each other better in that time, more than that you're a voyeur." She giggled, taking a small sip of wine, lifting the bottle up slightly. "I don't drink wine." Oscar started, getting up from the bed. "I can only have hard liquor, otherwise my trainer will complain." He finished, reaching for the bottle of whisky. "So you don't drink beer or cider either. Just the the stuff that will get you drunk quicker?" She asked in disbelief. 

Oscar shook his head before speaking. "I hardly drink actually." He turned watching her slowly drink the red liquid, not once looking away from him. "That's going to change soon. Not just because you're winning races now." She smiled, moving through the room gracefully, noticing Oscar's lingering gaze. "You can speak you're mind, I wont judge you." He was finally pulled out of his gaze by her words. "I'm just taken aback." Oscar's filter slowly dissolving after a few sips of the drink. "You're gorgeous." He whispered once he was closer, reaching out to brush his fingers over her face.

Oscar was shocked with how forward he was being, yet he felt so draw in, and he didn't want to be let go. "How sweet of you Oscar." She smiled, pulling him in close, waiting for his reaction. The Australian could feel the blood pumping harshly through his body as his hands came up to cup her cheeks. He groaned quietly, finally feeling his lips against her, the level of relief he felt was unprecedented. Oscar pushed her down slowly, feeling his knee slip between her legs. He didn't know what came over him in that moment, his neurons were clearly delayed to his central nervous system. Oscar pulled back with a quiet 'sorry' before moving to the end of the bed, annoyed with himself, he wasn't one to wear his emotions on his sleeve and so sat there with a straight face, battling his thoughts. "Oscar." She repeated, trying to pull him out of the trance. "I know we said we would only talk, but that doesn't mean I'm upset with you." She reasoned, reaching for his drink and taking a small sip. He raised an eyebrow at her action but didn't move to stop her, if anything he wanted her to continue. He wanted her to completely consume him. 

"What did you want to talk about?" Oscar struggled to get out, his nerves coming through. "What you like, what you want. Anything." She brought the whiskey up to his lips, waiting for him to finish the glass. He was definitely out of his depth here, almost alarmingly so. But Oscar would do anything she asked. "Okay then...I want to know more about how this relationship works, at least in your words." Oscar was always straight to the point she soon came to realise. "Well, it's really whatever you want it to be." She brought her hand up to his hair, running her fingers through the messy strands. "So what is it to Daniel and Lando?" He questioned, focusing on her lips, mainly the colour of the gloss. "You may have to ask them. But from my point of view it feels almost like friends with benefits, at least in a way. It's difficult to describe. But I've know Daniel much longer than Lando so it's a little bit different."

"In what way?" Oscar quizzed, he was clearly a person who liked research. "I suppose it's a bit more romantic with Daniel, at least in a way. He sorts out hotels, flights, holidays and so on. He's much more involved in my personal life than Lando. Not that either of them mind, it's what they want." Oscar was slightly overwhelmed with the information being fed to him, some was left up to his interpretation. "And if i wanted to be more involved with your personal life?" Oscar's eyes fell to his lap momentarily, as if he was preparing himself for the worst. "If that's what you want, then yes." A weight was lifted from the Australian's shoulders and a small smile adorned his face.

A small sigh escaped Oscar's lips before he spoke. "Okay, then how does this work logistically?" She stood up slowly, walking towards the open bottle of wine. "It depends, we all have to talk about certain things, but mostly just call or text me and we go from there. If I'm honest i wouldn't suggest waltzing into this, or any, hotel room. Then again, you like that so." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm never hearing the end of that, am I?" She giggled and shook her head turning back towards him. "So, what do you like, or at least what do you want to try?" A wave of worry washed over him when her words finally registered, too focused on the way the robe presented her tits. "If I'm being completely honest, I've only done oral, both giving and receiving, but not a whole lot. So I'm not very good at it." Oscar's shame was apparent, he didn't think that he should be as inexperienced as he was, especially at his age. "That's not world ending, you can learn, you can experiment and find out what you like too. There's nothing wrong with that." She tried reassuring him, rubbing her hands over his arms softly. "I don't really know what I want to try." 

At the same time, in Lando's hotel room, Daniel and Lando were discussing the ins and outs of the current relationship. "So, how do you feel about Oscar?" Lando questioned, jumping onto the bed in a childlike manner. "He's alright, we've had a proper chat so, I think it's all good now." Daniel started before placing himself on the end of the bed. "I was being bitter, he wanted the seat and he was concerned about me before signing so it's alright. I think if i drove that third year at McLaren it would have been a career ender for me, I don't even think RB would have me. So maybe Oscar signing was good for me. I don't know." Daniel trailed off looking at the ceiling, this was the first time he'd said such a thing out loud, and it felt good. "And how do you think he's gonna handle her?" Lando continued, rolling onto his stomach. "I think he'll be okay. She won't be as hard on him. She know's he wont be able to handle that level of teasing, I made sure of that." Daniel smirked, turning to see Lando's face. 

"Oh really, it only took a few days to end her teasing."  Lando stated, looking up as if he was imagining the first time he was with her. "You had it easy. Seven months of back and forth flirting before I even had the chance to go out with her. Trust me, you're lucky." The Australian confirmed, pulling his jumper off. "So what? Oscar's gonna get her tomorrow?" Daniel laughed at his friend almost mockingly. "Oh no. She'll make him wait, tease Oscar enough to have him begging for her. It's what she does well. You know that. You just broke before I did." Daniel pulled his phone out of his pocket quickly, looking at the messages she had sent him. "That's not very nice." Lando's hand came up to his heart, clenching the shirt, trying to feign offence. "Don't be dramatic. The amount of times I got blue balls was unreal." Daniel sighed, shaking his head at the painful thought. "I didn't need to know that." Lando groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "Oh please, you've heard worse." He rolled his eyes, locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. "Going to bed? That's good, you don't need RB to give you a bedtime." Lando joked, lifting his head up. "No actually, I know what toys she brought so..." Daniel smirked, closing the door before he left. 

Daniel hummed while walking through the hallway of the hotel, looking for room 609. He knocked loudly, excited to see her. "Hey Darling." He said in a husky voice, leaning against the doorframe. "Smooth." She laughed, pulling him into the room by the collar of his shirt. "So what did you learn?" Daniel's excitement was radiating from him as he walked towards her suitcase. "A few things, mostly that he's not that experienced." She stated, climbing on the bed, looking over at Daniel, who seemed to be in a very difficult internal debate. "Of course, both me and Lando are sluts. How could I forget." Daniel joked, walking back towards the bed. "You've got qualifying tomorrow, you need rest." She reasoned. Daniel had spent so much time and effort getting back into the sport, and she didn't want to be the reason he couldn't get a top seat. "It's fine Darling, it's not even late." Daniel emphasise his point by showing her his watch. She rolled her eyes playfully, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I can't believe you. Lando really is blind." Daniel laughed, stripping of his clothes. "You know I had to explain to him how long you were teasing me for. He didn't believe it." She stood up, slowly undoing the belt of the robe, letting it fall to the ground slowly, revealing lace underwear. She bent over slightly, reaching for the waistband before Daniel spoke. "I don't think so. Come here." He lifted his hand up, pulling her down. "And you complain about me teasing." She joked, reaching up to tug on his hair lightly. "Don't start with me, not tonight. And you were the one complaining about sleep, look at you now." Daniel hands came to rest behind her knees and he shifted his body slightly. His right hand traveled from her knee up to her thing, feather light touches teasing her. His fingers danced over her skin and his eyes shifted up, looking for a reaction. "Daniel." She scolded. "Oh government name. I really must be in trouble." Daniel's hands finally made it to her pelvis, toying with the lace before tugging on the waistband. Soon the sound of vibrating met her ears. "Danny." Her gasp bounced off the walls as her hands grasped the bedsheets. "Careful. Don't want Oscar to hear." Daniel's playful tone didn't go unnoticed. Daniel pressed the red vibrator onto her clit harshly, enjoying the look on her face. Daniel lifted the toy away from her before placing in back, teasing as much as he could. "That's it." He whispered, lifting her leg up higher, needing to get closer. She could feel the vibrations coursing through her whole body, sending goosebumps up her arms and pulling quiet moans form her lips. "Stop teasing me Danny." She spoke though gasps, eyes wide open, noticing the smirk adorning his face. "Oh but you like teasing" 

Daniel was quick to push the lace to the side and line his cock up with her cunt, rubbing the tip over her clit lightly. "Always making me wait. Lucky I don't do the same to you." He uttered, slowly pushing his cock in, inch by inch. Her legs wrapped around Daniel's waist quicky, pulling him in closer. "That's it." She whispered as Daniel began to rock his hips, slowly to start, before he connected their lips. There was a level of almost unknown passion, almost as if she had manifested it. They both knew that there was a romantic aspect to their relationship, but even now, they were surprised. Daniel's hands didn't move from her skin. He wanted to be close to her, he didn't want her to ever leave him, he needed her with him. Daniel's groans and grunts filled the room as he got closer, her voice only edging him closer. "So close, Darling." The Australian gasps, pushing into her cunt fast, desperate to finish. "Gonna cum. Fuck." Daniel painted her stomach white with a loud groan, his head fell into the curve of her neck, panting loudly.

"So good to me, Darling." Daniel whispered into her skin, although those were the only coherent words the only ones she could understand. She threaded her hands through his hair, playing with his curls. "So pretty." The Australian had is eyes closed, thinking about their time together, from when they first met to six months ago. He focused on her, no matter if they were in a hotel or a beach, it was all her.

They laid on the bed in comfortable silence, just enjoying the feeling of each other. "We can shower in the morning, I just want to stay here." She whispered, pulling Daniel impossibly closer. He nodded into her skin before speaking, "Come here...Just want to stay with you." They shifted so they were covered with the quilt, Daniel's arms circled her middle, keeping her close. "What's the plan for tomorrow then?" She asked, looking up at Daniel with a sweet smile. "We'll go get some food and take a nice track walk before free practice." She nodded wordlessly, resting her head on his chest. Darkness filled the room as her eyes closed, feeling Daniel's fingers draw shapes mindlessly on her back. Just as sleep began to overtake her she felt Daniel kiss her cheek before she heard his words. "I love you, Darling."

[desertfangs]

The Parallels Between Armand and Daniel's Turnings

I’m rereading Blood and Gold and I was struck by how similar Armand and Daniel’s turnings are.

Armand and Daniel were both mortals in love with vampires. Armand (Amadeo at the time) knew Marius was something “other” pretty quickly, and eventually Marius even shows him that he’s a monster as a sort of test to see how he’ll react. Armand is no less smitten and still wants to be with Marius (and be like him - he even cutely asks if he just needs to drink the blood of evil doers to become like him.)

Daniel, of course, knew Armand was a vampire when they met, and he is also enamored with his monstrosity as well as his humanity. He wants to be a vampire when he finds Armand, but by the time he's turned, he also wants to live forever with him.

Both were given little drinks of vampire blood repeatedly as mortals before their turning, although for Daniel this went on for 8 years, and while it only lasted 2 or so years for Armand.

Both Armand and Daniel are dying when they’re turned (Armand from poison and Daniel from alcoholism). Marius had decided to turn Armand already, though he was waffling a little, and I'd argue Armand had made the same decision about Daniel.

Both Marius and Armand are brought to tears when faced with the reality of turning the one they love and both Armand and Daniel tell their would-be makers not to cry. From Blood and Gold: He smiled. And it was never innocent, no matter how beautiful, his smile, "Don't weep for me, Master," he answered. He struggled to rise a little from the pillow, his eyes very wide. "When the ikon fell, my fate was made, Master."

From Queen of the Damned: "Don't cry! It's not fair," Daniel said. "This is my rebirth. How can you cry? Don't you know what this means? Is it possible you never knew?" Both Armand and Daniel have to affirm that yes, they do want the blood, and to be with their soon-to-be-maker:

Blood and Gold: “Would you truly have the Blood, Amadeo?” I asked. “Say it to me, that you forsake the light of the sun forever, and forever you will thrive on the blood of the Evil Doer as I thrive.” “I vow it, I will it,” he answered. “You'll live forever, unchanging?” I asked, “feeding upon mortals who can be your brothers and sisters no more?” "Yes, forever unchanging," he answered, "among them, though they are my brothers and sisters no more.”

Queen of the Damned: "Say the word, my love," Armand said. "I'll do it. We'll be in hell together after all." "But don't you see," Daniel said, "all human decisions are made like this. Do you think the mother knows what will happen to the child in her womb? Dear God, we are lost, I tell you. What does it matter if you give it to me and it's wrong! There is no wrong! There is only desperation, and I would have it! I want to live forever with you."

Anyhow, I just think the parallels between Marius/Armand and Armand/Daniel are really neat and this is a really stark example.

[nalyra-dreaming]

COMMENTS on 2x07 - SPOILERS

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . *FIRST OFF: GOD HAVE I CRIED *No breath, no relief, all the pain This… contains a lot of swearing. . . . . . . .

The fucking rat box - there is a significant time gap between Claudia being shoved in there and her on stage. I BET that will become "that" time frame later, when Armand.... finally gets to it.

Btw, the iron boxes... an iron entrapment. I'm not sure if deliberate, but there is a piece of lore from Blood Communion that could come into play here IF they should pick it up again, later on

I’m glad they made the mental influence clear right away. Like… it’s not even subtle. And Lestat acting weird AF isn’t subtle either. It’s clear. It’s scripted. It’s the “last play”. It’s been “designed, and rehearsed.”

The Achilles’ heel slashed is so… vicious

Louis sensing and smelling Lestat… oh honey

Like that they referred to “the old place” for the other theater

Them making him swear on her diary is sooooo…💀

Santiago is so PLEASED when Lestat returns to script lol… we don’t see it but I wonder how many of the jury it took

A story of love... 💀

They are using the music box music … the fuckers

Awwww Armand being “punished” to watch… nawwwwww glad Daniel is not buying it either... and by Sam, the playwright... with a scythe... nawww. Okay, everybody buying that after that little restaurant display raise their hands, lmao.

That Lestat sleeping in the dirt is just... wrong. We already KNOW he returned to Paris twice. Another hint!!!

The repeated hint at the “ancient blood”… very on the nose

Their eye contact

Them trying to make it seem as if Louis “hunted” Lestat… lmao. As if Louis could have if Lestat would not have wanted him to????

Santiago prompting Lestat…. they seem to have pushed the narrative into his mind

on a random note: the blue contacts look so much better this season???

Oh…. Lestat SNAPPING at “fags” - loved it - so fantastically intense and creepy

“where lies their disgust now”?

Lestat making that man feel what he feels - WHY didn’t you just show this to Louis?????

THE HAIR CHANGED!!! There is that strand again! And the perfect hair in other scenes!!! INFLUENCED!! Manipulated!! I’ve been fucking saying.

OOOOHHHHH MY GOD Claudia’s turning … Louis knowing about the laws, did Louis really promise to stay???? I mean that’s just bargaining, and Louis just… begging… oh god, AND THEN THE FUCKING CUT TO ARMAND’s LOOK OH YOU FUCKER

“you were manipulated into it”… yeah. Say it, Santiago

God. Lestat there. And Louis the way he sees him.

Lestat confirming that Louis did not share affection with him anymore, as said, for years

Yeah, no, Lestat’s pose there for the Antoinette reveal is totally… natural 💀

God, Claudia cackling at Lestat saying “she’s the best of my vampiric self”… 😭

Ep5 revisit. Uhhhhh boy did they expand on what we already knew. And I KNEW something happened in the coffin room that made Lestat snap!! I KNEW IT! Okay, they kept the weird logistics of the fall (for now at least), but… yeah. This makes at least… more sense than before, I guess. Also, Lestat fully breaking script and admitting it. KNOWING he had hurt Louis there. Knowing. (I still stand by the Amel theory for the outside part and the comment in 1x06. Since they are taking from Prince Lestat….)

“A wolf congratulated for not killing her pup”!!!!!!!!

Louis is wearing something other than black again!!!!

“and then - something real” - and Armand chiming in… how… inconspicuous 💅🏼

A Stoning. Indeed.

I’m not sure how much I believe of them waking Lestat tbh… like... with the supposed trial rehearsals... and the crossing over... nawwwww

That eating blood with a spoon is so… inefficient. Like, they drink so much more???? What kind of blood is that to savor it like that? Must be special??? Or it's just show.

Oh god. Madeleine choosing Claudia. She is my coven. God.

Ugh. Lestat breaking script for Claudia. AND BY GOD I HOPE CLAUDIA FULFILLS THAT PROMISE

Oohhhhwwwwwww and Armand working SO HARD ON SAVING LOUIS!!!!! YOU LITTLE…. GNAAAHHHHH I don’t even have a word. "bites something"

God the pebbles/rocks. The entombment. And the SAME stones at the Dubai tree…

Lestat, swaying on his feet

So. Armand tells us of Claudia facing her death bravely. And defiantly. And the stare of shock and pain on Lestat’s face. Armand… the last to know the truth… for now. -.-

PREVIEW

And Armand getting Louis out.. afterwards. When… the coven did not care anymore, right??????? Mh hmmm.

Louis getting their asses

Louis going to kill Lestat??? MHHHH

EPISODE INSIDER

"it’s a fake setup - props in a play". Yeah. THAT.

Claudia doesn’t give an inch - "she knows she’s right"

“She has Lestat’s blood - if they do anything, it’s come back with a vengeance”!!!!!!!!!!! YES PLEASE 😭

Claudia’s death represents Louis’ last connection to this world

“[Claudia] was a brilliant vampire.

IN - fucking - DEED

God, what an episode.

I am... somewhat irritated that the reshot the turning and did not really revisit murder night, because the discrepancies there still stand. Except they have always intended to return to it in s3, which might make sense. Still. A bit weird, all of it. And Lestat breaking out of the control and script to admit to hurting Louis. 😭

God.

[stayinlimbo]

she kissed me and i tasted you again

summary: the second worst thing to happen in minho’s life was losing you. he’s still living with the first.

pairing: lee minho x f!reader genre: angst (and i mean it) WARNINGS: implied character death, a non-consensual kiss, grief, drinking, swearing, slightly unedited, intended lowercase please do not read if any of these themes are triggering. word count: 1.91k note: please read the warnings! i had "leave me alone" by daniel seavey on repeat while writing this. i hope you enjoy ♡ please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are always appreciated

minho shouldn’t have listened to chan. 

the blend of colorful strobe lights, though vibrant, does little to illuminate the dark room he finds himself in. the smell of alcohol and smoke permeates the air, stinging his eyes and nose as he blindly pushes through the numerous people blocking his way. an involuntary gag almost escapes him at the overwhelming body odor of the man he just brushed past.

at first, a “boys’ night out” to end a stressful work week didn’t sound like the worst idea minho had heard come from his friend’s mouth. now, though, the combination of being pressed between sweaty bodies and the mediocre club music pulsating in the background was reason enough for him to want to end the night prematurely and return to the familiarity of his home.

but he can’t. not if he wants chan’s disappointed face to haunt him for the rest of the weekend.

because chan is just trying to help. or at least that’s what minho tells himself every time he is dragged out of his small one-bedroom apartment to entertain his friend’s version of fun. last week was camping, which minho would normally enjoy if chan had bothered to check the weather forecast’s warnings of heavy rain and strong winds (he only lasted twenty minutes before sprinting back into the car, forcing a reluctant chan to take him home drenched and in a darkened mood).  

the thinning crowd reveals minho’s destination; the bar is too small for the number of people surrounding the countertop but chan’s broad stature is identifiable enough in the poor lighting for minho to walk over and squeeze himself beside him. on the other side of his friend, a woman holds chan’s attention as the two talk animatedly about somethi- 

minho’s eyes widen, sparing his friend’s back an incredulous glance. his pulse quickens, a rapid rhythm pounding in his chest, as snippets of their conversation reach his ears; the phrases knows how to cook, really good dancer, three cats, single, spew haphazardly out of chan’s mouth and echo in minho’s mind. the woman’s cheerful laughter resonates against the music's throbbing bass and the blood rushing in his ears. 

oh. oh. they’re talking about him. 

“chan,” minho’s voice is a low murmur, barely audible enough for the older man to hear, “what’re you doing?” 

minho’s question hangs in the air as chan’s rambling suddenly stops, carefully turning his body to face minho’s intense stare. 

the discomfort radiating off the younger is obvious. shifting in his stance, minho can’t help the slight furrow of his brows; the hardness of his eyes wanes as they flicker between chan and the woman before finally resting on his friend’s face.

softly exhaling, chan gives him a knowing look. 

fuck. 

minho remains silent as his grip on the bar’s edge tightens, avoiding chan’s sympathetic gaze. he knows what’s coming—the well-intentioned yet painful words that carve a hole in his heart every time they are uttered:

“its been over a year, minho. she’d want you to be happy… i want you to be happy”

minho’s eyes screw shut at his friend’s words.

perhaps it’s the pitiful expression etched on chan’s face, mirroring the ache minho feels within his own chest, or the alcohol flowing through his system that makes him truly consider the weight of the elder’s words. or maybe he’s seen enough of chan’s desperate attempts to mend the fragments of minho’s shattered heart, only to reveal more irreparable damage. 

he’s right…

“just try, okay?” chan quietly pleads.  

regardless, a small nod is all he manages to give in response. minho opens his eyes, tracking his friend’s movement as chan gives his shoulder two reassuring pats before walking away from the bar and disappearing into the sea of bodies. 

…you’d want him to be happy. 

“hey” 

flinching, minho snaps his head in the direction of the feminine voice. his posture straightens, a tight lipped grimace threatening to reveal itself.   

oh, right, she’s still here.

a hesitant smile graces the woman’s expression. the gentle glow of the pulsing lights caress her face with various colorful hues, the radiant shadows enhancing her black-dressed figure as she grabs her half-full drink from the countertop. taking a small sip, her eyes glaze over his tense form. a soft chuckle escapes her glossed lips as she locks her eyes with his. 

minho won’t deny it; she is beautiful. and he must’ve been staring too much because her name falls on deaf ears when she attempts to introduce herself.

“...hello? you are minho, right?” the woman questions, eyebrows furrowing with slight doubt. 

“uh, yeah i am, sorry,” minho answers, his sweaty hands fumbling to grab chan’s left-behind soju, ultimately choosing to shove them into his pockets instead. he can feel the awkwardness emanating off of him, filling the room with a lingering tension he doesn’t know how to escape.

the woman’s smile widens, eyes crinkling with pleasure at his reply. 

well, she doesn’t seem to notice at least.

“ah, great! chan, i think that was his name, was telling me all about you. you have a really dedicated wingman.” 

“yeah, he’s a good friend. i’m lucky to have him,” minho sighs, turning his body to fully face her. 

“you’re a dancer, right?”

the rigidness of his stance loosens slightly at the comfortable subject. talking about himself isn’t hard; it never has been.

“mhm, i’m a dance teacher for a studio nearby,” minho replies, a faint smile playing on his lips. the flow of conversation remained focused on him: he’s been a dance teacher for three years but has danced since he was in middle school. yes, maybe he’ll audition for a company one day. yes, he has three cats named soongie, doongie, and dori. 

the passage of time blends together with their laughter. the nameless woman’s drink has long been finished and replaced with a new one. chan’s soju finds its way into minho’s hand, nursing the bottle carefully as he finishes it with a final swig. the stress mounted on his shoulders has finally lifted, the buzz of alcohol brushing the pain off as they rise and fall rhythmically at her drunken attempt to finish recounting an embarrassing date.

“do you live alone?” the woman’s speech is slightly slurred, tone breathless from laughter. a lopsided grin adorns her features, as if she already knows the answer, “i forgot to ask you earlier.”

minho’s smile begins to fall. “no, i told you about my cats, remember?” 

“i meant do you live with another person? a roommate? chan told me you used to live with your ex, so i was just wondering if anything had changed since then.”

the room freezes over. icy tendrils of shock and disbelief squeeze his hammering heart, his blood running cold at the woman’s words. his ex?

silence fills the tense space. the intensifying pain from his clutch on the soju bottle thrusts him back into his dreadful reality. he lets go, placing his hand flat on the counter.

minho sucks in a deep breath. “oh. what else did chan tell you?”

“wellllllll,” she drawls, a flirty smile appearing on her face. the shadows seem menacing now, their elongated forms dancing along with her slow, deliberate words, “he said you needed help getting over her.”

the woman reaches towards him, fingers closing firmly on his forearm. minho doesn’t have time to react before she lurches forward and seals her lips with his. 

the kiss lasts for two seconds before she pulls away. paralyzed, minho can’t move until she attempts it again, forcefully shoving her away. tears well into his widened eyes, quickly threatening to spill onto his cheeks. the transferred lipgloss feels sticky against his mouth.

“get the fuck away from me, now.” 

the woman doesn’t move, her mouth stammering as she tries to form a coherent sentence. “i-i’m sorry. i was just trying to-”

minho doesn’t wait to hear her justification, swiftly pushing away from the bar and stumbling in the direction of the exit. the rush of air as he pushes the door open makes singular tears streamline down his face. the chilled breeze burns his eyes as they dart around his surroundings lit by the sparse scattering of street lamps. 

no, he really shouldn’t have listened to chan. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

minho doesn’t know how he made it home (well, actually, he does but he’d rather pretend he doesn’t than admit that chan saw his distressed state leave the nightclub and called him an uber).

the taste of the woman’s lipgloss remains on his lips, no matter how many times he tries to wipe it away. he hates how he doesn’t hate it because it tastes like you.

you, who wore the same strawberry lipgloss every time you went on a date, only for minho to kiss it all off by the end of the night. 

you, who was so excited to move in with him in this small, dingy apartment until the two of you could find a better place; a home.

you, who promised you’d be right back before kissing his cheek and heading out the door.

you, whose hands he will never hold again. 

you, whose spot on the bed his cats now sleep on every night.

you, who one year, four months, and six days later, still occupy his every thought. 

you– a sob wracks through his body, echoing around the bedroom’s walls. the empty mattress trembles with him as he curls into himself, breath hitching with every whimper of your name, as if calling it enough times would bring you back into his arms once again—right where you belong. 

no, you were never his ex. you were everything. you are everything. 

your presence is everywhere in the apartment. your favorite coffee mug (that he gifted you) rests on the counter next to his. the book you swore you would finish reading one day is left bookmarked inside the drawer of the bedside table; the same place a velvet box is tucked away and hidden since he knew you’d never pick it up again (but god, he wishes you did). he had to throw away your toothbrush but your skin care products taunt him every time he retrieves his from under the sink. 

his heart aches with a feeling that refuses to fade; he loved you. he loves you.

everyday becomes harder to breathe, to exist. the apartment, once filled with loud laughter, gentle whispers, and promises of love, is now a silent void. the absence of your soft footsteps, a careful dance to avoid stepping on the cats crowding around your feet, claws at minho’s heart. the sanctuary he knew he could run to and be welcomed with open arms and a warm embrace crumbled before his eyes the moment you were gone.

minho’s breaths evens out after a few minutes, each inhale pulling the familiar scent of the apartment. the tears leave damp marks on his pillow and lines on his face but its nothing he isn’t used to; a ritual, a routine he’s sadly accustomed to. it's not the first time his tears have stained the sheets, and it won’t be the last. the cruel cycle will repeat itself until one day he wakes up and doesn’t instinctively reach out for you in hopes that his reality isn’t just a hellish nightmare. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

the second worst thing to happen in minho’s life was losing you. he doesn’t know if he can keep living with the first.

────────────────────────────────────────────

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

[sugarushwriting]

“look what you made me do.”

you have a past you’re not proud of. the people you hung around and the things you went along with.

but now it’s came to bite you back.

trigger warning: blood, gore, harassment, SA, just know you’ve been warned. it’s not as explicit as many others, but it’s still different than what i have written in the past.

not proofread

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

it’s been 2 weeks since one of your friends from high school passed away in a terrible car accident.

“it’s so empty without kelly here.” asa pouted.

maya smiled. “her soul is in a better place, asa.” maya was definitely being sarcastic.

currently, you and your friends maya, asa, and danielle were sitting in a cafe.

you all decided to meet each other after a stressful two weeks when you all had time after your part time jobs.

you’ve all been friends since high school. about 6 years have passed since, but your guilty conscience wouldn’t let go of all the bad you’ve done to others then.

it seems you were the only one.

you sighed. “do you think karma is finally catching up to us?”

all three girls looked at you. “why would you say that? nothing bad has happened to us, only kelly.” danielle said.

“what we did happen years ago, we were young, dumb teens. i’m sure our classmates got over it.” maya waved off.

“i just can’t shake this feeling of being watched for the past month.” you shook your head, gripping your cup of hot liquid in front of you.

“you’ve felt it to?” asa asked shocked. “i have been feeling as if someone has been watching me too!”

maya scoffed. “you all are so paranoid! no one cares about us enough to follow us around.” maya then laughed, “well at least not you all. maybe me.” she flipped her light hair over her shoulder.

maya, you could say was the ring leader, and the worst one of you all.

just then, the bell over the door rang, and you all were back to arguing in hushed tones when danielle slapped mayas shoulder.

“what was that for?” maya hissed.

danielle pointed to the boy waiting in line. “he looks familiar, no?”

mayas loud laugh could be heard throughout the room, “you’ve got to be kidding! loser wonie?”

you and asa looked at the boy that maya had pointed out.

“only, it’s not loser wonie anymore, huh?” maya smirked crossing her arms.

the boy turned around, a shocked expression on his face. his cheeks began to turn red.

“it is you!” maya hit her hand on the table. “yang jungwon? no way!”

yang jungwon? you remembered him. he was a target of yours and the girls back in high school.

you had to stop your mouth from hanging open. you were sure the girls would agree with you—jungwon has gotten a lot more attractive. seems like he’s been hitting the gym more than books over the past years.

jungwon bowed in embarrassment and shyly. after all these years, he’s never once forgotten or forgiven what you and your friends done to him and other classmates.

“not gonna say hi? hello? how you doing?” maya teased.

jungwon quickly turned around and walked out the cafe.

“maya, will you ever stop being a bitch?” you snapped. you were tired of her high school mean girl personality.

maya narrowed her eyes at you. “what did you call me?”

“let’s not start this okay!” asa sighed.

“yeah, can we focus on the fact how hot yang jungwon got over the years? i thought he left the city for college?”

you shrugged. “maybe he came back after graduation? or maybe on break?”

“makes me wonder what other boys got hot over the years.” maya leaned back in the seat. “maybe huening kai? riki?”

“oh, i’ve seen updated pictures of riki! he’s very handsome and a dancer and photographer!”

this time maya slapped danielle. “and you didn’t tell us?”

“it’s not like he’d be interested, he was a target of ours, remember?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

it was a typical day for you after work. you got home around 9 in the evening, throwing your shoes off and plopping yourself on your couch.

you texted the girls.

you: anyone wanna go out for drinks? i need maybe one or two, or maybe ten

danielle: early shift tomorrow :(

asa: has anyone heard from maya? i texted her yesterday and never got a reply.

danielle: she’s probably still pissed about being called a bitch

you: not my problem

maya: oh boo-who, you didn’t hurt my feelings

you: asa, see? she’s fine.

except maya wasn’t fine. and it wasn’t maya who replied.

the girls went radio silent after that and you huffed in annoyance. you really needed new and better friends.

instead, you opened a bottle of soju you had and chugged it before taking a quick shower.

not because you wanted to, but because the hot water ran out after ten minutes.

getting out, you just decided to slip on shorts and an oversized shirt. you’re somewhat used to the hot water running out, especially this late at night.

the soju seemed to do nothing, so you decided to drink two more within 30 minutes. it wasn’t long until you fell asleep on the couch.

you woke up, to see your television was still on, and looked over to the clock on your stove.

2:56 am.

turning it off, you decided just to stay on the couch and lifted the blanket higher on your body.

you sat up quickly.

blanket? you didn’t fall asleep with a blanket. quickly reaching for the lamp beside you, turning it on, you studied the blanket in fear.

because the blanket was covered in pictures of you. pictures that were clearly taken from afar without your knowledge.

pictures of you at work, at the pool, sleeping, naked.

“what the fuck?” you threw the blanket off your body quickly in disgust before you stood up looking at the room around you.

“you bitches are never grateful for anything.”

a deep voice said and you quickly turned around trying to find the source. you spun in circles finding no one.

“i got you a nice present and the first thing you do is throw it to the ground?”

when you turned around again, a figure in all dark clothes, and a mask was standing in front of you.

but before you could scream, the hooded figured took a bat and hit you over the head, sending you to the ground.

with a headache, you attempted to crawl, but was weakened by the blow. the figure hovered over you, and his hand holding a cloth came over your mouth.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

you awoke to being tied to a chair. your hands and arms bound behind your back, your ankles bound to each chair leg.

your mouth and eyes remained uncovered.

once your vision came to, a scary sight came to.

asa and danielle bound by their wrists, hanging from the ceiling, their feet off the ground. their mouths were gagged so they couldn’t speak.

it seemed you all were outside in a barn.

“asa! danielle!” your voice croaked out.

both girls eyes went wide and they started moving around and crying.

your eyes went to further to the left and you wish you had not looked.

it was maya. she was bound from her wrists, hanging from the ceiling of the barn. but she was barely alive.

her head was hanging at a weird angle, a pool of blood underneath her, leaking from her mouth, and gashes all over her body.

you screamed.

“oh shut up! don’t act like you actually cared for her.”

a man came out of the shadows. danielle and asa started wiggling like crazy once again, and you sat there silenced.

yang jungwon.

he was wearing black sweats, black boots, and a black tank top showing off his arms that he’s clearly been working on.

“jung—jungwon?” you whispered out. you closed your eyes tightly hoping this was just a bad dream. but when you opened your eyes again, he was still there.

“boo.” he said and laughed. jungwon threw mayas phone to the ground beside you. “asa here was the only one worried about poor maya. turns out she had a reason to.”

jungwon walked over to mayas barely hanging on body, a bored expression written on his face, but behind his eyes, you saw the twinkle of excitement.

he caressed maya’s cold cheek with a smile. “so pretty on the outside, but so ugly on the inside.” he scoffed. maya grumbled as much as she could with little energy.

“what—what are you gonna do with her now?” your voice trembled. there was no way he could get away with this, right?

he smiled happily. “that, im glad you asked.” he walked closer to you. “first, i have a wood chipper im excited to use.”

you swallowed in disgust and disbelief. asa and danielle were freaking out behind him, knowing they were probably next.

“after that, i learned something very interesting from criminal minds.” he stared at you with a dark look, that smile never fading.

“what—what’s that?”

“pigs are the best for crime scene clean ups.”

yes, because pigs would eat anything.

“please, please jungwon don’t. don’t do this.” you reasoned. you had to try something, right?

“let me ask you something.” jungwon asked. you nodded, signaling for him to continue, “if it meant your friends stayed alive would you give yourself to me in exchange for their life?”

you nodded without a thought. “yes, yes, yes.”

jungwon laughed in disbelief. he turned quickly to the other girls in disgust. “you hear that ladies? your friend here is willing to give her life for yours.”

asa and danielle were trembling with tears.

jungwon turned back to you. “might wanna rethink that answer sweetheart.” he said through gritted teeth. “your friends here had the opposite to say.”

you looked behind jungwon, seeing the girls shaking their heads. jungwon looked behind him, angered, “don’t fucking lie now!” he walked over to them, grabbing an axe on his way.

asa was full force crying now.

“i asked you three the same question, and you said you wouldn’t give your life for her!” he pointed the axe to you.

they said that? you knew every life was important and whatnot, but isn’t that what most friends say in a time like this? or anyone who cares for another? that they rather the killer take their life than the one they cared for?

tears filled your own eyes.

“i’m done waiting.” jungwon threw the axe off to the side as he walked over to maya. “say bye bye.”

what happened next seemed unreal as you felt it was a total out of body experience. the trauma already being embedded into your brain.

jungwon carelessly carried mayas barely holding on body to a machine off to the corner which must be the wood chipper he was talking about. he threw her to the ground, turning it on.

he did it all with a genuine smile. ranting on how you all were going to get your karma for not only the way you treated him, but others in high school.

you screamed and screamed, jungwon laughed stating no one would hear you. your throat began to hurt but you didn’t care.

danielle and asa were crying, trying to properly breathe as their mouths were restricted.

you could barely see maya, but you knew she was crying, and mumbling, probably begging for her life.

“too late to beg for forgiveness now.”

you nearly threw up at the sight of maya being placed in the wood chipper. there was a bag covering the other end, possibly to contain evidence.

you looked back at the other two and notice asa’s pants were wet as tears flowed harder down her face.

“i’m not cleaning you up!” jungwon said to asa. “don’t think i have forgotten the many times you all bullied me so hard, it made me pee on myself, or when you all would dump my head in the women’s toilet.”

jungwon took the bag off of the chipper, tying it up. he dragged it to the door of the barn. “time to feed the pigs.” he smiled wickedly.

“i’ll leave the nightlight on. i know you’re still scared of the dark, danielle.” he smiled and winked towards the curl haired girl.

he closed the barn doors behind him, leaving you three in a barely lit barn.

danielle and asa were tired from fighting the ties, and for were too. you sat there off in space, disbelief, disassociating from the world around you.

you started thinking about all the terrible things you and your so called friends did to those in high school.

although you were never the instigator, you shook their silently, watching the girls do what they did. you and asa both did. if you were to rank, kelly and maya were the worst, danielle behind, just trying to fit in.

did jungwon someone make kelly’s car accident, not an accident? maybe maya wasn’t his first victim. maybe it was kelly.

you continued to tug at the bounds, refusing to be a victim. and it paid off. you were able to free your hands from behind you, bringing them in front of you.

your wrists were raw and and you leaned down to untie your ankles. when the chair creaked form your standing up, danielle and asa both opened their eyes wide, clearly begging for you to help them.

although what they said to jungwon hurt, you weren’t like them. however, if you were to help them, it could just slow you down. it would put on a few extra minutes for jungwon to come back.

or what if they betrayed you? what if they ran and left you behind?

you apologized to them, “i will be back, i promise! im going to get help!”

you clasped your hands together, hoping they would forgive you, as you quickly but quietly ran over to the barn door.

you opened the door carefully, the darkness of outside immediately greeting you. no sound was to be heard but crickets and occasional howls from coyotes.

your bare feet pounded on the ground beneath you as you went towards open woods.

you didn’t know your way around here, didn’t even know where you were, but you wanted to survive.

the adrenaline of trying to survive kept you going. you ran for what felt like miles or hours, as your legs and muscles became weak and tired.

dogs barking in the distance scared you. taking a quick second break, you went to step forward to immediately feel pain.

a trap.

a bear trap got you.

you screamed in agony as the trap dug into your skin, immediately feeling the blood leaking from your body.

you fell to the ground, trying to get the trap off, but it seemed the more you struggled the tighter it dug.

great, is this how you were gonna die, rather than the hands of jungwon?

you screamed and screamed with tears, soon you began to scream jungwon’s name for help.

“jungwon, please help! im sorry!”

you felt your body grow weak, hoping your blood wasn’t being drained.

“jungwon, please!”

little did you know, jungwon was watching. he had cameras in the barn, and around the vicinity of the woods and house. he had set those traps up specifically for you or if any of the other girls happened to get loose.

but mainly you.

he hadn’t tied your bounds as tight as the other girls. he wanted to see if you would leave them behind, and he was proud to see that you did.

he would never set up traps to capture an animal. why would he hurt an innocent animal?

he had livestock guardian dogs for that need. he also had a watch dog, but the dog was trained not to attack people.

that was jungwon’s job.

you heard footsteps and a dog barking getting closer.

soon a small light came into view, and you squinted, seeing jungwon holding a flashlight with a dog.

you cried. you hoped he would help you and not kill you. “please help,” you mumbled, “i’m sorry.”

“shh, it’s okay.” jungwon soothed.

he helped get the trap off of you. “i’m gonna carry you back.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

jungwon held you tight as he walked you back to the house, his dog beside you.

he wasn’t that mad at you, he couldn’t be.

you may not remember but he did, and he was sure the girls remembered too.

you weren’t always like them or friends with them, no.

once upon a time, you were like him and friends with him.

the girls would tease and bully you too, in middle school. but something happened this summer before high school.

you blossomed, and maya and kelly felt threatened you would dethrone them of popularity in high school. they asked you to hang out at the park. you were so excited, but jungwon was worried something didn’t feel right. he was correct.

kelly and maya ended up pushing you, and you tumbled off the playground structure, hitting your head.

thankfully jungwon was there, looking at you from a distance. kelly and maya hadn’t realized jungwon was there, but they ran.

that accident put you in a small coma, and you ended up losing your memory. to make sure you never remembered, the girls took you under their wing and from then, you always thought you were one of them.

anytime jungwon tried to get you back, kelly and maya would be on him.

he didn’t blame you. he didn’t want to hurt you. but he felt hurt himself. betrayed.

since then, all he thought about was karma. all while in high school and after high school, he planned carefully on the revenge. he got smarter, stronger, developed and harder mindset.

he made a list of you all, and who he wanted to target. kelly and mayas name both at the top, with red underlined marks.

from then, he felt he couldn’t trust anyone for the longest time. but he thought it was finally time to kill the old him and burry it.

there’s a reason kelly was targeted first and maya second.

the car accident wasn’t an accident. kelly was in the drivers seat, maya was in the passenger seat, but maya somehow got away from the car engulfed in flames.

jungwon was in the backseat, playing it cool as the girls were giddily with excitement thinking he wanted a threesome with them.

maya and kelly recognized him. and they were shocked he approached them with the question.

he mentioned the “fun” they had with him in high school other than the torment of harassment.

it was fun for them; but not for him.

without the other girls, kelly and maya would corner him in the locker room or bathroom, pull his pants down, exposing him. they would tease him with kisses and touches.

jungwon was too scared to fight back, scared he would hurt one of them too badly. he was taught to never hit a girl. he want to respect that although he was being violated.

maya and kelly would tell him not to tell anyone and that no one would believe him anyway.

everytime he thinks about it, it angered himself.

he was even more angry that maya walked away fine, and acted like she wasn’t in that car when it happened.

he placed you on the couch of his house, and as you slept still, probably worn out from the adrenaline, he cleaned your leg and the blood, making sure your leg and foot wouldn’t become infected.

“thank you.” you whispered, barely awake. “i’m sorry.”

“no need to be sorry. i’m just glad you’re here with me now.”

“jungwon?”

“mhm?”

“what’s going to happen to me?”

he caressed your cheek. “don’t worry about that right now. just get some rest.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

[monstersinthecosmos]

Little Drink as edging and MURDER as orgasming is the most mindbendingly hot and truthful parallel to ever be drawn. Just. Cannot get past it

 Yes, YES!!!

Like I know I’m Marius Brained and everything but even when I’m reading TVA and in Armand’s POV I am always like, god this must have been killing Marius. 🥵

The Devil’s Minion era (once they warm up to each other) and Venice Era are really the only times in canon we get to see a prolonged courtship between a vampire and human, yeah? But the books constantly tell us about how killing & drinking is the ultimate form of intimacy. (Notice me being very very mature and not devolving into an Asexual VC dissertation LMAO pin that for later). I’m not counting Lestat & David as a prolonged courtship because David was Not Interested and they weren’t sharing blood before Lestat finally turned him, and still David’s turning is explicitly described as rape and written to be erotic. But the overlap of Venice & Devil’s Minion is too obvious to ignore and we see the way the human/vampire relationship finds ways to translate their interspecies erotic desires by sharing sex acts (for the human) and blood (for the vampire).

STILL! 

The Little Drink isn’t all they need! Like they’re not just taking a little sip and fucking off for the night — Thorne describes it as being a bee going from flower to flower! Drinking from many many people! And the books tell us that it’s not ONLY the blood itself — it’s the murdering that’s the truly intimate and most special act!!!!! 

So anyway just.

Taking little sips for years and years ! The blue balls, my god. And finally getting to take him all the way!!!!!!! God. 🥵💦

Especially like reading B&G and knowing that Armand was like, Marius’s 3rd choice rebound during that time period LMAO. He wanted Botticelli and had to leave Florence to not kill him! He wanted Bianca and had to remove himself from her social circle to not kill her!!! 

This is my favorite Marius quote in VC, when he’s feeling like he’s going to murder Bianca — 

For a moment, I thought my powerful self-control would be lost. I would embrace her, whether or not she would have it, and take her rapidly by force from the very middle of her warm and safe rooms to the cold and fatal domain of my soul.

He finds Armand because he’s trying to like ethically source a fledgling (great job buddy that’s the worst anyone has ever done it) by choosing someone who’s on borrowed time, anyway! Blank slate that he can groom for vampirism!!!!!! 

I was just talking to @apoptoses today about how the concept of “this sounded cool until I actually tried it” comes up a bunch in VC — we were talking about Daniel romanticizing murder until he actually had to do it LOL — but same for Marius thinking he can just mold a trafficked boy to be a good vampire. So it’s not just like, Marius having a relationship with him and taking little sips as a fucking aperitif for The Act but like, he almost immediately changes his mind and doesn’t want to do it !!! He’s willing to deny himself !!! 

Gosh where’s that other thing he says in TVA…

“I’m coarsened by human blood. It's always the fact. Only in starvation do I find an ethereal purity.” "Ah, and you turn me from penance at every juncture," I said, "towards the senses, towards pleasure."

Just, oof. Especially for Marius who, from what we can tell, is a little more into humans than most of the cast? Like he’s someone that craves social connection and wants to be around them all the time. Even when he was alive and he was traveling to meet and study people in taverns. So I think there’s just a lot wrapped up in this ! 

I shared this a couple weeks ago but I wanna share it again because I think it will make everyone understand VC better and we’ll all write better fanfics for it LMAO it’s based on Hellraiser but it's the topic of eroticism in religious penance !!!!! Very excellent. 

But the eroticism of suffering! Of denial! Inside the universe of Written By Crazy Catholic Lady VC we also have to talk about how eroticism is the kill & the blood and how abstinence is akin to starvation - how it’s something actually painful.

Anyway I’m gonna leave it here I think because I’ll talk all day but I was poking through TVA and B&G for some quotes about this and I’m just !!!!!!

Marius on Armand:

I had never experienced such pure intimacy with a mortal, except with those I meant to kill. It gave me chills to have my arms around this boy, to press my lips to his cheeks and chin, his forehead, his tender closed eyes. Yes, the blood thirst rose, but I knew so well how to control it. I filled my nostrils with the smell of his youthful flesh.

"He is irresistible, but what am I to do?

Armand on Marius: 

"Amadeo," he said, his lips on my throat as they'd come a thousand times, only this time there came a sting, sharp, swift and gone. A thread stitched into my heart was jerked all of a sudden. I had become the thing between my legs, and was nothing but that. His mouth nestled against me, and again that thread snapped and again. I saw him staring, beastlike, from his chair, as if some ravener had come into him and banished all his civilized faculties and left him thus, hungry, with glazed eyes and reddening mouth, the glittering blood finding its myriad little paths over the silky margin of his lips. He rose, a drugged thing, and came towards me with a rhythm of movements that was alien and struck the coldest terror in my heart. His fingers flashed, closed, beckoned. I ran to him. He lifted me in both hands, clutching my arms ever so gently, and tucked his face against my neck. From the soles of my feet up my back through my arms and my neck and scalp, I felt it.

"Master, Master, Master, I love you." "Yes, well, that's not so unusual," he whispered. He didn't stop his kissing. He lapped at the blood. I writhed under the weight of his hand on my backside. "But the question is, Amadeo, why do I love you? Why? Why did I have to go into that stinking brothel and look upon you? I am strong by nature ... whatever my nature ..." He greedily kissed a large bruise on my thigh. I could feel his sucking at it, and then the tongue lapping it, eating the blood, and then his blood coming down into it.

And this from TVA when he finally does it:

He bent his lips. A sense of dreadful awesome finality swept over me. "You will die now to be with me in life eternal," he whispered in my ear. "Never for a moment must you really fear. I will hold your heart safe in my hands." His teeth cut into me, deeply, cruelly with the precision of twin daggers, and I heard my heart thud in my ears. My very bowels contracted, and my stomach was knotted in pain. Yet a savage pleasure swept through all my veins, a pleasure which coursed towards the wounds in my neck. I could feel my blood rush towards my Master, towards his thirst and my inevitable death. Even my hands were transfixed with vibrant sensation. Indeed, I seemed suddenly to be but a puppet map of circuitry, all of it aglow, as with a low, obvious and deliberate sound, my Master drank my life's blood. The sound of his heart, slow, steady, a deep reverberating pounding, filled my ears. The pain in my intestines was alchemized to a soft sheer rapture; my body lost all weight, all knowledge of itself in space. The throb of his heart was within me. My hands felt the long satin locks of his hair, but I did not hold to them. I floated, supported only by the insistent heartbeat and thrilling current of all my swiftly flowing blood. "I die now," I whispered. This ecstasy could not endure.

(What’s also funny is that the turning from Marius’s POV is so much about Armand’s religious ecstasy and revelations - thanks Catholic Lady but also that’s whole eroticism-mysticism thing again. Also the way that Marius treats it like a wedding so. Jsdkgla.)

I’m going to be so fucking honest with you, I was gonna pull a bunch of quotes and I think there were some more I was gonna look up but I got a little too squirmy reading these ones 🥵🥵🥵🥵 dhjkadslg I THINK I’VE MADE MY POINT.