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retrievablememories · 3 years

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picture me | johnny (m)

title: picture me pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again. word count: 18.3k warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok! a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.

i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪

(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)

The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence

—

He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.

He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.

You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.

He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.

You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.

When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.

What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.

The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.

Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.

The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.

He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.

You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.

—

At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.

He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.

There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.

When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.

The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.

It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.

These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.

Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?

One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.

“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.

“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.

When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.

You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”

“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.

Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”

You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”

She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”

You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.

You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.

Oh. The mirror.

She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”

You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.

Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.

“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”

“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.

When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.

For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.

You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.

When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?

You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.

“Did you come back for this?”

You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.

“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”

“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.

He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.

“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”

“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.

“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”

The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.

“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.

“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?

“Um, just different things here and there.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.

“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.

“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”

You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”

“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.

You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.

And you still didn’t get his name.

You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.

When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.

You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.

When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”

He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”

Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.

“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”

“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”

You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.

“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.

“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”

“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”

“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”

Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”

“Yes!”

Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.

You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”

“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”

“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.

Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”

“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”

Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”

“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”

You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”

He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”

You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”

“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”

You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”

Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”

Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.

You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.

Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.

He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.

When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.

“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”

It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.

After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.

Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.

As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.

He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”

“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”

“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”

Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”

“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”

“Turned, huh…”

Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.

You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.

You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”

“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”

“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”

“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.

Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.

You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”

“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”

“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.

“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”

“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.

“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”

“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.

You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”

You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.

“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.

You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”

You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.

The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.

As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.

Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”

You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.

It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.

The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.

“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”

Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”

He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”

You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”

Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”

You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.

Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.

Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.

Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.

Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.

“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.

“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.

—

You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”

Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.

“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”

“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”

Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”

“Two places?”

“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”

“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”

“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”

“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”

“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”

Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.

“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”

Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.

He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”

The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”

On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around.

When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.

Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.

“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”

“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.

“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”

Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”

The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.

There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.

“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”

You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”

He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”

If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.

You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”

“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.

“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.

“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.

—

You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.

After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”

When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.

This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.

Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”

“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”

“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.

“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”

—

You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.

“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.

“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.

Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.

—

When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.

He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.

When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.

That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.

He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.

Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.

You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.

You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.

Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.

Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.

“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”

“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.

Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.

There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.

He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.

“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.

“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”

“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.

Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.

“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”

You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”

Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”

You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”

Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”

You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.

“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”

You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.

Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”

“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.

After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.

“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”

You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”

—

The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.

“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.

“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”

“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”

You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.

Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.

You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.

You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.

“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.

“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.

“What?”

“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.

“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”

He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.

Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”

—

Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.

You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.

Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”

Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight.

Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.

You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.

The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.

“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.

“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”

You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.

Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.

“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”

You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”

When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.

The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.

“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.

After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.

Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.

You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.

To: Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party

You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.

However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.

From: Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏

You smile at that.

To: I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.

From: 🦷🩸

—

You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.

He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.

“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”

Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.

He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”

“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”

Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”

You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”

“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.

It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.

“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.

“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.

“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”

Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”

“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”

“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn’t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”

This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.

“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.

Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.

Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.

The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.

At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”

You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.

“Is that okay with you?”

“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.

“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.

You want to hear him say it again.

Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”

“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.

When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.

“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.

“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.

“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”

Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”

There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”

Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.

His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.

“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.

This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.

Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.

You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.

You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.

Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.

“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.

Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”

“I want to, Johnny.”

With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.

You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.

Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.

More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.

Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.

It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.

“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.

Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.

The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.

“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”

“Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.

“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.

“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.

“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.

His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”

As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.

When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.

“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I-it’s okay.”

Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.

“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.

Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.

If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.

You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.

As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.

He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.

“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.

You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”

Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.

When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.

With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.

Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”

Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.

Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.

Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.

Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.

“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”

Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.

The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.

When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.

—

Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.

You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.

“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”

Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.

Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

Jaskier and the Beast

(for the love of gods, I’m begging you, leave me some tags and comments on this. I worked really hard and I’d really like feedback/validation)

---

“You can’t just leave me tied here!” Jaskier cried out, listening as the group of men in dark, hooded robes disappeared into the woods around him. He tugged frantically at his bonds and gave a dry, heaving sob. “Come back!”

The young man was terrified. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest and his lungs had begun to burn with the effort of breathing in and out so quickly. Hyperventilating. He was hyperventilating.

The confused young man had been bound face-first to the trunk of a tree, his wrists fastened tightly together on the opposite side in some strange parody of a hug. The strangers had murmured slow, syrupy words in another language as they tied him into place; their pace grew frenzied and their tone grew more insistent when their leader finally slipped a blindfold over Jaskier’s tearful blue eyes and cut him off from the rest of the world. After he’d lost his sight there had been more strange chanting. Sigils were drawn onto his bare forearms with horsehair brushes and sweetly scented blackberry ink.

Then the young man had been seemingly abandoned.

“Hello?” he called to the darkened forest around him. “Is anyone out there?”

A low, softly rumbling purr erupted from somewhere near his left side and Jaskier jumped in surprise. A wall of warmth approached the left half of his body and a rough, calloused hand slid its way down his arm and through the sigils, smearing them to nonsense.

“Hmm,” a low, gravelly voice hummed. Jaskier’s hands were gently unclenched and examined with great care by whatever creature or person was here in the clearing with him. It paid special attention to the tips of his fingers, where his skin was rough from playing the lute and the harp. He tried not to let his hands tremble where they lay against the creature’s palm but they couldn’t be stopped. “So they have decided to give me a little bird. I suppose that you will have to do.”

“Have to do what?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head up to where he suspected the strange interloper to be. Jaskier gasped in shock when the blindfold was removed and he came face-to-face with the most handsome man he’d ever seen and not, as he’d expected, some kind of hideous monster. The slightly older man had long white hair that fell to his shoulders. It was pulled halfway back to reveal his strong jaw and bright, amber eyes. His teeth were sharp and glinted in the moonlight and his pupils were slit like a cat’s, but Jaskier found himself more entranced or bewitched than frightened. He whispered a slightly different question with just as much frightened urgency, “What will I have to do, My Lord?”

“Be my guest, or prisoner if you so desire, at Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier gasped softly.

“The Beast!”

The young man felt terror coursing through his veins once again; he’d heard endless stories about the Beast ever since he and his father had moved to the quiet village near the northern border. How he was half-man and half-wolf or how he’d eat any man that offended him. How he’d fought off an entire invading army by himself to keep his family’s ancient fortress intact.

Kaer Morhen, the villagers had whispered with fear in their eyes, If you enter the gates then you never come out.

And here was the Beast himself, staring down at Jaskier with a strange glint in his molten-honey eyes, his hands toying with the rope around Jaskier’s wrists. The young man gulped and lowered his gaze. “I don’t have a choice, do I, My Lord?”

“Did they not tell you why they left you here for me?” the stranger asked, quirking a brow. “Are you unaware of your purpose here tonight?”

“I’ve only just moved into town,” Jaskier whispered. “I’ve only heard rumors.”

“Not anything pleasant, I’m sure. What’s the worst you’ve heard?”

“That you eat people.”

The stranger chuckled lowly and the sound sent a zip of terror down Jaskier’s spine. “Stop panicking,” the Beast huffed and began untying the rope from around his captive’s tender wrists. “It smells bitter. It’s annoying.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier apologized. “I’m just a wee bit frightened, is all. Not really sure what’s going on or who you are. Now I’m being taken away to some place I’ve only heard tales about in passing…tales where the main character doesn’t usually come back out alive.”

“Do not fear me,” the Beast ordered, removing the heavy black cloak from around his shoulders to wrap around Jaskier. The younger man hadn’t noticed how chilly it had gotten until he was warm again.

Once the Beast was sure that the material was arranged as well as possible, he hoisted Jaskier into his arms and began to trek further into the woods, away from the village. The Beast sounded distressed as he continued, his voice growing increasingly agitated as he explained Jaskier’s circumstances, “I have no intention of hurting you. Quite the opposite. You see, I wrote to the village elders about a month ago and asked if anyone was interested in becoming my consort. I suppose they threw any real effort at matchmaking out the window when they read my signature so...here you are. Fresh-faced and terrified. My unwilling bride.”

“I’m going to be your...your…”

Jaskier’s blue eyes were unnaturally wide and his heart was beating jack-rabbit fast within the confines of his ribs. Too fast. Geralt’s brow furrowed in concern but it was too late for him to do or say anything of comfort; Jaskier had already fallen limp and unconscious in his arms.

“Fuck.”

---

Jaskier awoke with a gasp, rocketing up into a sitting position. He was alone in an unfamiliar stone room. There was a fire blazing merrily in the hearth and a heavy velvet blanket wrapped tightly around his midsection but he hadn’t a clue where he was. He knew he was sequestered somewhere within the bowels of Kaer Morhen, that much was obvious, but otherwise he was entirely lost.

“H-Hello?” Jaskier half-whispered. He knew the Beast was around here somewhere; or perhaps he’d been abandoned for a second time that night. “Mr. Beast?”

“Geralt,” came that same low baritone from just outside the door. “My name is Geralt. May I come in?”

“Yes?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I don’t see how I can stop you, really. If I said not to enter, would you listen?”

“Of course.”

Geralt sounded confused...which only served to confuse Jaskier in turn.

“But...but aren’t I your captive? Your consort by arrangement?”

“You have a right to privacy,” Geralt huffed, coming around the door frame and fully entering the room. “Consort or not. Which we can discuss.”

“It can be discussed?”

“I won’t keep you here against your will, little bird.”

“Jaskier.”

“A pretty name for a pretty man,” Geralt grinned. The way he smiled was canine-heavy and Jaskier thrilled at the sight of it. His stomach filled with butterflies when he registered the compliment. Why? What was so appealing about this strange, strong but endlessly shy man? The anxious young numan couldn’t deny his obvious attraction to the Beast but Geralt was...but having Geralt as his husband? Forever? After only having known him for less than an hour?

“Perhaps we could spend some time together first,” Jaskier offered. He slid his hand across the velvet duvet and laced his fingers with Geralt’s so very gently. “Tell me, Geralt, what is your favorite color?”

“Right at this very moment?” the Beast asked, looking into Jaskier’s eyes with obvious relief, “Blue.”

“And tell me, Geralt, will you ever lay a hand on me without my permission?”

“Never.”

“Then court me freely, my Beast,” Jaskier smiled. It was the sweetest, most precious smile Geralt had ever laid eyes on. He knew in an instant that he’d do anything in the world to make the young man smile at him like that again. Over and over. He was already addicted to the warm sensation that filled his chest when he was near his little bird.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, lifting their joined hands and pressing his lips to the back of Jaskier’s knuckles. “I very much look forward to wooing you.”

“You’re welcome, Geralt,” his little bird murmured in return, placing his own kiss to the back of the Beast’s chapped knuckles. “I very much look forward to giving you my heart.”

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male vampire x male character - Part Two (nsfw) (Halloween ‘surprise’ Patreon story).

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I'm really pleased that you and my Patrons enjoyed the first part, and that folks were keen for more. I’ve had more interaction with this post on Patreon than many of the others, which is surprising given how mlm stories are usually much less in demand than m/f ones. Thanks for that!

Anyway, here's more of our favourite oblivious dork Alec and his obviously-not-a-vampire crush... Part Three is on the way too (tomorrow), despite this having been planned as a quick porn-without-plot one-shot, as it were. Oh well?!

Hope you enjoy.

Part One

After his initial - admittedly strange - meetings with Sebastien, Alec didn’t see him on campus at all for the rest of the week, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Yes, the guy had been a bit of a pompous arsehole in the library, but he’d made up for it by coming to the art room and apologising, engaging him in conversation — even if that conversation had been slightly… odd? — and being so god-damn-fucking beautiful too.

He overheard his students gossiping about ‘Dr. Dulac’ earlier that afternoon while they all carved the pumpkins he’d bought for them at the local supermarket, and it seemed that the general consensus was that Sebastien was single, unfailingly polite (even in the face of Janette Hilton, the English Department’s longest-serving and least sympathetic lecturers), hotter than any celebrity you cared to name, and a specialist in the poets of the First World War like Sassoon and Brooke, among other more esoteric interests.

After an hour of clock-watching in his tiny little office in the Art Department on Friday, he abandoned all hope of concentrating on his last few bits of admin, and shut down his laptop. After clearing up yet more pumpkin seeds that he’d somehow missed on the last two sweeps he’d done of the studio, he stepped outside, never wanting to see another bloody thing again. Too bad he had a whole bloody cardboard box of them waiting to go into the boot of Kay’s car for her party that night. Still, he was almost sinfully proud of the carvings he’d done on them. One was decorated the whole way around with the foliate style engravings usually reserved for the steel on antique guns, with different depths to create the highlights and shadows, and another particularly spherical one had been cut away in squares to resemble the Death Star.

The October air outside bit into his lungs as he drew a deep breath - the spicy, fragrantly damp scents of autumn filling his nose - and his eye was drawn to the twinkling lights of the little coffee cart that still lingered in the park, selling tea, coffee, and hot chocolate to chilly students leaving the university campus for the night. With a black coffee for himself in one hand, he made his way to the Engineering Department, warily holding another frothy concoction in his other. It was apparently called a ‘London fog’ and it smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He thought it sounded (and smelled) disgusting, but Kay perked right up when he deposited it on her desk five minutes later.

“Bless you, Alec Twayblade,” she grinned, taking the plastic lid off and inhaling it like it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. “Oh my god. How can you not like this?” she said after taking a huge gulp and moaning obscenely.

Alec didn’t bother to reply, his eye-roll speaking volumes anyway. They’d had this discussion so many times that they were both probably playing it out silently in their heads right that second. When Kay glanced up and saw that he certainly was, she snorted and grinned. “I love you, Alec,” she laughed. “You’re still coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgement,” he growled, leaning his weight on her desk and folding his arms across his battered, blue cable knit sweater. He had a huge daub of yellow paint on one elbow from that morning, and a small burn hole in the bottom from a failed attempt at pyrography a few years ago. It was the most comfortable jumper he owned, and he would probably wear it until it unravelled around him.

“You’re still not going to wear a costume, are you?” she added as she stood, pouting.

He shook his head. “I draw the line at that.”

“But you’d be so good making one!” she countered. “You helped me with that bat costume when we were at high school… Don’t you remember how fucking awesome it was?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “But I’m not going to wear one myself.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Too much attention, huh?” she said softly. “Well, you know you’ll stand out more if you’re not wearing one tonight…?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to dress up. Halloween had rather lost its shine for him anyway. “Not if I hide in the kitchen all night and make too-strong cocktails for everyone,” he said, flashing her his most roguish grin. “Plus, I spent much of today carving pumpkins with nattering eighteen year olds who are far too old to be carving pumpkins on academic time, but —”

“— you’re an awesome teacher who understands the need to let off some steam on the holidays,” she interjected. “Plus, it’s good practice anyway… working with a new medium…”

He allowed his lips to pinch upwards into a tiny smirk and let her have that one. “It’s nice to see them having fun,” was all he said.

An hour or so later, just as he arranged the last of the pumpkins down the garden path of Kay's Victorian semi-detached house, a voice murmured from behind him, “I can see the hand of a master at work in these carvings.”

Not having heard anyone approaching, Alec jumped, cursed, and dropped the pumpkin - thankfully with the candle still unlit. It rolled in a semicircle until a black boot gently stopped it, and a familiar face dipped into view as the owner of the boot bent to pick it up. To his surprise, it was Sebastien, and he was in costume. Probably anyway. Hopefully? Fuck. Alec’s brain stalled at the sight of him.

His eyes raked up Sebastien’s body and his jaw went quite literally slack.

The slender man was wearing thigh-high boots and leather pants so tight they had to have been spray-painted on, into which was tucked a loose, old-fashioned, white shirt with a good bit of flounce at the collar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and Sebastien chuckled softly, a low, amused sound in the back of his throat.

“You recognise the costume?” he asked, seeming innocently amused. The long, dark coat, accented with gold brocade and bright gold buttons, opened briefly in a soft gust of wind that made the lit pumpkins flicker and lifted his loose, silver-white hair back for a breath as well.

“I…” he swallowed. “Uh, you’re Alucard,” he croaked. “From the Castlevania games…” A wry incline of Sebastien’s head told him he was correct, and then Alec blurted stupidly, “Shouldn’t you be shirtless though?”

Sebastien’s smile grew from pleased to deeply amused, his eyes glittering, and it was only then that Alec noticed the contacts burning a bright gold in his eyes and, as his lips peeled back and Sebastien began to laugh, he saw long, tapering, white canines befitting a vampire costume. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” Sebastien asked, still laughing quietly as Alec flushed crimson.

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I know. I just… forget it.”

“Where do you want it?” Sebastien asked, and Alec’s poor brain went blank.

“What?”

“The pumpkin,” Sebastien deadpanned and Alec’s poor, blank brain melted out of his ears with embarrassment.

“Uh… there’s fine,” he said, pointing at the little wrought-iron garden gate.

Sebastien placed the pumpkin down on the flagstone path so that the carved graveyard scene glimmered and flickered with appropriate spookiness, visible to anyone approaching along the quiet, suburban street. Enormous London plane trees stood sentry every few paces, heaving up the tarmac pavement with their roots, like a sleeper shifting a blanket with a restless turn, and sheltering the cars snuggled and parked beneath them. A carpet of leaves clung to the gutter in a long, golden line, melting into nothing in places in the glittering puddles. It would have been beautiful, had Alec not been faced with quite literally the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.

“Am I early then?” Sebastien asked, dusting off his palms and turning back to face Alec, who had barely managed to make his legs work long enough to stand up straight again.

He shook his head. “No. Henry’s inside already,” he said, running his fingers through his scruffy black hair. “With Rachel and Alison. I just forgot to put the pumpkins out earlier.”

“No costume?”

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” Sebastien said, eyeing the front door. The contacts were really creepy, shifting in the light that spilled down the stairs as the front door suddenly opened and Kay stepped out before he could worry that he’d been the only one to dress up. He could probably brush it off anyway, Alec supposed, and tried not to envy the man’s quiet confidence.

Silhouetted starkly against the hall light, with her high ‘Dracula’ collar on prominent display, Kay shrieked with glee and clapped her hands when she saw Sebastien. Apparently the two of them had been getting along rather well, while Alec had sequestered himself away in the Art Department like an ascetic.

“Bastien! You look amazing oh my god!” she blurted, rushing forwards a step or two before halting abruptly. “Wait, does that make me your father for the evening?” she cackled. “Wow, your teeth are really good! Mine wouldn't stay in for more than a few minutes…”

Sebastien’s gold eyes flickered sideways to Alec but it happened so briefly that he almost missed it. “Custom made a long time ago,” was all he said. “Shall we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course, come on in,” she said, waving them all inside, Sebastien first. As Alec passed her last, she slapped him hard on the backside in rebuke and hissed, “Told you you should have worn a costume! You look like a big dumbo!”

“No different from any other night,” he quipped back, and she growled something indistinct at him. Perhaps a werewolf costume would have suited her better. “You could have told me you’d invited Dulac…”

“Why?” she retorted. “So you could suddenly decide that an evening moping alone with your PS4 playing Rocket League with strangers was more appealing? No fucking chance. Get inside. Sebastien’s right; I’m freezing my tits off.”

The distant murmur of voices in the living room made him veer off instinctively into the kitchen, and while they began to watch some old Hammer horror film, he made drinks. That, at least, he was good at.

Entering a while later, he found that Sebastien was seated on the sofa beside Henry, who wore an enormously fluffy wolfman costume - mostly a repurposed Chewbacca onesie with a latex wolf mask. He’d pushed the mask up onto his head in order to eat the Halloween themed nibbles on the coffee table, and the effect rendered him entirely ridiculous. Another reason not to wear a costume: it’s impractical, and gets in the way, and washing ketchup out of matted fake fur is a nightmare. Alison and Rachel sat practically in each other’s laps, one a zombie and the other a ghost, both squeezed into one groaning old armchair.

After half an hour of Christopher Lee’s admittedly creepy Dracula, Alec slid from his seat at the periphery, and ducked out again into the kitchen. Straightening from fishing a beer from the back of the fridge, he heard the soft click of the door and turned to find Sebastien standing there.

“Get bored with late 1950’s horror too?” Alec asked. “Beer?”

Sebastien inclined his head in a way that said he wasn’t a beer drinker and held up his almost-empty wineglass as an excuse as he moved a little closer. “If you don’t like cheesy horror films, and you don’t seem to like Halloween either, I wonder why you came at all tonight?”

“For Kay,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She loves this shit.”

At that, Sebastien paused, a delicate smile on his face. In the soft glow of the under-cupboard lighting, his tanned skin seemed to shimmer, and Alec wondered fleetingly if he’d put some kind of glittery body powder on. Next, he wondered what on earth Sebastien was doing in here with him, looking at him like that.

“You are a good friend,” Sebastien said quietly, seeming perhaps a little sad around the edges.

“She’s done more than her fair share of looking after me,” Alec sighed knowingly. “Not that I’m doing it because I owe her,” he added, twisting the cap off the bottle and leaning back against the counter to drink deeply from it. As the malty froth washed over his tongue, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the other man.

Sebastien tilted his head slightly to the side, the false golden light in his eyes making him look like a cat in the dark. “You said she was trying to set you up with someone…”

Alec snorted, nearly shooting beer out of his nose. “Yeah. Well, she seems to think a good fuck will sort my mood out.”

“But you think otherwise?”

“You offering?” he asked bitterly, taking another swig and feeling uncharacteristically bold, though absolutely not expecting the answer he got.

“Perhaps.”

His eyebrows shot up and this time he did cough a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“You think someone who looks like me is entirely straight?” he asked with a wry smile, and Alec had to hand it to him. Not many men he knew could pull of long, luscious, white-blond hair like that, or would have the confidence to wear fucking thigh-high boots and whisper-tight leather pants…

“Still… you don’t really know me… That’s all I meant…”

“Doesn't mean one couldn’t engage in — how did you call it? — ‘a good fuck’. Not that I’m averse to getting to know you better, before or after.”

Alec swallowed another enormous gulp of frothing beer and blinked. “You’re serious?”

With a melodramatic smile that revealed his vampire teeth clearly, ‘Alucard’ purred, “Deadly.”

And Alec burst out laughing. The spell was shattered and the two men shared the remnants of their drinks and their laughter together before Alec sighed. “Your place or mine?”

At that, Sebastien seemed to falter, as if he hadn’t thought through to that point. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I assume yours would be alright?”

Alec shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind smacking your head on the ceiling and being able to touch two opposite walls at the same time…”

Sebastien’s lips hitched into another wry smile. “I’ve fucked in tighter spaces, I’m sure.”

“You know what?” Alec said as he rinsed out the beer bottle at the sink and half-turned to look at the other man over his shoulder. “You’re absolutely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you,” he shot back, still smirking. “And it’s been a while since I was assaulted by someone in a library.”

“Bring back happy memories, did it?” he snorted.

“Not exactly,” Sebastien murmured, and Alec realised he hadn’t actually been joking. “But I must confess that — despite my behaviour — I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of you when you rounded that bookshelf…”

Turning, Alec approached him cautiously. If he was genuinely serious about his proposal, Alec would find out now. “Pleased enough to seek me out afterwards…” he said, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t do that ‘one brow at a time’ thing that Sebastien could, but it seemed to get his tone across all the same.

Unusually for Alec, Sebastien had an inch or two on him in height, and as Alec paused in front of him, close enough to catch the faintest hint of a woody cologne, the man angled his face just perfectly for the light to dance along his high cheekbones. Fuck, he was exquisite. The urge to kiss him rose in Alec; to feel his lips against his own, to have those elegant hands scrunch his hair…

As if reading his mind, Sebastien slowly, carefully, raised his right hand and brought his index finger to Alec’s chin, tilting it upwards just a fraction with the lightest pressure. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, and it left Alec breathless. Again. Panting slightly, he parted his lips and then swallowed thickly.

Sebastien’s eyes darted instantly to the motion of his throat and for a second, Alec could have sworn he saw a vibrant red light reflected in his eyes. Sensing his moment of hesitation, of tension, Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alec breathed. “I thought your eyes went red but it must have been a car on the street outside or something.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, but then blinked rapidly. “Do you still wish to continue this?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Don't stop now. His whole body was thrumming in a way it hadn’t ever before with casual encounters. He felt alive for the first time in months.

Sebastien stepped back, turning his face away a little more. “Should we make our excuses…?”

Alec shook his head. “Nah, Kay will know what’s going on anyway, and I don’t want to face her smug looks until tomorrow at the least.”

With a softly amused chuckle, Sebastien stepped back and allowed Alec to leave the room first. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the other man followed behind, but he didn't turn around or look at him until they were outside on the main street.

“It’s a bit of a walk…” Alec said, only realising then how long the walk would be. “I’m way over on the other side of town by the station…”

The continuing intensity of Sebastien’s scrutiny was beginning to shift from a turn-on to just marginally unnerving, but he told himself that an esteemed professor at one of the country’s finest universities, with more letters after his name than anyone his age had a right to possess, was unlikely to be truly dangerous for a one-night stand… right? There was something about the way he stared at Alec — an unmistakable hunger in his eyes — that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat jump instinctively. Like a deer before the gaze of a tiger, he was entranced.

Unexpectedly, Sebastien’s easy stride slowed at the brick gateway to a small, gravel park that sat between an old church and a chemist, the latter closed at this time of night. “May I kiss you?” he breathed, still gazing at him unblinkingly, as though Alec were the pretty one in this equation, not him.

Alec couldn’t help grinning. The way Sebastien’s eyes bored into him then drove all thought of threat and fear from his mind, and he nodded.

The man’s hands were chilly from the night air, but the moment they cupped his jaw and drew Alec toward him, he forgot about that. He forgot about everything at the meeting of their lips. Sebastien began tentatively, merely brushing their lips together, but when his golden eyes fluttered closed, he deepened the gesture, tongue just begging entrance, teasing him before withdrawing, retreating and returning.

Searing want shot down Alec’s spine and he arched into Sebastien’s taller body, hips seeking contact through his jeans. He moaned, deep and guttural, and it seemed to awaken something in Sebastien, because the man grabbed hold of the back of Alec’s hair and pulled his head slightly to one side to begin to kiss along his jawline, down to wards his neck. For a heartbeat, Sebastien froze there, nose pressed to his rabbiting pulse point, his teeth just grazing skin, before he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “We shouldn’t get carried away,” was all he whispered, stepping slightly out of Alec’s dazed field of view. “My place is nearer though.”

“Ok,” Alec said, still reeling. “Sure.”

When they reached the apartment building, his steps faltered in amazement. “You live… here?”

A slight flush seemed to warm Sebastien’s cheeks as he stepped up to the main doorway, only to have it opened from the other side by a man in livery. “Good evening, Monsieur Dulac,” said the friendly doorman instantly.

“Good evening,” he replied. “This is my friend, Alec Twayblade.”

It was impossible for the doorman not to realise that his ‘friend, Alec Twayblade’ was going to be a little more than that for the night, but he never let a flicker of judgement pass across his face. From the concierge desk - Sebastien’s building had a fucking concierge desk too - another man looked up and wished them both a good evening as they headed for the lifts.

“Does the English department also sell diamonds or drugs or something? How the fuck can you afford a place like this on a lecturer’s salary?” but even as he said it and the doors closed with a soft chime, he realised the truth of it. Sebastien’s aristocratic features and bearing were not merely a persona. They were truth. He stared up at him while Sebastien turned a key in the lift panel.

“Are you secretly royalty or something?” he whispered, only half joking.

The man shot him an amused look and shook his head, silk-white hair whispering against the rougher wool of his costume coat. “No, of course not, but I do have some inherited wealth.”

Some? “So you don’t actually have to work at the university at all then?”

He made a so-so motion of his head and said, “No, not really, but I genuinely enjoy teaching.”

“Your students certainly seem to enjoy you…”

“You don’t enjoy teaching?” he asked as the numbers on the dial climbed and climbed.

Please don’t say you live in the fucking penthouse too, Alec thought, already suspecting it might be true from the whole ‘special access key’. He glanced at the number pad and saw that the button labelled ‘PH’ was illuminated. Fuck. “Most days I enjoy it,” he admitted. “But I kind of fell into it a while back and just sort of…” he shrugged, “Stuck with it.”

Sebastien asked no more, and the lift finally stopped on the top floor. The doors drew back to reveal an apartment beyond that Alec could only gawp at. It was like something from the set of an Architectural Digest photo shoot. Nothing was out of place in the hardwood floor paradise, with clean, crisp lines and white marble counter tops in the kitchen off to his left, while a comfortable, and yet still clinically modern, sitting area sat to their right. Deep, fluffy rugs dotted that part of the penthouse, and a wide balcony stretched out over the city beyond, complete with a little table and chairs for warmer evenings.

“This place is incredible,” Alec breathed, the reason for his even being here completely forgotten.

Clearly sensing that, Sebastien smiled bashfully and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

Alec cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t going to be faced with a choice between very expensive wines that he’d never heard of. “Sure… thanks.”

“White, red, beer, or whisky?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen and dumping his ‘Alucard’ coat over the back of a white sofa as he went. Alec’s mouth went dry as he watched the point where his narrow hips met the flowing material of the white shirt. Dear god, an arse like that shouldn’t be… well, it just shouldn’t be. And yet there it was. Clad in leather and looking positively delectable. “Or a soft drink?” he added when Alec remained silent.

Aware of where his gaze had landed, Sebastien halted and looked back over his shoulder, long, loose, naturally straight hair already losing the curls that had been worked into it for the Alucard costume. Definitely not straight, if he owned hair curlers.

“Uh…” Alec said, unsure what the question had even been now.

“I’m going to pour myself a whisky, if that helps…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sebastien smiled, looking almost endeared by Alec’s inept stuttering. Surely he couldn’t be unused to such a reaction? “Make yourself at home then.”

With a smoky, peat-tinged whisky in a wide, heavy-bottomed tumbler set on his glass coffee table, Alec watched Sebastien turn the gas fire on, and, to his surprise, he came to a halt directly in front of him. Setting his own whisky down on the table with a deliberate, and yet delicate, clunk, Sebastien turned back to him and raked his eyes down Alec’s body in a way that made him flush hot all over. His cock twitched with interest and he tried not to preen under that gaze.

Sebastien’s eyes and teeth were back to normal now, with no hint of the golden contacts or the vampire fangs, and Alec fleetingly assumed that he must have removed them at some point between getting the whisky and appearing in front of him looking like he was about to ravish him. Oh dear god, please let him be about to ravish me, he thought with a big, dumb grin spreading across his face.

Seeing his reaction, Sebastien reached down and knelt facing him on the sofa, running his palm over the already-growing bulge in Alec’s jeans. Alec let out a deep grunt and rocked his hips up into the contact, throwing his head back against the soft, open weave of the white fabric. “Oh fuck,” he hissed.

Sebastien’s fingers found the button of his jeans and deftly undid it, but he paused. “May I?” he asked, and Alec found himself nodding before he’d even worked out what Sebastien wanted.

He found out a moment later, when his jeans were around his ankles and Sebastien was kneeling on the floor between his knees and licking a long stripe up the length of his rapidly hardening cock.

“Oh god,” he panted as the wet heat of Sebastien’s mouth engulfed half of his length and then drew back to leave his wet tip exposed to the slight chill of the apartment air. The contrast stole his breath for a heartbeat, but Sebastien returned his attentions to his cock, gently sucking and working him to full hardness in a matter of minutes.

Pleasure sparked through Alec’s whole body and he strained not to thrust back into Sebastien’s mouth, even as Sebastien took him right to the back of his throat, the tip of Alec’s cock nudging against the silky resistance of his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted as Sebastien’s fingertips just teased and caressed the underside of his balls too, and Sebastien hollowed his cheeks and sucked a little more insistently. “Oh fuck…” Really fucking eloquent here, Alec, he thought vaguely, but one look down at the vision kneeling between his legs and sucking him off drove even that thought from his brain.

The suck and slide of Sebastien’s mouth was incredible, and while he had no idea quite how much time passed, it felt like mere seconds as the heat stoked in him until he could feel the orgasm threatening to crash through him. “I’m… I’m really close…” he gasped as Sebastien moaned against his cock, sending little vibrations thrumming through him and tipping him even closer. The sharp prick of his teeth every now and again was a perfect counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth, and it was never enough to hurt. Normally Alec wasn’t one for including teeth in this, but with Sebastien, it felt perfect.

Sebastien pulled back just as Alec felt himself beginning to coil up, his lips swollen and glistening from the exertion of bringing him that close, and he smiled. He looked radiant, and Alec’s cock twitched enthusiastically in his hands as he let out a soft whimper. The air was cold and his tip beaded pre-come freely, which Sebastien thumbed away with a surprisingly tender gesture, only to watch as more pearled immediately at his slit. Using just the tip of his tongue, Sebastien lapped at it delicately and Alec’s whole body shuddered.

His thighs shook at the tiny, intense stimulation, with Sebastien's fingers gripping the base of his cock in a tight circle, and he gasped, chest heaving. It was too much and not enough, and as he found his perineum teased as well, he bellowed and trembled. He was half a heartbeat away from coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life, and Sebastien wasn’t going to let him have it. He roared and ground his teeth, bucking his hips, which made Sebastien laugh softly.

“Alright,” he heard him murmur, before he swallowed him down to the back of his throat again, and Alec shattered with a yell.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he found that Sebastien had risen and was sitting on the small sofa beside him, whisky in hand, staring openly at him. He didn’t look smug exactly, but there was a quiet satisfaction to his brown eyes that made Alec flush, at which Sebastien’s beautiful lips drew back into a smile. He noted again those slightly larger canines, but they were nothing like the vampire teeth he had worn earlier.

“What do you want?” Alec asked, voice hoarse. God, he sounded wrecked. Had he really shouted so hard he’d made his throat sore?

Sebastien’s dolorous, dark eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “What do you want?”

“To watch you come,” he said immediately.

“And how would you like me to come?” Sebastien replied, sipping nonchalantly at the golden liquor as if the were discussing what Alec would like Sebastien to wear. As it was, his leather pants were constricting his obvious hard-on in a way that had to be painful for him, and his shirt was open at the neck to reveal delicate collarbones and a glimpse of his beautiful olive skinned chest.

He was an absolute vision. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he blurted in a whisper before he could stop himself, and to his surprise, Sebastien laughed. The sound was bright, delighted, and oddly self-conscious, as if he hadn’t been expecting a compliment like that. “Sorry,” he added, looking away. “Look… if you’ve got condoms, I’m… I’m good to… you know…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Sebastien asked, his gaze sharpening again.

“Yes?”

“’Yes?’ Or ‘yes’…?” Sebastien asked, seeking clarification.

“Yes. But I don't understand your question.”

“Look at me,” Sebastien said.

“Hard not to…” Alec quipped back, still feeling utterly wrung out.

“Most people assume I’m going to be the one taking it…”

Alec’s eyebrows rose as realisation settled. “Oh. And, what, I look like a top?”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Conventionally more so than I do, with your rugged looks and the rough shadow around your jaw…”

“So… do you want me to… you know…? Or…” Fuck, he felt like a teenager again, struggling to articulate himself and not get his sentences in a tangle while this breathtaking creature just sat there and watched him make an idiot out of himself.

“I very much want to fuck you,” Sebastien said at last. “If you’d like that as well.”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

Sebastien set down his glass and rose in a single, elegant motion, and then held his hand out to Alec.

His skin was still cool, especially next to Alec’s searing body, and his hold was steady as Alec heaved himself to his feet and allowed himself to be alternately tugged and kissed into the bedroom.

___

Part Three

Behold, plot has appeared to go with the Halloween porn I had planned. Alec’s family will come up in the next chapter.

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #male vampire #male vampire x human #exophilia #vampire boyfriend #male vampire x male human #male monster #mlm #mlm exophilia

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ghost-ghost-baby · 5 years

Text

Alpha!Yandere reactions

a/n: thank u so much for this request,,, omegaverse is my JAM

Request: yandere alpha! baku, shoto, deku and dabi reacting to their s/o who's an omega and submits easily. what would be their reaction?

Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki would fucking love it, you didn’t question what he said, you’d just do it. It made keeping you safe so much easier.

From the moment he saw you he knew you were his

He’s not good with his feelings, so courting would be interesting

Expect random objects shoved at you

By an incredibly flushed and angry blond alpha

He’s determined to be the best alpha there is

And that means courting you off of your feet, obviously.

Once you accept he’d be head over heels

You aren’t going anywhere without him

He knows how badly omegas can be treated and how dangerous it can be for them, and there’s no way he’d let anything like that happen to you.

He’d make sure the bond mark was very prominent

Constantly covering you in his scent, it scares almost everyone else away, which is perfect.

As for the ones that aren’t put off?

Well, thank god you have Katsuki, right?

Would be hovering right outside the door when you’re nesting

Gives you any item of clothing you ask for

He doesn’t even complain, much.

“Here, take this.” Katsuki grumbled, shoving his jacket at you. You gave him a questioning look, it wasn’t cold.

“But it’s not cold?”

“Would you just take the fucking jacket, Y/n?” He growled, hands shoved in his pockets. You pouted slightly at his tone, shrugging the jacket on and going back to the book you’d been reading. Katsuki shifted closer, head resting on your shoulder.

“People were looking at you, alphas, you know how they get. And my scent is wearing off.” He mumbled, letting his arms wrap around your waist.

“But I have you to protect me Katsuki.” You chirped, closing your book to give him your full attention.

“Some people don’t get the point.” Taking that as an invitation, he pulled you into his lap, cheek pressing against yours.

“Besides, isn’t your heat comin’ up soon? I thought you’d want my jacket.”

“Katsuki!”

Shoto Todoroki

He’d be quite pleased, he wants the relationship to go smoothly, after all, and you questioning his rather unusual demands wouldn’t be ideal, he might have to take you away from unsavory people… or something like that.

Would be the most traditional when it came to courting

He’d probably ask his mother about it

Or his sister

Just so he can make sure he does it right.

Would shower you in the most lavish gifts, all the food you wanted because he had to win you over.

When you’re bonded he always makes sure you’re covered in his scent

A couple of hickies aren’t unheard of, either.

He’s not the greatest when you’re nesting, he doesn’t exactly know what to do.

He still tries!! He’d leave blankets and pillows and food and water bottles outside your door.

It was spring, the birds were chirping, flowers blooming, and you were miserable. You just weren’t having a good day, you’d dropped your lunch, spilt coffee on one of Shoto’s sweaters, lost your homework, been scented by some creep, and now you were alone for lunch. You didn’t really have any friends, Shoto and you normally had lunch together, but he was a no show. That was probably best, you had ruined his sweater, and taking it off had decreased his scent, which in turn was getting you unwanted attention. You didn’t even have anything to do, your phone had died and you didn’t have any books on you. You were seriously debating ditching, if truth be told, but Shoto would freak, and you’d already seen enough of him angry and afraid. Another incident with him storming into your room with flames covering half of his body was the last thing you needed.

“What’ve I told you about biting your nails?” Shoto sat down besides you, graceful as ever.

“Sorry, ‘m just thinking.” You let yourself lean into him, nose crinkling when his scent invaded your senses.

“Sho… why do you smell like blood?” You tried to keep your tone light, ignoring the lingering scent of the alpha that had tried to scent you earlier that seemed to hover around him.

“I just had to take care of something dear, you don’t need to worry.” His tone was gentle, pulling you closer to kiss your temple. Pursuing the matter seemed pointless, that was his answer, and he wouldn’t budge so you merely nodded, going back to your previous thoughts of going back to your room.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?”

“Hmm? Oh it’s nothing serious.” Your head rested on his shoulder, and you felt his grip on you tighten.

“Y/n… don’t make me ask again.” You felt his hand heat up against your waist.

“It’s nothing, Sho. I’m just… having a really bad day, and I just… I just wanna go to my room.”

“Then let's go!” And then he was pulling you up, ignoring your protests as he dragged you back towards the dorm.

Izuku Midoriya

Okay, we all know this boy isn’t the most alphaish alpha

But still, he’d be overjoyed that you didn’t mind that, and that you still respected him and submitted to him.

He’d be a flustered mess trying to court you

He’d gift you with random trinkets, sometimes he’d attach little notes to them

When you accepted he just started bawling

His bond mark is the most prominent, and he even goes over it when he’s feeling particularly possessive

He’s the most possessive, so be expecting to be absolutely covered in hickies to show people you’re taken.

Izuku would even go as far as to scent you in public if he feels his scent is wearing off, or to prove a point

Since he doesn’t come off as the most alpha, he’s used to people trying to steal you away.

That being said, he can become the scariest motherfucker in less than a second if anyone tries to cross him

People that have tried anything with you tend to have accidents

But it couldn’t be linked to izuku, he’s such a sedate alpha.

He’d actually knit you blankets for you to nest with, made with only the softest wool

He’d prepare the room you decided to nest in beforehand, stocking it up with food and water for you.

Wouldn’t budge from outside the door until you let him in.

It’d been a long day, and you were finally, finally back in your room. Izuku had gone to take a shower, promising he wouldn’t be long, and you were trying to get a head start on your homework. You’d been falling behind in your classes, Izuku taking up most of your time since you’d bonded. You just… couldn’t say no to him, he’d look at you with those eyes, and start tearing up and you were gone. You were going to fail if this went on for much longer, truth be told. With that in mind, you tried to focus fully on your work.

It wasn’t long before Izuku was back, hair damp from the shower and dressed in loose sleep clothes. He wasted no time plopping down next to you, eyeing your work with obvious distaste. Your attention should be on him.

“Y/n, I’m back.” Izuku cooed, laying down next to you. When you only mumbled out a reply, something about needing to get this done, his annoyance spiked. The alpha sat back up, snarling quietly as he grabbed your work and tossed it off of the bed. Any complaints died when you saw how angry he was, green eyes brighter than usual and canines sharp.

“Izuku, baby, you know I’m gonna fail if I don’t get this done.” You kept your tone soft, fingers coming up to push his damp hair out of his face.

“I’ve barely seen you all day! Please Y/n I missed you.” Izuku whined, tears starting to glisten in his eyes.

“Of course babe, how could I say no to you.”

Dabi

Of all of them he’d be the one to just kidnap you, rather than try to befriend you like the others.

When you don’t put up a fight he’d be over the moon, glad that you were being so submissive for him.

He wouldn’t be one for traditional courting, but he’d still gift you with things if you were being good

He’d place the bond mark on the back of your neck

Would burn you so people knew who you belonged to.

Other marks usually litter your skin as well

Get’s even more possessive when you’re nesting

Only lets you use material that’s yours or his

Snarls at anyone who even gets too close to the door, if he needs to use his quirk he will.

You bit your nails as you waited on the bed, the league had had a mission, and Dabi told you to stay right where you were. So you hadn’t moved from the bed, but the mission was taking longer than you’d expected, and worry was bubbling up in your chest. You were too worried to read, your mind just drifted back to Dabi, wondering if he was okay. The door to your room finally opened, revealing a, thankfully, uninjured Dabi.

“Hey dollface, you gonna greet me?” He asked, and that was all it took for you to launch yourself at him. He buried his face in your neck, breathing your scent in deeply and letting out a sigh.

“You stayed on the bed the whole time?” He pulled away to ask, blue eyes lighting up when you nodded.

“You’re such a good omega, Y/n. My good omega.”

#yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere izuku #yandere x reader #yandere izuku x reader #yandere shoto x reader #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere dabi #bnha headcanons #bnha yandere #bnha x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere reactions #omegaverse #abo #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #bnha omegaverse #omegaverse headcanons

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 4: Departure

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The princess turned swiftly around, her right hand already hidden within the folds of her heavy cloak, clutching the dagger concealed within. She was completely still as she evaluated him, her eyes wide with shock. Rowan almost grinned at the sight.

The princess had probably never seen a fully-fledged Fae before; it had been a decade since magic had been eradicated and the burnings began that had driven all the western Fae from sight of Adarlanian soldiers. The very few that survived lived far from civilization, or were trapped in animal form to roam in the wilderness. Regardless, there was no possible way that she had ever seen anyone like him before.

Rowan was the most powerful pure-blooded Fae male living. He did not revel in the fact, did not lord it over other Fae – but it was a reality of his existence, one that he had grappled with for most of his life. Still, he couldn’t help but enjoy the educational experience he was providing the princess.

The street had gone absolutely silent, the mad beggar woman now huddled in her alcove, pressed against a teetering pile of rubbish, whimpering in fear. The other street urchins shrank back, retreating into secluded doorways and fleeing into the sunny street beyond.

The scent of fear radiated from the princess in waves, but she didn’t let it control her the way so many did. The girl was obviously intimately familiar with the emotion, trained to disregard it and act rationally.

The princess’ eyes roved over him, passing by his silver hair and settling on his tattoo. Rowan ceased his advance, pausing in a dusty patch of sunlight while she studied the whorls of black ink. The markings stretched down the left side of his face and neck, continuing below the pale surcoat and cloak he wore, all the way down his left arm to his wrist. They were in the old language of the Fae – and from the uncomprehending look on the girl’s face, were unintelligible to her.

A small measure of relief stole through him at the realization. Rowan didn’t want her to know any more about him than she needed to.

As Rowan paused, he scanned the rest of the street carefully. It was now nearly empty – its shadowy occupants immediately dispersed by the power radiating from him. There were only a few in the world who would meet the challenge in Rowan’s eyes, and none of that small group were currently in the street before him.

The girl still hadn’t moved, had made no attempt to flee – either back up the drainpipe to the roof or down a side street. She appeared to be contemplating, calculating her next move.

She had skillfully appraised him, marking his weapons, both those hidden beneath his clothing and those that were exposed, including the sword strapped across his back and the vicious knives at his sides, as well as his other advantages, his elongated canines, height, broad shoulders, corded muscle, and overwhelming bulk.

But the girl evaluated him in a way Rowan was unfamiliar with. Normally, the aggression and cold hostility he emanated sent people to their knees, or had them running in the opposite direction. Sometimes, through the fear, Rowan could even scent varying shades of jealousy or desire. Without exception, people reacted to him with how they thought they could use him, could possess him and his power.

But this girl was blank, empty. The fear he had scented earlier had faded and was replaced with…nothing. She was cold, and hard. Emotionless.

But now that the fear was gone, Rowan could finally get an untarnished trace of her scent. It wafted over to him on a warm breeze, carrying much stronger hints of her power than earlier – her flames brought to the surface by stress.

Rowan nearly flinched.

She smelled horrific. Her scent was almost entirely obscured by the vile stench of an unwashed human body. Rowan could taste the layers of blood, sweat, and grime on her as if they were real, tangible things. He could almost see the musk wrapped around her, like a disgusting veil of fog.

But underneath that haze, Rowan could detect her true scent, the smell of her essence, her very identity.

It was bright and sharp, biting almost. It stuck in his throat uncomfortably. Within it, he could scent the faintest hint of a north wind, of evergreen and ice – of her homeland. That scent was baked into her blood, her very bones. It marked her as who and what she was – a princess of Terrasen.

There could be no doubt.

But that tiny hint of northern wind, of her lineage, was almost completely overshadowed by the roiling tempest that thundered through her veins. Now that he was so close, it was undeniable. The petulant child had been given the power of a god, and it writhed in her bones, unwillingly constrained by her small frame. The door between them was locked fast, and the wildfire wanted out. And yet she refused to use it, turned away from it.

Even now, with the cold arrogance in her eyes and the iron bars enclosing her magic, the princess’ scent spoke of heat and spark and burning embers. They whispered to him, nudging at his icy wind.

Discomfort and a blistering wrath pulsed through him.

He hated this girl, hated her more than he would have thought possible. She was wild and completely untamed – a force of nature. A storm to be weathered. No discipline, no control, and not a shred of compassion. A killer.

She shifted position slightly, erring to the defensive. Rowan almost chuckled again.

He wished the girl would strike out, attack him with all the force her human form could muster. It would give him something to do with the fury steadily slicing through his self-control. Give him an outlet for the aggression pumping its way through his blood. He would eviscerate her, and then he could move on – go back to Doranelle and his queen, and face whatever punishment she would have in store for him.

This girl was a killer, and Rowan was an executioner of killers.

But instead of striking, all the tension in the girl’s limbs suddenly leaked out, and was replaced by a sly grace as she sauntered towards him. “Well met my friend,” she purred. “Well met indeed.”

Rowan remained completely still, impassive. Though taken slightly aback by the quick shift from aggression to easy familiarity, he was unsurprised by her change in tactics. She was Celaena Sardothien, the princess turned assassin, and she knew that verbal thrusts were just as effective as physical ones.

So did Rowan. He had dwelt in the center of Maeve’s court for too long not to have become familiar with that kind of warfare. And he detested it. From the princess’ arrogant lips, it infuriated him even more.

The girl paused a few feet before him, staring directly into his eyes – hers swimming with a wicked delight. “What a lovely surprise.” Her voice lilted in all the right places. “I thought we were to meet at the city walls.”

Even if she didn’t know exactly who he was, she had at least deduced who had sent him, and why. She had to know that there was no escaping the coming encounter. Perhaps that was why she was so relaxed – Maeve had said that the girl wanted to meet with her. The princess wasn’t just playing along; she was getting exactly what she sought – an audience with the Queen of the Fae.

Although giving the girl what she wanted aggravated Rowan to no end, he looked directly back into her sneering face anyways, and said, “Let’s go,” infusing his voice with as much indifference as he could.

Before the princess could give him some irreverent retort, Rowan turned and stalked down the sunlit street, avoiding the eyes of the vagrants currently regarding him with intense levels of fear and wonder. He listened carefully for the sound of the princess’ booted feet on the path behind him, relaxing slightly when she began to follow – although a fleeting hint of disappointment passed through him at her easy acquiescence.

Rowan led her through the city, down wandering paths and alleyways, trying to keep as much out of sight as possible. To his relief, the girl never raised any objection, verbal or otherwise, and instead just closely followed him into the northwest section of the city, where Fenrys had promised to leave a pair of horses for him.

Rowan hated traveling in Fae form, and it looked like he had signed up for a good deal of it. People stared as he walked past, pausing their working and walking and shopping to investigate the massive Fae warrior in their midst. Occasionally, flashes of recognition would spread on the faces of the onlookers, and he knew that it would soon be no secret that Rowan Whitethorn was in Varese, leading a strange, filthy girl through the capital.

They entered a small square, the princess lagging behind even though Rowan had slowed his pace to a crawl to accommodate her mortal form. It was adjacent to the apartment, and now held two sorry mares tied before a trough, waiting for them.

Rowan sighed imperceptibly. Fenrys just had to get his retribution for being asked to run Rowan’s errands.

He mounted the larger of the two beasts, while the princess stuffed her small satchel in the saddlebags of the other mare. Rowan began to turn the horse to lead it out of the square when the princess spoke. “I’ve known a few brooding warrior-types in my day, but I think you might be the broodiest of them all.”

Rowan whipped his head to face her. The girl’s tone hadn’t lost any of that infuriating insolence, but it wasn’t really the insult he was reacting to. They were surrounded by a great many interested ears, and if the princess let anything slip of more importance…

She continued, drawling, “Oh, hello. I think you know who I am, so I won’t bother introducing myself. But before I’m carted off to gods-know-where, I’d like to know who you are.”

His lips thinned. How had this girl survived so long? Instead of using violence to let out his fury, like he wanted to, Rowan glared at the many eavesdroppers loitering at the edges of the square – daring any of them to challenge him. They quickly dispersed.

Once he could no longer sense anyone within hearing range, he said evenly, “You’ve gathered enough about me at this point to have learned what you need to know.”

“Fair enough. But what am I to call you?” She gripped the saddle but didn’t mount it.

Rowan’s lips slipped into a frown. He supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to give the girl his name, though it pained him to give the arrogant brat any leverage over him. The less she knew about him, the less she could use against him.

“Rowan.”

She didn’t even blink. Either she had much more self-control than he suspected, which was highly doubtful, or she didn’t recognize the name.

“Well, Rowan – ” The princess’ tone was now bordering on open belligerence. Rowan felt his control beginning to slip as his eyes narrowed, warning of coming violence. She continued anyway. “Dare I ask where we’re going?”

The girl clearly had no regard for her own safety. Rowan had to actively suppress the fury coursing through him as he replied, “I’m taking you where you’ve been summoned.”

She kept silent this time, though he’d expected her to ask where the hell that was, instead mounting her mare and following him out of the square and onto the streets beyond. They slowly approached the entry gates, and the city guards merely waved them through, recognizing him as one of Maeve’s blood sworn and backing away in fear and respect.

Rowan grimaced. Why did it have to be this girl who challenged him, who met his hostility with an equal measure of her own?

Anger still pounded through him, undiminished by the heavy silence that now spread between them. The primal part of him ached to resolve the contest between them, to force the female to concede. It was strange to feel so when the pair of them were so outmatched. Rowan was unused to being challenged by other Fae, even his fellow blood-sworn had yielded to his power without much question. Except for Fenrys – that male constantly challenged him. But their contests lacked heat, Fenrys never actually expected to win.

But this female, this girl, had met the aggression in his eyes with her own arrogance, and had not backed down. She was so used to winning that the thought of losing never seemed to enter into her head.

Though she had lived as an assassin in the slums of Adarlan’s capital for most of her life, she was royalty – through and through.

Rowan let the cool, clean wind coming off the mountains breeze through his lungs, flushing out the last of the noxious city air and calming the pounding of his blood. They were several long days away from Mistward, and it seemed that Rowan would need every bit of his self-control to make it there without snapping.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#WatE repost

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sereisstuff · 4 years

Text

𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝟿

Demon!Taehyung x chubby reader

Summary of the tale - Taehyung has banter with his mother and Jungkook finds his way of friendship with you. How will Taehyung react? Warnings - none

(It’s been like what? two, three months? I’m not gonna lie and say I’ve been busy cause I haven’t I’m just gonna say I lost slight hope for this series and many of my others. I may stick to request and one shots now but I still have a passion for this particular one)

“How are you holding up, my dear” lunar spoke with the utmost care, her soft hands gripping the mug you gifted her. “I understand that my presence may come as a shock to you but I assure you I’m not here to be causing any ruckus” she proceeded with caution, you watched her smile. Gleaming in assurance.

“Did I do something wrong?” was your first question, from the information you were able to witness she was a witch, a woman of many talents and although it may not be the best to assume peoples talents you guessed she had somewhat a visionary mind. Lunar giggled wholeheartedly “No, I was just making sure you were doing fine with the potion, I have another gift for your journey. I was going to come much earlier but my partner made sure I knew your young demon was coming to bring you a gift of his own” she explained wafting the air with the trinkle of her finger.

“Oh, he’s not mine” you blushed profusely, grimacing towards your choice of words. Maybe she didn’t mean it in that way and you were skipping to conclusions. Lunar release yet another strong laugh, her curls bouncing with every long hearty giggle she took, her obsidian orbs rested on your face with her laughter halting with an air of exasperation “That’s where your utterly wrong my dear, I’ve known the young demon for many years. He may claim you as his own but he was yours long before that”

You gulped hearing those words, your mind filling with quizzical questions hoisting off from your chair to sit closer towards the edge “what do you mean?” you questioned curiously, the grip you held on the chair contoured your fingers. Lunar coughed taking a sip of her drink elegantly and your gaze fell to the floor in question “Jimin prophesied something similar when he came over, do you think it could be true. I know you have the answers” I spoke clearly.

Luna's bright gleam dropped, her eyes narrowing as you rambled. She did in fact have the answers to even your deepest questions “The son of Aphrodite was here?” her tone seemed oddly venomous as if she ridiculed his very presence with a burning hatred. Her question was yet to be confirmed making her release a heavy sigh.

You nodded your head warily “he was” came your short response watching the witches reaction “I’m sorry dear, I just don’t have much of a liking for the young demigod. To answer your question I cannot say, my ability to answer such a question is a curse of mine I should forever live with” she informed sadly and you empathized with her feeling oddly placed in this entire situation.

“I’m sorry” you apologized.

“No need my dear, I wanted to gift you this-” she held out a majestic necklace with a heart locket. Her hands held it gently as you frowned but smiled at the gift “that looks expensive, why me” She seemed to know the answer but kept her mouth closed “I hope this brings your young demon his own answers” she mumbled before patting your head as she placed the mug on the small coffee table resting neatly.

“Was this Taehyungs?” you shouted as she started leaving the home, her long strides took her to the end of the drive as she turned around “it was and is yours, young one” she shouted back before dispersing through thin air making you grumble incoherent words under your breath “it was? Am I just meant to guess that”

You walked around the home with small steps, carelessly caressing the edges of the home with an intensive stare residing within your eyes before a certain gleam caught your sight. It was a small crack in the ground. The same hole Taehyung created when Jungkook dimwittedly marked you with his own mark of Poseidon, his anger could still be felt and he was never going to be pleased with his cousin.

The entire space felt different, noticing days even weeks had gone past which you’d spent with the young demon hand in hand. That not even your home felt the embrace of you yet still cold and lacking the homely comfort it once had, so you grabbed the remote and choose a movie on Netflix while you began cleaning.

………………………………

“Your father seems to be interested in this girl” Taehyungs mother spoke venomously, her seducing figure coated with a tight corseted dress. The glimmering crown resting upon her thick locks of luscious hair could catch the attention of people standing miles away. “But I’m not” she ended with a rippling growl, Taehyung looked at his mother boredly.

“So tell me son, what god dare’s to have such a child?” she asked softly, her long manicured fingers caressing his clothed shoulder. Taehyung could feel a sense of anger pooling in his stomach as he adjusted his spot, “is that your business?” he retaliated with a daring glance, his mother’s slim slits narrowed towards him.

“You’re my son, I have somewhat a right to know your future wife. See if she’s eligible for my title” His mother gripped his shoulder with an intense rub, rolling his shoulders as she dug her sharp venomous nails into him. Taehyung stood abruptly, glancing down at his spilt wine as he hissed out his answer “She’s much more eligible then you ever were”

His mother laughed in mockery, hands resting on her filtered hips with a saddened pout “Don’t be such a bully son, I’m sure she’s a wonderful girl. If I find out that she isn’t how you portray her then Cerberus it is for her” his mother claimed awfully, Cerberus was their hell hound. They often fed it the spirits of the dead and this claim brought an relinquished fire to his mind.

Taehyungs hands fired up in rage and his breathing leveled in anger “I’m sure she will be a good meal, I recall you saying she had a plump figure to your father. Maybe it’ll take two of our hell hounds to down such a being” she pressed further with a hysteric laugh, her leisured steps clanked against the polished floor of the castle’s ballroom.

“If you ever touch her in a way that harms a single hair on her body, I’ll feed you to Cerberus myself” Taehyungs demon fired in rage as his height grew and his black horns stretch through his messy locks. His black wings snapped harshly from his toned back with a ridiculing pair of sharp canines growing “Now, now little one. I was just messing around with you” She giggled confidently, rolling her eyes framed with heavy thick lashes and a set of black shadow “Taehyung! What are you doing?” His father shouted, slicking his hair back with his dirty hands.

Taehyungs mother desperately released tears, her hands clamming together “He was going to hurt me” she cried, Hades looked to his woman boredly already growing tired with her antics once more “Yoon, leave him alone.” he demanded deeply, Yoon halted her steps with a slight tsk in her tone as she stomped the other way stealing a drink from one of the maids standing nearby as she witnessed the overprotective sense of the young demon.

“Did you give her the dress? How did she react?” his father asked excitedly, his canines showing slightly as his smile widened with a slight hopeful gleam in his wide eyes, Taehyung bit his lip peering down at his father “She loved it” came his reply. Taehyung ran a hand through his shining hair with a sigh “Listen, yoon will not touch her. I understand her past reactions to threats but I assure you I want to make this as good as I can. It’s not every day I meet someone my son fancies”

Hades wasn’t all too bad. He was a rather kind man with devilish traits, most worried more for the woman at his side for she was the threatening one and dare you ever pass her. Death is your only answer to her petty tantrums “I’ll kill her before she even gets the chance” Taehyung growled, Hades was taken aback with his son’s tone.

A smile graced his lips as he pets his son’s shoulders “We’ll see, now. Clear out so the maids can shimmer this place up, you have deals to attend.”

………………………………………………………

“You have got to be shitting me, you don’t like banana milk” Jungkook gasped dramatically, you thought since he was the only demigod you knew you paid him a small visit, although it was hard to reach him you polled your legs into the scary tides of his ocean, hands shaking in fear before you were pulled back by a pair of strong hands.

“You’re such a dumb ass” He growled sincerely, and that’s how you found yourself at a food shack. Jungkook was lying on one of the chairs, he knew the owners and surprisingly they knew of his title being of that world themselves “No, I’m sorry but it’s too sweet” you laughed upon his disgusted glare.

“I can’t believe you, come on. Try it” You shook your head a bit, Jungkook was laughing at your reaction. Noticing the necklace resting on your chest “Did Tae give that to you?” he asked, leaning forward to inspect the silvery chain and pendant, his hot breath meeting your chest as you jolted away accidentally grabbing his head on your way from the chair.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry” you apologized, Jungkook rubbed his head sorely, the owners giggled pointing your way “first your try drowning yourself then you smack me against the table, way to say thank you” He grumbled sassily under his breath.

Your over sized jacket was stained by his banana milk, “I still hate it though” I grumbled back glaring up at him with a restrained smile “It’s okay banana milk, don’t listen to her” he cooed dreamily towards the small carton of yellow substance. You snarled at him with a hiss “why do you think he gave it to me?” you asked, you seemed to be asking people a lot these days and if this was how it was going to be every minute you wanted out.

“He has one similar to that” Jungkook replied staring intensively behind you, his reply caught you off guard taking a quick glance to your necklace. It was old fashioned but big enough to fit a photo in there. Shaking off the obvious curiosity you followed his gaze “who’s that?” you voiced a little too loudly earning a hiss of disappointment and a callous smack from Jungkook.

The woman he rested his eyes on was beautiful, a little older then most here but she had youthful skin “My mom” He muttered sadly, you snapped your head his way watching his saddened face “we don’t speak of her, she has amnesia. My father always told me she hit her head on a rock and it was for the best but we all know he made her forget” Jungkook expressed taking a long sip from his drink.

“I see where you get your looks from” Jungkook rolled his eyes “Yeah, well at least I don’t look like a fish” you burst out into laughter taking one last look at the woman, her long brunette hair reached her bottom with a pair of brown flashy eyes. She was short and petite so he obviously inherited his height from his father and strength must just be a plus for all the demigods.

She seemed familiar in a sense of comfort, but you shook it off as interest.

“A fish?” you piqued in curiosity, Jungkook replied “It’s not unfamiliar to anyone but my dad has had many children I’m still not aware of but one of them I do is. Well, she kinda turned out like a fish” He seemed to hate the girl but he was content with his suppressed answer.

“You would still be cute with a fin and tail, admit it. You secretly want one” I snapped, barking in laughter “me, never” He sarcastically replied, “You should get going, one thing I know about my uncle is that he doesn’t like people who aren’t punctual.” Jungkook expressed, you nodded standing from your place as you gave him a tight hug “Thanks, I needed your company.” I said Jungkook was wide in shock hearing that. His hands slowly making their way around my shoulders with a hesitant embrace.

“Wait” He shouted, I stopped in my tracks pivoting to face him. He pulled out a spray from his bag before coating me in the toxic substance “if my cousin smells me on you then your in for one hell of a shit storm and that won’t even be the worst. Even though he can’t cross the water he’ll surely find a way to strangle me” Jungkook expressed with worry laced in his tone.

“C’mon he can’t be that bad” you laughed only for Jungkook to peek at you from beneath his brown locks with a disaster look in his eyes “oh” you muttered letting his toxicities embrace every inch of your body.

“Now, so long” he pushed you towards the door with a sarcastic wave, you flipped him off only to receive a strong push of his lips.

You just hoped the perfume worked…..

.................................

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risingsouls · 4 years

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Conversations: 3

[Part 3 of what should def just be called my self-indulgent and soon to be shippier bs. The shippy isn’t REALLY there yet but the chemicals are reacting, as they say.]

“I have another question.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Vegeta eyed Nabooru from across the campfire, usual frown twitching a touch lower. The flames danced in her gold eyes. Had it not been for the dinosaur steak roasting over the fire, the offered view of the flame’s glow illuminating her against the early night sky might have been pleasant. “Well, go on. I’ve indulged you every other time, why should now be any different?”

The Gerudo reached out to turn her dinner for an even roast. Considering their last encounter, how the train of conversation intensified to a point that felt as though the slightest movement would trigger violence, she almost didn’t expect him to let her follow through. A whole week passed before he returned to the wasteland for a spar and, while she tried not to dwell on it, to accept that she pushed too far and overstayed her welcome, or, harder to swallow he didn’t consider her a worthy sparring partner any more, it had bothered her more than she cared to admit aloud or to herself. When she hit the low point of considering finding him herself or showing up at his place of residence--a tidbit of information she picked up at the tournament if she couldn’t sense him--she threw herself into her own training. A good long span of survival training without the use of her ki helped clear her head and consider ways to move forward with her growth on her own once more.

“This one might be personal.” She snorted at the raised eyebrow he gave her and amended, “In a different way. Like about your body sort of personal.”

“What?” His expression morphed into a scowl. Heat soared into his cheeks and he glanced away to keep her from noticing it. “What the hell would you need to ask about my body?!”

It took a second too long for her to realize why her words caused such an indignant reaction in the prince. “W-wait! No, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not--!” she sputtered, trying to regain ground. “Ugh, I’ll just ask. You and Nappa are both Saiyans, but he has a tail and you don’t. Did you have a tail at some point, too?”

Vegeta felt the blush flee from his face and his heart rate slowly returning to normal, but her inquiry did nothing to quell his sour expression. He turned it back on her. “Of course I had a tail. All Saiyans are born with them.”

Had. Considering the tidbits of his past she knew, she feared the worst. Frieza was obviously a racist bastard that feared his kind. Had he taken it? If so, why hadn’t he lobbed Nappa’s off? A warning? Another sort of message? Nabooru pulled the steak from the fire and extended it to him. A peace offering, a silent apology. A way to cool him off and keep talking if only for her own curiosity. “What happened to it, then? Or is yours special and invisible?”

Snatching the proffered meat, sharp canines tore into it. He ignored the burns to his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he chewed. “Got cut off,” he rumbled around the bite before taking another.

Nabooru failed to stop her eyelids from lowering and the corners of her lips dipping downward in an unamused frown. Rolling her eyes, she popped up to her feet and strode over to the carcass a few meters away from their camp. “Should I ask you how or why?” She considered summoning a ki sword but instead pulled one of her dual blades from her hip, if only to strike back by annoying him as he was her. When he found her earlier that afternoon training with her trusty blades--the weight welcome in her hands, the technique of wielding them so embedded in her muscle memory she lost no time delving into her old routines and toying with new ones--he had made it plain he didn’t care for such weapons. She brought it down in a swift arc, slicing another steak from the beast’s tail. Noting that he was halfway through the one in his hands, she hacked off another for insurance. “Or would I be wasting my breath?”

Though the rage from that particular day had long since dulled to a weak summer thunderstorm when given half a thought, Vegeta avoided considering it. A successful endeavor so long as his mind cooperated and no one reminded him of it. The day his life was upended and flipped upside down, never to return to a proper orientation even after all these years. His whole understanding of himself, his place in the universe, his strength and prowess as a warrior...all of it ripped to shreds and uncertain. Sometimes, it all still felt like an extended nightmare and he would wake up in his pod on some new planet to conquer with Nappa and Raditz at his side. Such moments were fewer and further between these days, but he once more found himself on precarious footing with no clear goal for himself. No clear desires. A murky identity despite his best efforts to conceal just how lost he felt through declarations of his princely status to a dead race.

Their last conversation had reminded him of it and, as he tended to do when he needed to feel like he was accomplishing something and forget the world around him, he trained day and night until exhaustion forced him to rest. Then he awoke a fee meager hours later and did it again. He lost at least a week this time, if the last message Nabooru sent and he replied to and her off-handed comment earlier was any indication.

"A fat man cut it off," he began between bites of meat. He swallowed, watching her prepare the next steak on the spit. "Never saw him again after. Best for him because I'd have killed him if I did."

An empty threat, likely. He had promised the others there that day the same fate but failed to enact any of them. A waste of energy, he told himself. But deep down, he simply knew it was a death wish when he still tailed Kakarot in power. And though back then he wished and sometimes still considered if he would have been better off sharing the same fate as his people, obliterated to space dust to forever float among the cosmos and join them in Hell, his fire to reclaim his honor and place as the most powerful Saiyan kept him alive.

Nabooru knew her follow up question was predictable, but if he found it annoying, he could easily amend it by filling in the proper details without prompt. "A random fat man just cut off your tail?" she asked, tone devoid of humor despite the image parading through her mind. "Seems rather random."

"It wasn't." Her steely gaze pinned him to the spot, full lips thinned and an eyebrow lifted. A chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he could imagine--almost feel--the missing appendage in question flicking in idle arcs of amusement. He finished the last bit of meat slow, relishing the taste and her mounting frustration over the game he played. "Our tails are what allow us to transform into the mighty Oozaru. He cut it off to return me to my normal form.”

“Another transformation? Like your Super Saiyan thing?”

“No, not exactly. During full moons, Saiyans transform into giant apes capable of leveling planets. Hence why our talents were in demand for someone like Frieza and his family.” He wiped his mouth with his arm. “Plenty of us could do it without the transformation, but using the Oozaru form was typically faster and more difficult for enemies to strike down.”

Nabooru whistled low, fascinated by the idea. She leaned forward and twisted the meat to the other side. “Mm, so then cutting off your tail was actually strategic of this mystery fat man?”

“You give him more credit than he deserves,” the Saiyan huffed. “Kakarot and his friends got lucky the first time I touched down on this damn planet. The clown was dead to rights, and had those idiots not shown up to our battle…” He trailed off, unsure of how that would change his fate and certain she could fill in the blanks herself. Where would he be now had he destroyed Kakarot and his friends that day? Still serving Frieza? Ruler of his own empire like his father promised him? Dead?

She opened her mouth to respond, pointing out that technically Goku hadn’t defeated him that day exactly by that detailing, but reconsidered. Another sore spot that, if she understood right, sparked his rivalry with the other Saiyan. His need to surpass him and defeat him in battle. She could understand that; she wouldn’t care for such an outcome either, and would crave a proper rematch. She suspected the blow to his pride ran deeper than just the need for a rematch, however. Like her, his warrior status was intrinsically tied to his identity, and the loss to Goku had shaken that, the reverberations of which he still obviously battled with.

“Why is it that I’m the one always answering questions, anyway?” Nabooru glanced up from the flames at her company. His muscular arms were folded over his broad chest, and he watched her with narrowed eyes. She blinked, and when he didn’t amend his inquiry, she replied, “Because you’ve never really asked me anything?” She lifted a shoulder. “I never talked much about myself because I figured you weren’t interested. I didn’t think you would like such a breach our quasi-master-student relationship or really care to listen.”

“And all of your questions didn’t do that already?” He sneered when all she offered was another shrug in response. He had no one to blame but himself on that front. If he really took offense to her interrogations, he could have ignored her. But the ease of conversing with her lulled him into blathering on about his past. And, if he wanted to know more about her in turn, a possibility he tried to deny due to its futility, he had no reason to doubt she would answer in kind. Her being a warrior as passionate as he was about improving herself had piqued his curiosity at her tournament, and her final words that all but ended their tense conversation a week before haunted him, further prodding the desire to uncover her past. His reasonably cynical mind deemed it pointless, an effort to form an unnecessary bond, and, until outwardly admitting it moments ago, he had conveyed such a mindset to her successfully by not partaking in asking her his own questions. But a part of him he could not pin down--simple curiosity? Loneliness? Hope of finding someone who could even remotely relate to him in more than basic ways and that didn’t annoy him too much?--begged him to ask similar questions to those she asked him and learn more. With his outburst, he had little choice but to follow through.

Another huff blown out through his nose. “Fine. You said you didn’t get to kill your Frieza. Who was your Frieza?”

Nabooru hid her surprise in his follow through by casting her gaze to the steak and turning it slowly. Habit and buried bitterness made her want to question his sincerity in asking: did he really want to know, or was he just trying to get back at her for all of her inquiries? She didn’t usually share her experience with anyone, and most were too caught up in themselves or completely unaware that she and her people hailed from a different planet and would never think to ask such questions. She kept most at arm’s length outside of the Gerudo to not only shield her emotions but to, perhaps, better cope with the past and the loose ends she left behind. It’s success felt questionable most days.

“He was the King of Hyrule,” she said, deciding at length that Vegeta wasn’t the type to bring something up if he wasn’t genuinely curious. “Well, really the monarchy of Hyrule. Perhaps the whole country in its own way.” Gold eyes flicked up to him, assessing. “It’s...a long story. It would take a bit to help you underst--”

“Try me.” A challenge issued out of both his undeniable interest in her tale and annoyance that she tried to deflect his question when he answered all of hers (nevermind that it took some coaxing on her part). “You and I seem to have little more than time, so get to explaining. Not so fun being on the other side, is it?”

She chewed her lip and pulled the meat from the fire. She turned it over, once, twice, then handed it over to Vegeta instead. “Well...as I’m sure you guessed, the king and his people were not very fond of mine. Decades of friction from how we fought the longest and hardest in the Civil War, and likely could have won if our supplies and numbers had held up. In the end, we surrendered and joined the other nations in signing a treaty of unity, but the spoils were tactically skewed against us. It offered a semblance of peace, ensured our sovereignty as long as we played by their rules. It did not, however, help us secure better lives for ourselves in expanding outside of the desert for farmland nor did it open up the trade that had been restricted. Though they blocked every request, despite our people dying from the war draining our supplies and a desert not being the most hospitable home, we did our best to find ways to survive while trying to play their games of diplomacy and peace. It was hard not to see it as an orchestrated, slow strangling and punishment for our near success in the war.”

Nabooru paused, the next portion of her story lodging a lump in her throat and igniting a furious flame in her belly. She still struggled to talk about certain bits, the memories painful and the feelings of shame stilling her tongue. Perhaps another time she would illuminate Ganondorf’s role and her betrayal in more detail. For now, she could work around it for the most part.

“Our king...he lost patience with them and staged a coup on his own. He was captured before he could get too far and...imprisoned, likely to be executed. It only fueled the hatred Hyrule had for us, as well as their fear because they assumed we would pick up where he left off.” She stabbed the spit through the remaining stake with unnecessary ferocity. “Whole groups, including people of the court called for our complete eradication. It was considered radical at first, niche groups popping up here and there, but it quickly gained traction, and the king nor his lackeys ever denounced it all, despite the peace treaty and our insistence to uphold it. I had taken over as leader and tried everything I could to convince them, to stave off the growing violence and once more try to save my people and give them a sustainable life. To play their game like they wanted. It did no good. I was laughed out of every meeting.

“Back home, we were split. We were all angry, desperate, and many called for war, even though we could never win with hardly the supplies to sustain ourselves in peacetime and being horribly outnumbered by the rest of Hyrule. Others suggested we take our chances with the desert before they storm our gates.” She swallowed, staring into the fire, reminded of the torches they bore and how it glinted off their steel as they swarmed their home. “We didn’t get the chance to make the decision. Soldiers and civilians alike stormed the fortress en masse. We fought as long as we could, but we had to make the decision to flee into the desert. Only those that made it here survived.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Tears of mourning, of shame as a warrior who was forced to flee rather than face her attackers and die a warrior’s death or come out victorious with the King’s head on a pike. No matter how reasonable, no matter how she had helped save at least some of her people and helped them flourish in another home, it felt cowardly. Unfinished business never set well with her, but, at the same time, she wasn’t entirely sure that, given the chance, she would go through with making the dreams of storming Hyrule and leveling it with her newfound power a reality any more. The fleeting satisfaction it would bring didn’t feel worth it.

Somewhere during her story, her fingers had woven into her ponytail to glide through the crimson tresses. She snatched her hand out of them as if they had burned her and burrowed both hands into the space between her crisscrossed legs. “While I took down plenty of those who attacked us, I didn’t get to kill the king or his court or anyone else who wished me and my people dead. That’s why I said what I did. I understand that yearning for...well, I don't know what to call it. Justice? Revenge? Closure?”

Vegeta had slowed the pace of his eating as she spoke, nibbling on the hunk of meat rather than tearing chunks from it. Many of her people were killed out of fear of their might and potential--as warriors and in what they might do--and they were forced to flee because of it. He could easily see why his own history resonated with her, the parallels uncanny. And she was their leader for a time, a fact he could have guessed at considering the others still seemed to turn to her for guidance, likely out of habit, and the way she carried herself among them. They both understood the pain of failure, of helplessness to change anything due to lacking power or sway to do so. She at least didn't grow to resent the survivors of her kind, or shove them away because they were weaker or deemed useless. She had the chance to learn to be a proper leader. His only guidance in that department was Frieza.

He grit his teeth; he hated when he realized just how similar to that bastard he had been. How many of his habits and practices he picked up unintentionally just to survive.

“All three, I suppose,” he mumbled at last, choosing to stare at the meat in his hands than make eye contact. “Maybe someone else got vengeance for you and your race.”

His words didn’t make her feel better, but she suspected they weren’t meant to. “Mm, somehow I doubt it. People like that always live longer than they deserve to.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and turned her steak. “You still wish it was you, then?”

Vegeta popped the last bite in his mouth and chewed it slowly. He didn’t miss the bitter hope in her tone. Her gaze finding his despite his best efforts to avoid it. For what, though? Someone to understand? For someone who was anything but “normal” to validate the hollowness of a vendetta not claimed?

“It should have been me. But the universe thought Kakarot had a better stake to the claim than me.” He didn’t mention his own son cutting Frieza to pieces like he was nothing and, to add salt to the wound, did it as a Syper Saiyan as well. “But...yes. I suppose I do. Not so vehemently as after the fact, but I will still say he was mine to kill after all the shit he put me through. After all he took from me.”

Nabooru remained silent for a while, offering only a nod of agreement in answer, the crackle of the fire and the howl of a coyote in the distance the only sounds. Though the ache remained, they had both figured out how to manage. Perhaps not in the healthiest of ways but maybe they could help each other with that. The thought surprised her; did she really expect this sparring arrangement and conversing like this to be long term with no real indication that it would continue even the next day? Once more she had to contend with her potential want for his company, not just anyone’s. A confusing revelation, since the last decade or more of her life had been spent consciously avoiding creating such bonds and pretending she didn’t want them outside of the few Gerudo she had already established them with.

"Hey."

The Saiyan returned his attention from a lizard scaling a nearby rock to the woman with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

Nabooru bit her lip, a smile tugging her lips. "Want to spar? The night is young."

He stared at her, confusion still present on his features. "What about your food? You need to eat or you won't have the energy to make it worth my time."

"What are you my mother or just scared?" She rose to her feet and smoothed out her pants, kicking sand onto the fire. "If you really want to play that game, you obviously need to get more sleep. I could see the bags under your eyes from a mile away."

"Scared of what? You maybe landing a decent hit?" He scoffed and rose to his feet. He didn't care to be nagged about his extra erratic sleeping patterns of late, and the prospect of a spar sounded more enticing than delving into their bloody pasts and regrets for much longer.

She stepped toward him and rested her hands on her hips. "So, are you going to fight me or what?"

He smirked, feet leaving the sand. "If you're so eager to get beaten,, then let's go. We're burning moonlight."

#// vegeta ♅#:: nabooru ☀#i hope this doesn't post twice #tumblr is shittign the bed

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homogrimoire · 5 years

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Ego Ollor od Esiasch Coronzon

Fair Game Week 2020: Day 7 - AU / Free Day (Priest/Demon AU)

Read it on AO3 here.

Qrow Branwen, priest of a small chapel in the middle of nowhere, was content with his life as it was. Bad luck followed him all his life, as he was born cursed by an ancient magic that not even Oz could undo. The only things he could say were good in his life were his nieces, but even then, he felt that he had to be careful. He didn’t want them to be victims of his existence. They would visit every once and a while, which was perfect in his opinion. They would stay long enough to have fun together, but not long enough to where anything seriously bad could happen. He supposes that getting the opportunity to stay at the chapel was also nice. He was given the opportunity to stay there by an old friend, headmaster of a prestigious academy. Needless to say, he agreed without a second thought. Read to some people from a book and answer their questions two days out of the week? Easy. Be away from people so he couldn’t harm anyone? Help the headmaster with some occult mystery now and then so he could finally feel useful? It was practically a dream come true.

As the years went by, he grew closer to the few people that would show up, especially a young farmhand named Oscar. He reminded him of his nieces. He grew to understand the hope the gods could give and inspire, even if he himself believed them to be cruel and uncaring. His nieces visited less frequently, but called much more often, which he was alright with. Some of his hair began to grey, which he quickly grew to like. It made him look more mature. His experiments, while they were almost always met with some complication, always helped Oz with something. He was as content as he could be, save for one minor thing.

Qrow was lonely. Sure, people came to the chapel on a regular basis, but it was hardly personal, save Oscar. He always made sure to save him some extra sweets, even if he was a teenager now. Ruby and Yang called nearly every other day, bar when they were on a mission, but made sure to visit their favorite uncle at least once a month. Tai called every now and then and would also sometimes visit. However, Qrow realized just how lonely he was when his sister showed up out of the blue. Instead of immediately throwing blessed water at her and muttering a prayer from the book, he actually considered inviting her in. He settled for chatting outside, so that there could at least be witnesses. It went better than expected, but that wasn’t saying too much.

Oz, of course, called frequently, chatting about the magical experiments or sharing the latest gossip with each other. One call proved to be pivotal in Qrow’s life. The day was already eventful. Oscar confessed that he had a crush on one of the other farmhands, hired from a nearby city, he heard, which wasn’t a sin in any book, but Qrow didn’t really care too much about that. As an honorary uncle and father figure, he was mostly just curious about the crush and proud that Oscar was growing up. … Even if it meant Oscar would leave. It was making Qrow feel lonely again. The last time he had a crush, the kid wasn’t even born. Needless to say, he was feeling a bit down when Ozpin called. The moment Qrow answered the call, he knew something big happened, but by his tone, it wasn’t anything bad.

“So, Qrow, I believe that I may have found something that may be of interest to you.” Oz began.

“Mhmm.” Qrow responded, slouched in a chair.

“I’ve found what I believe to be the instructions for a ritual that may help your bad luck problem.” Qrow couldn’t see it, but he knew Oz was smiling.

“You’ve got my attention.” He said, quickly sitting up. “Tell me more about it.”

“From what I have learned, it may have some relation to the brother gods. Its incantations are certainly very old as well. It’s all a straight forward. It just has some… unique ingredients. I’ve procured some of the rarer ones for you, They should be there in a week’s time. Until then, I’ll leave you to find the more common ingredients. I’ll send you the instructions and list of ingredients right now.”

“Wow, Oz, I─ I don't know what to say.” Qrow was dumbfounded. To believe that his curse could be cured...

“You don’t need to say anything. You’ve done a lot more for me than I’ve done for you. But if you want to thank me, do it when the ritual is a success. You know how fickle magic can be.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”Qrow knew that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Who knew if some ancient ritual would hold up in the modern era. Steps could have been lost as time passed, the magic that powers it may not even exist any more, hell, it could even just end up making things worse. But, Qrow trusted Oz, and there was still the off chance that things did go as expected. At the very least, he could debunk the ritual and let Oz know.

“Although, I should tell you… no. Just, be careful with this one.”

“Alright, I will.” Qrow said suspiciously. In all fairness, Oz always was mysterious.

“Good night Qrow.”

“Good night Oz.” Once the call ended, Qrow received the information, as promised. After reading through it, he could see that it was simple. It just required a lot. There were a few ingredients he had never heard of, but imagined that those would be the things Oz sent him. A few strands of hair from a calico cat were easy to get, only having to deal with a sneezing fit, as well as a horseshoe. He just paid a visit to Oscar and gathered a few hairs from a random calico cat there and bought a horseshoe. Oscar might have tripped face first onto his crush while Qrow was there, but he didn’t feel too bad once he saw them holding hands as he left. All that was left was a shamrock and a fishing pole made by the one invoking the ritual. The shamrock, while it would probably take a day of searching in a clover field to find, made sense with the ritual’s theme. The fishing pole made no sense. If anything, it made him doubt the ritual’s authenticity a little. But, regardless, he made a cheap one out of a stick and some string with a toy lure. It was sad, but it would do.

By the time Qrow had everything he needed, it was still four days until the stuff Ozpin sent would arrive. Qrow could have continued memorizing the incantation, but he had already been doing that. So, he decided to make a more respectable fishing pole. He didn’t take woodworking in school for nothing, even though he would have to do most of the work by hand. In the end, he just looked up how to make a bamboo fishing pole online. It was a nice change of pace from his daily routine. There was still another day until the supplies arrived by the time Qrow found the rod satisfactory. He decided to spend the day carving out a bird from a piece of wood to use as a bobber. He decided on a kingfisher, for their fishing prowess. Once he finished, he decided to go to bed. He had a big day ahead of him.

The supplies he needed arrived late in the afternoon. The mailman almost tripped while holding all the supplies, but Qrow caught him just in time. He was really hoping the ritual would work. Ozpin sent him some jars of a black goop. Qrow didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t going to question it. Along with the goop, came an odd looking rug, a faded green, that was easily centuries years old, and perhaps even millennia if he were being generous. With no time to waste, he got to work. First, he laid down the rug that he would make the sigil on. Next, using the black goop, he carefully and slowly drew out the sigil, intricate with its many lines. At the tips of the center triangle, he placed the four-leaf clover, the horseshoe, and the strands of calico cat hair. In the center where an ominous vertical eye rested, he placed the fishing pole. With that done, he closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, reminiscent of a prayer. He began to utter the incantation, grateful that Oz knew the pronunciations.

Torzu od adrpan, [n] ascleh k iabes

Cruscanse [xitha] siatris

Amma bab argedco ils

Bien k hoxmarch ivmd ils

Pir ooaona ors

Ollor teloch olpirt dorpha

Ol argedco ego bab

Qrow opened his eyes to see that the black goop had been swirling upwards, the ancient rug and the items he gathered caught in the vortex, until it suddenly paused mid-air, and then fell onto the floor with an anti-climatic splat. He looked at his arms to see if he was any different. He didn’t feel any different. For a moment, he thought that the ritual failed, resulting in nothing. It evidently resulted in something, as a hand shot out of the puddle. Qrow wasn’t a believer, but he grabbed a nearby holy book. It would be better than nothing. It pulled itself up and out of the puddle, the goop dripping off the figure as it emerged. Soon, he could make out slicked back brown hair with graying sides, and deathly pale skin marked with red and black veins. He was clad in a green vest similar to the ancient rug and light colored pants. He opened his eyes to reveal that the sclera were pure black, and his pupils were an unnatural and piercing red. He grinned, showing sharp canines, which was very hot, and very scary.

“So,” it spoke, “you’re the one who summoned me?” Qrow nodded his head, unable to drawl out any words. Then, it looked him up and down. “What’s your name, handsome?” Did he just… flirt, with me?

“Qrow. Qrow Branwen.” was all he could muster out.

“Hm. Handsome name for a handsome guy. I suppose you're wondering what my name is then?” Qrow didn't respond, so the entity continued. “Well, like any respectable demon, I go by many names, but you can call me yours. ” The demon winked at him. He really is flirting with me. He didn’t know how to respond to a demon flirting with him, and a rather hot one at that. “Still shocked, I see. You weren’t exactly expecting me, were you?” Qrow noticed that he held the fishing pole he made slung across a shoulder, and wore a shamrock pin.

“Nope.”

“Well, I hate to intrude, but I think it’s best that talk in the morning, you know, so you can sleep on all this. Oh, and it looks like you only got one bed. Lucky me.” Yeah, lucky. That snapped Qrow out of his stupor.

“Hold on, I am not falling asleep when some random demon is here!” Even if those arms are very tempting. He noticed that one arm had a red armband wrapped around it.

“Like what you see?” the demon teased, flexing his arms. Qrow realized that he had been staring, and began to blush.

“I’m calling Oz.”

“Her ex-husband?” the demon asked.

“Who’s what?” Ozpin picked up the call.

“So, how did it go?” he asked calmly as he took a sip of his drink.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were making me summon a demon?!” Qrow exclaimed.

“The dollar store knock-off goddess says fuck you, and that she wants the kids.” the demon interjected

“Tell her I said to pay the child support.”

“Will do.” the demon saluted. Ozpin turned his attention back to Qrow.

“He’s an alright demon. You can trust him.”

“That doesn’t answer the Question! Oz!”

“Well, if everything went as planned, you should have been able to make a deal with him by offering the fishing rod.”

“And a pretty nice one at that. I like the little kingfisher.” the demon interrupted, holding up the rod for all to admire.

“But evidently, something went wrong.”

“Yeah, you used female calico cat hair. You should have used male calico cat hair.” he corrected. “Lucky for me, it looks like I’m stuck in a pretty nice place,” he said as he looked around the room, “with an even prettier person.” The demon winked at Qrow, again.

“Stuck here? What do you mean stuck here ?” Qrow asked, flustered.

“Well, since the ritual went awry, we’ll have to make another portal to send me back.”

“And that involves going back to hell to get some of that sludge. Trips to hell aren’t easy, you know.” Well shit.

“You went to hell? For me?” Qrow asked. He was touched.

“Yes, but think nothing of it. I owe you a lot.” Oz took another sip “Besides, you’re stuck with a demon now.” Qrow looked behind him to find The demon lying down on his bed, patting the empty space beside him as if offering it to him. Qrow turned away to hide a light blush. “Well, have fun with your new roommate, good night.”

“Wait! Ozpin you little─” with a click, the line was cut. Qrow groaned. He fell back into a chair to stare up at the ceiling, tired and stressed. He looked at the demon, who was just smiling at him. “So, what should I actually call you.”

“Hmm,” the demon thought for a moment, “Clover.” he said as he flicked the shamrock on his vest with his thumb.

“Alright then, Clover . What kind of demon are you anyways?” Qrow was still a little bit suspicious, but he didn’t sense any malicious intent, so there was that.

“Well, let’s just say I have the devil’s own luck.” he grinned. Despite the smile seeming slightly sinister, Qrow felt a bit of hope.

“So what you’re saying is, that you're a demon who brings good luck?”

“Good luck for a fee, and I’d say you’ve paid yours rather nicely.” He pulled the rod out of nowhere to admire it. “I really do like the kingfisher you’ve made. It must have taken a lot of time, and a lot of skill to make. I think this one’s my new favorite.” With a quick movement of his hand, it disappeared back into nothing. “I consider myself pretty lucky, but I have a feeling I’m going to get even more lucky with you here.”

“Pfft.” Qrow scoffed. “You haven’t dealt with someone like me.”

“And why’s that?” Clover sat up, genuinely interested in Qrow’s response.

“I… was born cursed with bad luck. It affects me and everyone around me.” This wasn’t information he gave so freely, but, for some reason, he felt that the demon could understand him, so he told him.

“I see.” The demon appeared to be thinking hard. “When I was human, I was born blessed with good luck, if you can call it blessed. I’m not gonna deny it, it had its benefits. But, as I grew older the more and more people thought that all I was, was my good luck. Everyone wanted to be around me for my good luck, and never for me. You get it, don’t you.” Qrow notic ed that there was something in his eyes: sadness, loneliness, a plea for someone to understand.

“I do.” he told him.

“I thought you would.” Clover smiled and laid back down, patting the empty spot beside him once more. Qrow gave into temptation, and laid next to the hunk of a demon in the small bed. He could have forced the demon onto the floor, but he didn’t want to be rude, and he certainly wasn’t going to sleep on the floor himself. Qrow had the best night of sleep he ever had in a long time, cuddled up in those muscular arms. Yeah, things will be fine. he though as he drifted to sleep.

#Fair Game #fairgameweek2020 #clover ebi #qrow branwen

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razorblade180 · 5 years

Text

Shackles pt4: A Rocky Start

“So let’s get started shall we?” A click of a button illuminates a completely white room devoid of windows. The gaurd reaches for Jasmine’s wrist and she promptly yanks a way and walks to the only chair in the middle of a room. She knew the drill already. Jasmine was at least gonna do it at her own pace.

The child sat down and placed both arms on the arm rest in between the thick leather straps. Her mind was racing; the nerves in her body already feeling like fire and making the chair creak with her slight trembling. “Let’s just get this over with already.” The soldier scoffs and tightens the straps before leaving the room. It wasn’t long before the door opens again with Sobek himself coming through it with a utility cart that has an array of tools. Each one unnerving her more. Regular needles, injections, a metal bar, wire, and worst of all, the shears. Jasmine can’t keep her eyes off them.

Sobek:So you’re causing trouble little one? I had I feeling I’d see you in this room again. You’re pretty feisty for a girl your age; certainly more grit than your brother it seems. Not to mention your parents.....you have your father’s charisma.

Jasmine:And then you tried to beat it out of him....

Sobek:Correction, I tried to carve it out of him. Unfortunately the man was beyond salvation much like your mother. *grabs injections*

The man methodically stares at the tip of it as he stands in front of her. Jasmine jumps slightly the moment Sobek’s hand grabs her arm.

Sobek:Don’t be scared, I’m not going to be as crude with you. Children....don’t survive that kind of strain.

The need goes into her arm easily. Jasmine stares at the mysterious clear liquid gets injected into her right arm. In mere seconds she started feeling strange. The room started getting even brighter to the point it was straining to keep both eyes completely open. A rapid pounded in her ears and Sobek’s calm grip felt more like a vice. Even the air itself stung each time she took a shallow breath. The man before her watched the drug kick in then snapped his fingers. The sound made her yelp in pain like a gunshot had went off right next to her. “Several hours of pure sensory overload should change your tune nicely.” He spoke in a hushed tone for her sake. It was last bit of mercy she would be given.

Sobek left the room but left the tools. His way or keeping her alert and making the girls own heartbeat a weapon against her. He walked into room that was right before her where the wall that would be her back wall was in fact a one way mirror. Connected to it was a panel with a variety of switches and knobs. He reached for one that was labeled temperature and dialed it down to forty degrees Fahrenheit then reached for another that increased volume. The only sound was feedback steadily rising. Waiting for just the level until.... “Aaaaaaaaaaaa~” he turned it back down on notch and could see Jasmine heaving; cold air visible with each exhale.

“Poor child. I’ll cure you in no time.”

xxxx

Yang:Are you sure this is the right way?

Blake:I don’t travel in the desert Yang. This is just as much of a leap of faith for me as it is for you.

Jacquelyn:Gee I’m glad I can feel the trust in this group.

The three had been walking through the desert for at least half an hour now. It was the dead of night, cold, and the moon was the only witness to anything out here. Yang was not a happy camper about any of that. She might’ve been aggressive to Jacquelyn earlier today but it was from a mix of shock and other things that were going on. Fighting a maiden was absolutely in every worse case scenario she came up with. Yang had sparred with her mother and helped Ruby push back Cinder in battle, however that only told her how different maidens all are from one another. Case in point, the floor right below them.

Right now the three women were walking in a straight line about a foot away from each other. Jacquelyn was of course in the front. Not simply because she’s the one with direction, but because she’s keeping them out of danger. Her powers allow her to change the sand below their feet into rock temporarily; a trick like that had to come with tons of practice. It stayed long enough in that state for Yang to tail her. Followed by Blake and the sand returned to normal.

Yang:Can’t you make this strip of solid land wider? You aren’t exactly lacking in resources.

Jacquelyn:The point is to disturb the ground as little as possible. White Fang and Nightstalkers burrow underground and sense vibrations in shifting sands so they can set sinkholes in appropriate spots. If I change the terrain too much then I’m bound to attract something.

Yang:White Fang....? You can’t be talking about the group right?

Blake:The group got its name from a grimm indigenous to menagerie. They’re build is almost like an dingo and they walk on all fours constantly unlike beowulves. Their face is a strange mix of feline and canine structure. Digging is sort of their thing and you might’ve guessed but their canines are white as bone; incredibly long too.

Jacquelyn:Being bitten by them with or without aura is a real pain. Let’s not deal with that shall we?

Yang:Why would your dad name an organization after a grimm?

Blake:One White Fang is ferocious and will do just about anything to get by.

Jacquelyn:A pack becomes organized and follows the alpha. In numbers they can shape the land around them and will try and stand against just about anything that stops them. That unity is the reason right?

Blake:Adam tell you that?

Jacquelyn:Who else? You gonna tell me that was a lie?

Blake:N...no....

Yang:......So Nightstalkers?

Jacquelyn:They’re basically Deathstalkers but prefer to trap their enemies instead of coming above ground. They do not waste time. The moment you fall into a trap they will try and sting you to stun you, then immediately eat you.

Yang:Yet these are the ones without “death” in their name.

Jacquelyn:I don’t name them. I just try to avoid them. I almost got eaten once but luckily I wasn’t alone.

Yang:I’m pretty sure magic helped.

Jacquelyn:That too...

Yang:Speaking of which, I can’t imagine this stone stepping trick is easy. Must have taken a lot of practice to get it right.

Blake:Yang....

Jacquelyn:It’s fine Blake. I know she’s gauging my strength; I can feel your eyes on me the entire time. It must be a bit unnerving for you to not to be the toughest person around right now isn’t it? Adam had a similar problem.

Yang:Never compare us.

That was a nerve hit Jacquelyn expected. The way Yang said that was enough to tell just how serious she was about it. A blast of warm air against her back was also a sign that the blonde was quite literally heated. It didn’t help that Yang probably could tell that she said that last part on purpose.

Jacquelyn:I was simply making conversation. Are you always like this? You must save hundreds on heating; I know I do. My maiden powers were given to me from a very young age. So yes, I’ve had plenty of time to learn “tricks” like controlling sediments.

Blake:Given?

Jacquelyn:From my mother. She lost her life when I was seven. Been more or less on my ever since. Well I guess that’s not true. James and even Ozpin made sure I lived well; it was in their best interest after all. They taught-

Blake:Wait. Your mom was all you had?

Yang:No town? No dad or anything. A grimm simply killed your maiden powered mom and left you defenseless.

Jacquelyn:Sigh...I said she lost her life; never mentioned any grimm. As for my dad and the village I grew up in, well, they’re the reason my mom lost her life in the first place.

This new information made the partners stop on their tracks. Yang looks at Blake who is just as surprised as she is. They look forward to see Jacquelyn staring at both of them. Her face was calm and more befuddled by the reason stopped.

Jacquelyn:Uhhh we’re sort on a time crunch and I can see my house from here. What’s with the stopping?

Yang:You just told us something heavy. Like really heavy.

Blake:Your dad and own people killed your mom?

Jacquelyn:Don’t forget smashed my hands and tried killing me as well hehe.....*frowns* people fear power, especially power they don’t understand. I don’t let it weigh me down anymore so no need for it to start weighing you both down. Let’s get a move on alright?

Blake:O...okay. I just don’t believe I could handle something like that if I was in your shoes; even with time that’s-

Yang:Extreme. Traumatic doesn’t even begin to describe it. People change after that. Not necessarily for the best, but to survive.

Jacquelyn:You’re not entirely wrong. I wouldn’t exactly say I’m the best version of myself or probably even the most sane.

Yang:That’s not what I want to hear. *scowls*

Jacquelyn:Would you have preferred a lie? I know how you and Blake feel about that sort of thing. You know, people pretending to be what they aren’t? Listen I get why you’re doing psychoanalysis on me, trying to figure me out, and you’ve made it very clear from the start that everything about this situation upsets you. I can understand that; respect it even. However, you’re being really annoying and pissing me off so either ask direct question or shut up.

Yang:Oh you have another thing coming if you think you can talk to me like that.

Jacquelyn:What are you gonna do about it? Did you learn enough about me to think you handle me.

Blake:Guys.....

Yang:I know I can handle you. I just wanted to know how much effort I was gonna need.

Blake:Guys yo-

Jacquelyn:That’s big talk from someone who needed help from her partner and bike to take down Adam. I beat him first try you know? Complete child’s play and I did it over and over again. I bet you figured that at though. After all... you don’t see any metal parts on me right?

Yang:Oh I am gonna-

Blake:GUYS! THE SAND!

Jacquelyn and Yang stop arguing and look around them. Moving mounds circle around them. Their speed makes it hard to count but it’s clear there’s a massive pack around them. Yang starts rolling her shoulders and puts her fist up. “So much for avoiding conflict.”

“Yeah well getting angry in the middle of nowhere might as well be a dinner bell.” Blake said with annoyance as she cocked her gun. “What were you two thinking?”

Yang bites her lips. “Not my finest moment I’ll admit. What’s the best way to deal with White Fang?”

“Ugh, against these numbers, we don’t.” Jacquelyn raises her right foot and then slams it against the sand. Her eyes glow and the ground below all three turns to rock and raises into air ten feet; creating a pillar of rock. Blake and Yang watch Jacquelyn take a knee I’m exhaustion. ‘Damn...I’m more drained than I thought.’ Her body trembling slightly. “We’re going to have to wait.”

Yang:Wait!? We can’t just-

Jacquelyn:There’s at least thirty down there and trust me, you do not want to fight these things right now.

Blake:She’s right. I can definitely hear more of them around. Who knows how many sink wholes are around. Nice going you two; we were almost there.

Yang:I...Jacquelyn, can’t you float or move this hunk of rock to your house? I can see the oasis. That’s the place right?

Jacquelyn:I am tired and moving the entire rock causes vibrations. No way you slice it, we are stuck until they leave.

Yang:....*sits down* Shit.... how long is that gonna take?

Jacquelyn:Few hours maybe? I don’t know when grimm give up.

Yang:*lays down* Juuuussssst great.

Blake:Hopefully before the Sun comes out. I hope no one notices we’re gone too long.

She layed down on her back and stared at the shattered moon. Thoughts lingered aimlessly one after another; so many things were on her mind to keep up with. So many things that she wanted to say about the situation but didn’t. Instead she laid there quietly. ‘Sun, what would you do if you were here? Probably find a way to make those two get along no doubt. Hopefully whatever you’re doing is a walk in the park.’

xxxx

Ilia:Sun this is crazy.

Neptune:You can’t be serious. This is a life or death decision.

Ilia:If you screw up then that’s it. Your life is over. Just another man who lost it all in the streets of Vacou.

Sun:*sweating* Guys relax, I got this.

The trip goes silent as well does the audience around them. Many on lookers watch the monkey faunus stare at three upside cups in front of a well known peddler and part time scam artist. It all comes down this, one cup holds the boy’s future while the others hold despair. Slowly he reaches for the cup in the middle.

Peddler:Are you sure about that one?

Sun:I’m as sure as the rising tides and the fish that travel along them.

He lifts the cup triumphantly to find....nothing. The crowd groans in mass disappointment and dispersed in seconds. Neptune dropped to the ground in defeat. While Ilia face palmed. “Hahahaha! Better luck next time kid” the peddler laughed heavily and proceeded to gather his things and walk off with lien in his pocket and a new pair of goggles.

Neptune:Un....believable.

Sun:I know right? I was so sure it was the middle one.

Neptune:You just lost my money and goggles!

Sun:For the chance to get anything for free he had. That dude always has the best gems. You know we always gotta pay the minimum fee for those sort of deals.

Neptune:So why didn’t you borrow any money from Ilia!!!!?

Ilia:Because you’re his best friend. Plus I couldn’t have an invested interest in the wager. That means I’d have to watch the whole time instead of stealing from him.

Neptune:Still you-....you what?

The girl smiled and put her hands together before rubbing the right one over left and revealing a black diamond ring. “Sun taught me some things. A fitting jewel for your future bride to be huh?”

Sun:That’s if she says yes. *takes the ring* You are right though. I can’t wait to show Blake!

Neptune:Hopefully she doesn’t ask a receipt.

Ilia:Pffft just don’t mention one. Let’s go back to the hotel before-

“My Diamond!”

Neptune:Scatter?

Sun and Ilia:Scatter.....

All three make a dash in different direction through the busy crowd with laughter in their voice. Well, two of them at least were laughing. Ilia watched her idiotic enemy turned best friend climb up on buildings and start booking it like there was no tomorrow. ‘Yeah like that isn’t obvious.’ She took a different approach; maneuvering through people almost like a snake so any pesky peddlers couldn’t get a fixed location on her. The moment she had the opportunity to duck into an alleyway she did so with a gleeful hop; satisfied her years of espionage had not gone to waste or gotten rusty. “Child’s play...”

“Having fun, you little thief?” Said an unfamiliar voice behind her that made her jump. ‘Okay, maybe not child’s play.’ Ilia put up her hands and slowly turned around. “Listen if a peddler that rigs games by secretly hiding things in his sleeves was-” her train of thought was cut off by what stood in front of her. Ilia has expected an angry peddler or some sort cop. Not several armed men wearing cloaks and gripping guns. Each one giving her a look as if she was cornered prey. “Asking.....for....it.”

Captor:Well look at we stumbled across here men. Ilia Amitola, another sick beast in need of curing. The doctor will be pleased.

Part 3

#rwby shackles #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #rwby blacksun #yang xiao long #jacquelyn frost #neptune vasilias #rwby #rwby au #adam taurus

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antiquechampagne · 6 years

Text

Chapter 24 – Misaligned Stars

Hancock led Payne in the direction of a large double decker platform strewn with benches and lounge chairs.

“Wiseman doesn’t like being the tough guy, does he?” Payne asked as she trudged up the wide metal stairs, her ribs complaining with each step.

“No, he doesn’t. He gave that Turner kid a lot more chances that I would have. Turning one of your own out is hard, even when that person deserves it. Especially if you know they have nowhere else to go.”

“Wiseman thinks he signed Turner’s death warrant.” Payne sighed. “But in reality, the moron signed his own all by himself. He shouldn’t lose any sleep over it.” Payne sat down on a wooden bench and looked down the dark valley below, lit only by weak moonlight. Hancock sat down lightly next to her.

“You don’t seem that shook up about the whole thing.” He opened his coat, withdrew the blood pack and handed it to her.

“Nah. I’ve had to deal with walking trash like that since I was a kid.” She looked at him with a glimmer in her eye. “You’ll love this… my mom owned an independent club off the strip. She taught me early on how to shut down people like that.”

“And you said she taught you how to perform.”

“That she did. Gotta keep those butts in the seats, though I think she was trying to get me into more of the traditional dance stuff. I think I let her down a bit when I showed an interest in burlesque.” Payne winced as she gingerly felt around her face. She tried to maneuver and hold the shards of her cheek in line while she drank. It would help the whole thing knit together quickly.

Hancock unconsciously winced watching her hold her face together as she sucked down the blood pack. Payne let go of her cheek as she dropped the empty bag on the ground at her feet. Hancock scooted closer to her as he reached in his pocket.

“Wanna let me help you with that? Daisy is going to be pissed to see such a nice piece ruined so soon.” He motion to the large rip in Payne’s turtleneck. It had grown, streaks of unraveling fabric splaying down her chest. He held up a spool of bright red thread.

“Sure.” It wasn’t hard to notice all the work it took to keep his signature 500 year old look together. She arched her neck back as he examined the edges of the torn fabric. “But maybe I should have warned her that I tend to be really hard on stuff. Maybe save the good stuff for those who don’t see so much action.”

He effortlessly threaded the needle. “Shirt on or off?”

“Nice try. On. It’s not that big of a hole and I don’t feel like freezing my tits off, thanks.”

Hancock shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself.” Most humans didn’t want a ghoul to get that close to them, even if they were friendly. Payne didn’t seem to be like other humans… but then again she isn’t really human, is she? Hancock reminded himself. He unwrapped a mentat carefully stowed inside the spool; delicate work required a sharp mind and eyes, more so at night.

He slipped a hand inside the front of her shirt as Payne sat close and unmoving. As Hancock worked, the hand-shaped bruise across her throat started to disappear. Nimbly, he picked up and carefully secured each exposed loop. He could feel her cool chest press with each breath against the back of his fingers. He stared at the fabric intently while Payne look up and out across the valley.

Payne closed her eyes. “Are your hands always this warm?”

“You bet. Temperature regulation is a bitch when you hardly have any body fat or sweat glands left. We over heat pretty easily. You should feel the rest of me.” His easy smile stretched wide across his face as he noticed her cheeks redden.

In an attempt to avoid catching his eye, Payne looked over at the large table sporting an oversized umbrella next to them. Sitting just inches out of reach was an unopened bottle of something undoubtedly alcoholic but unrecognizable. She reached out her arm, fingers straining to try to grab it.

“Hey! You want me to do this right? Sit still!” Hancock complained as she inched closer to the table, pulling away from him and messing up the tension of the section he was working on.

“Just… give me… got it!” She pulled the bottle into her lap, scooching back to her place. Again she tried to sit still, but occasionally moved to take a sip of some homemade swill. It burned with a dry acidic bite.

“Don’t you think you have had enough tonight?”

Payne could feel his breath warming her skin as he talked. His head was only a few inches from the fabric, nearly forcing him to sitting on her lap.

She swallowed another mouthful. “I’d like to see you cut me off!” Drinking the blood pack had not only boosted her healing process, but the side effect of greatly diminished the buzz she had been carefully cultivating all evening. Sometimes you just want to be numb. She though. This was one of those nights.

Hancock shrugged and continued working. Soon all the evidence of what happened earlier in the night disappeared, leaving only a small red scar up the front of her black shirt. Even most of the physical damage had visibly healed, leaving dull aches under flawless skin.

Hancock sat back and admired his work. Payne extended him the bottle in thanks after he stowed the thread and needle away for safekeeping. They sat in silence for a while, looking up into the sparkling sky.

“If there is somewhere else you want to be, I’ll be fine up here by myself.” Payne reclined against the back of the bench, the old wood creaking. “I’m sure there is some more fun to be had around here… something more exciting than staring at the sky.”

“What would you say if I would rather be up here with you?”

“I’d say you need your head examined.” Payne shook her head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I don’t know about that. You seem to have gotten the most action of anyone here tonight.” The jab was softened by his easy smile.

“Low blow.” Payne warned halfheartedly.

“Consider for a moment, I want to be up here with you.” Payne gave him a sideways glance. “What? It’s a nice view.”

Her heart sank with the realization of where this was going. Oh god, not tonight… “You’re not talking about the stars, are you.” Payne didn’t ask the question.

“And what if I’m not?” Hancock cocked his head to the side. “What would you say to that?” Payne swallowed a large mouthful of swill and avoided eye contact. “I know this mug isn’t much to look at…”

“That’s not it. It’s just a bad idea.” Payne’s face started to burn. Dread was starting to churn the rotgut in her stomach.

“I know running with ghouls is a bit different than swinging with ‘em for a lot of smoothskins, I understand. If you think I’d hold anything over your head involving your employment, you don’t…”

Payne interrupted him. “No, that’s not it. I don’t want to hurt you.” Frustration started to bubble up under the dread, her hands unconsciously balling into fists. Payne’s mind spun trying to think of something she could say to assuage his advances. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she needed him to understand. She couldn’t do this, it had nothing to do with him.

“Ain’t nothing going to fall off that hasn’t already, sister.” He watched her profile, acutely aware that she trying hard to avoid his face. “But I can take a hint. I…”

He isn’t going to let this go, is he?

Payne took his head in her hands and kissed him deeply. On instinct, Hancock pulled away in surprise but Payne’s powerful hands held him firmly. Payne, her eyes closed, felt him relax after the shock passed and ease himself into her embrace. Need, lust and hunger kindled inside her, awakening after years of constraint, each feeding off the other and growing stronger. Letting herself feel again, her pulse raced. The flood was overwhelming her senses. She felt the rush of his delicious smell and taste all around her, intoxicating her. He happily returned every caress of her lips, drinking her in.

Lost in the surge, Payne almost missed the pull of the thirst awakening. As it reeled up inside her, a jolt of fear make her pull away.

Hancock, confused by her deliberate distance after such a fiery encounter. As he opened his eye to ask why she had stopped, he found himself staring at two inky black eyes staring back at him. Payne’s mouth sat agape, the moonlight glinting off her extended canines.

“I can’t.” she managed weakly. She gently brushed her thumb against Hancock’s cheek.

“It’s a bad idea…” he breathlessly repeated her earlier refrain. He watched as the watery storm slowly dissolved and Payne’s breath slowed.

She pulled away, collecting herself. Once again she sat, eyes averted, staring at the night. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve done that once. Never again.”

“What… happened?”

Payne wasn’t surprised to hear the question, but the sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She grabbed the half empty bottle and stood. Hancock could sense how difficult it was for her to walk forward to the edge of the platform, leaning on the railing for support. He cautiously joined her, feeling like he might spook her into silence.

Silently, Payne looked out over the valley, but her mind raced miles away. “Can I bum a smoke?”

Hancock nodded as he pulled one from his pocket and lit it. The sight of her with a cigarette unnerved him. He supposed it was because he had never seen her smoke before. She glowing tip lit her face with a warm glow as she took a drag.

“I told you before that I left Vegas when things were shaping up for a war I wanted nothing to do with. I wandered aimlessly for years, with no real goal other than to survive. One night, while in a corner of some shantytown bar, I overheard a conversation of a couple of caravan workers.” She took a long drink from the bottle to fortify her nerves. “They were trading stories of strange vaults and settlements they had heard about in their travels. Places built on oilrigs or old ships. Vaults full of violent plant people… crazy things like that.” She flicked some ash.

“Well, maybe not so crazy.” Payne thought of Nate and his frozen family. “But then one started a yarn about a town on the east coast. Rumor had it that they paid for protected with literal blood. It look me months to find more information, but I eventually found out the town was in DC. Arefu.

“That’s why you were in DC.”

Payne nodded. “The place was only a few homes built on an overpass. Sure enough, a couple of guns up on top provided protection. After a few pretty blunt questions on my part, a guards walked be down underground and into the old Metro system.” She paused to feel the burn of the cigarette as it filled her lungs, the pain in some way soothing. “And there they were. The Family. That’s what they called themselves. There was about a dozen of them, self-proclaimed vampires. That’s what their leader, Vance, fashioned them into being. Sure, they kept out of the sun and drank blood, but in truth, most of them were little more than cannibals trying to stem their more murderous urges. Radiation or genetic accidents gave some of them some vampire-like traits, but none of them were like me. Not really.” She took another drink. “But they welcomed me with open arms.”

Payne paused, her mind catching on their faces, frozen in snap shots. “I lived under Vance’s rules for nearly a year. He was darkly charismatic, trying so hard to keep the Family together and safe with his quasi-mystic mumbo jumbo.” She smirked to herself. “I didn’t believe the bullshit, but it was a place where I didn’t have to hide what I was. That was nice.”

Payne lightly pressed her fist against her lips before she swallowed more alcohol, trying to organize her thoughts. “The anniversary of their agreement with Arefu they threw a huge celebration. We prepped for like a week. Everyone had a great time partying for hours. It was an open secret that Vance and his wife were pretty open with their relationship. She had been dropping hints that they fancied having some fun, so being seven sheets to the wind obliged and followed them back to their room.” Payne lowered her eyes. Her words caught in her throat.

“You don’t have to…” Hancock tried to soothe the storm passing over her face.

A motion with her had stopped him. Payne took a deep breath. “The next thing I remember is someone pounding on the door. They were… I…” She closed her eyes against the memories. “They were torn to pieces. I freaked. I grabbed what I could and ran as soon as they broke down the door. I ran naked through the wasteland as fast as I could. In broad daylight. I ran until my bones broke and I started coughing up blood… and then I keep running. I could have ran for days, I have no idea. I ran until I had nothing left. Somehow I drug myself under some sheet metal and just…” She pinched the last dregs of the cigarette in her lips and inhaled, the burning stinging her lungs. The pain reinforcing the memories of her shameful flight. “Eventually I started to wander again, eventually ending up in civilization a few years later.”

“Goodneighbor.”

“Yeah. That’s how I ended up on your doorstep, as it were. I’ve always had a weakness for flashy neon signs. And stupid hats.” She sheepishly grinned before tossing the butt over the railing.

Hancock huffed. “And here I thought it was my magnetic personality.” He paused. “Wait a minute. You don’t mind ghoul, you bat for both teams and you haven’t gotten laid in 200 some years? Damn it! It’s almost worth the whole threat of disembowelment just to get you in the sack!” Against her better judgement, Payne couldn’t suppress her snicker.

With a bit more seriousness Hancock added “Thanks for not eviscerating me, though.”

They stood in silence, the cool night breeze gently lifting the edges of Payne’s black hair. Payne studied the half empty bottle. With a sudden determination, she chugged the rest of the swill and pitched the bottle into the night. After hearing the satisfying crash of glass shattering below, she turned back to Hancock. It was the first time she had looked him the eyes since their kiss.

“Guess we should call it a night if you want to head back to Goodneighbor tomorrow... if you’ll still have me.”

“That shit isn’t easy to talk about. To lay it all out like that, ya feel me?” Hancock stuck out the crook of his arm. “We make one hell of a freak show.”

Payne took his arm. As they walked down the creaky metal stairs, it hit her that maybe guzzling the rotgut may not have been the best idea. She found herself getting drifting from side to side as the alcohol surged through her system. It was making her sloppy, Hancock ended up guiding her back to the main building so she didn’t trip and fall.

All of the beds seemed to be taken as Hancock looked through the door.

“Wait here for a minute. I’ll make sure the path is clear.” He slipped inside, leaving Payne outside. He did want to risk her knocking something over and waking everyone up in her current condition.

Payne waited impatiently, her arms swinging idly by her sides. Out of the corner of her eye, something yellow caught her attention. There was a pile of discarded yellow toy horse heads and legs, along with a partial pot of yellow paint. A slippery wicked idea slithered into Payne’s mind. She grabbed the pile and headed into the shadows.

A few minutes later Hancock returned but didn’t find Payne where he had left her. Following the sound of snickering and moaning metal, he found Payne on a ladder, yellow paint smeared across her face and hands.

“Payne, arts and crafts hour is over. Get down from there!”

“I’m not done yet!” She leaned back, revealing her handiwork. A trio of yellow pony heads were wired haphazardly to Nate’s power armor, yellow pain dripped down the steel exterior. “If Nate is going to the Glowing Sea, he is going to need something a little extra!” Payne pointed to some of her ‘improvements’ jubilantly. She had somehow managed to work extra gears and pistons into the joints.

“Jesus, Payne. He’s going to kill you.” Hancock moved in to try and get her down. “How the fuck did you do all that? I was only gone for ten minutes!”

“I’m not done!” she kicked him away, nearly losing her balance and toppling from the ladder. Hancock shook his head as he laughed. “You could at least give me a hand! Paint that knee thingy over there!”

Hancock, against his better judgement, grabbed the paintbrush from her and brushed a few strokes.

“Ha! Now you can’t tell Nate… or you’ll get in trouble too!”

Hancock looked at his hand, now sticky with bright yellow paint. “Even drunk you are dangerous!”

“Don’t you know it!”

After a few more tweaks, Payne placed a placard reading ‘Happy Trails, Partner!’ around the neck of the power armor, declaring her master piece finished. Only then did she let Hancock lead her to her cot for the night.

#fallout #fallout4 #fanfic #fan fic #hancock #antique champagne #the slog #violence #blood #kissing #vampire

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petitelepus · 6 years

Text

Mer To Die For, Part 2

Pipes is in love, but rest of the pod is not. What happens?

Pipes took another look at his quest and love interest. She seemed normal if you looked past the webbed tentacles, huge eyes and thirst for energon. Pipes cleared his throat nervously. ”Uh, I’m sorry?”

The Mer before him looked to the side and frowned, looking ashamed of herself. ”I like energon… As in blood…”

You must have been joking.

”Um… Do you like grabs? I have those!” He tried to offer with a shaky laugh, reaching his hand into hole and grabbing first grab he got in his hand, offering it to the other Minimer. The femme stared at the grab, but slowly extended her and shyly took it. Pipes flinched. ”Oh, I forgot the rock!”

Small Mers like Pipes usually lacked fangs strong enough to pierce through crab’s hard shell so he used a pointed rock to break the hard shell and pick the meat inside the grab. The Mer grabbed the pointy rock and was about to hand it to you when he heard a crunch and turned to see you munching the crab, shell and all. You flinched at the attention you got from amazed Pipes.

”I- I’m sorry, I was just so hungry I couldn’t wait!” You apologised, embarrassed by your impatience. Pipes gaped. ”H- how did you—”

”We Abyss dwellers and octopus Mers have harder and sharper fangs than normal Mers. Just like mine. ”You said after swallowing and opened your mouth to show your fangs to Pipes. The Minimer leaned in to see closer and he gasped in wonder. Your fangs were much sharper than his blunt teeth, reminding him from shark’s fangs more than normal fish’s fangs. He also couldn’t help but to notice your longer and not to mention sharper canine teeth.

”Why you have such a long canines?” Pipes asked curiously. You closed your mouth and frowned. ”I use them to suck out energon from my meal.”

”Oh… You weren’t joking about that.”

”I’m sorry. I must weird you out.” You apologised, hanging your head shamefully. Pipes panicked, he didn’t want to shame his potential mate. ”N- No! R- rather, I like it!”

This caught you totally off guard. You snapped your head up and stared at him, big eyes wide and Pipes swore to his life, there was something in your eyes that lured him in like biolight. And yours weren’t even activated! He was truly in love.

”R- really? You aren’t afraid of me?” You questioned in disbelief.

”Why would I be…?” Pipes mumbled like in trans. You blushed softly and looked to the side. ”Then… You won’t mind me intruding your nest…?”

”Intrude how? Your my guest, I welcome you here!” Pipes chirped happily, extending his arms open as if wanting a hug, but not of course demanding one. You cheered up immediately, eyes sparkling and you rushed to him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Which he totally didn’t want!

”Thank you so much! I won’t stay long, I swear! Just enough to gain knowledge from world above!” You promised as you hugged Pipes, your head against his and he felt his blood boiling in love. You were so close to him, touching him, hugging him…!

”S- sure, take all the time you need…!” He stuttered in confusing love haze and you yelped happily, finishing your grab before he could even register it. You were just so cute, how could he say no to you?

The word about Pipes’ crush spread like plague in Lost Light pod. Those who had seen you had been quick to spread a word about you and it took only a day or two before the word reached the pod’s leaders.

”So there is a Abyss dweller in our community now.” Megatron started, almost immediately getting answer from his co-captain Rodimus. ”Is it really that big deal? At my old sea Mers from every corner worked together!”

”Rodimus, you don’t understand. Mers from abyss are known for their thirst of either energon or flesh, was it fishes, crabs or Mers like themselves. We can’t risk the whole pack’s safety because we have one Mer from Abyss with us.” Ultra Magnus, a giant whale Mer said as he frowned his famous frown. Rodimus shared a quick look with Megatron who didn’t look any less impressed.

”We drove Abyss Dwellers into deep parts of the sea because of what they were. Cannibals and energon drinking cannibals. They would eat their victims whole or suck them dry of the energon. They’re dangerous from the head to tail.” Megatron explained the situation to his younger captain partner.

Rodimus frowned, but there was no doubt of his decision. He had to do what was necessary for the safekeeping of the Lost Light pod. ”Let’s meet them.”

Meanwhile Pipes was in ninth heaven. You were so beautiful, so graceful and so kind. You moved around with a gentle push of your tentacles, your moves barely disturbing the water around you and you were so mindful of the grabs you left behind you, always cleaning after yourself… If there was anything to clean, you tended to eat WHOLE grab with it’s shells and everything.

”Sooo….? You’re from Abyss? What’s it like in there?” Pipes asked, attempting to start a conversation if not only to hear your angelic voice. You smiled lightly and shrugged. ”It’s dark for one. And cold. I’m shocked how warm it is here above.”

”Why did you come here?”

You frowned sadly. ”I lost my home and source of food so I had to leave…”

Pipes frowned, regretting even asking about it. ”I’m so sorry…”

You smiled and shook your head. ”It’s okay. I’m here now and it’s so pretty! Everything you have is so interesting! In Abyss it’s just dark and empty. You have amazing cave to live in! In my home there wasn’t much and if there was anything it was already usually taken by bigger Mers. Also, it’s really easy to breath here, the pressure in Abyss is crazy.”

”What kind of creatures there are in Abyss? I’ve heard a lot of scary stories from there. Like are there really Mers who practice cannibalism?”

You smiled sheepishly. ”That’s just a rumour made by someone mean. We eat fishes and grabs just as any other mer. I’m expectation though as I need some energon to survive.”

Pipes gulped, but patiently waited her to continue. ”It’s not like it’s all I eat, I just need enough to maintain my iron levels. I could always eat seaweed maintain my iron levels, but frankly, I don’t like the taste… I like it how warm and rich energon is.” You blushed, covering your red cheeks with your hands, but you were also smiling so cutely when you described the taste of energon.

Pipes could have listened you to talk about energon for hours, but someone was calling his name. He excused himself from your company and swam outside his cave where his good friend Drift was. The shark Mer looked uncomfortable, like being there made him anxious.

”Oh Drift! Nice to see you! What brings you here?” Pipes smiled as he looked at his friend. Drift smiled awkwardly and waved at his friend. ”Hi Pipes…”

The bigger Mer sighed and looked to the side. ”Pipes, I hate to do this, but Rodimus wants to see you… and the visitor.” Drift said to Minimer. Pipes gawked at his friend, you being completely oblivious in the background in his cave’s hidden depths. ”I- I- Why!? We haven’t done anything!”

”I know you haven’t, but you know… Abyss dwellers have certain reputation and Rodimus and Megatron want to see if the rumours are true. Though, Megatron already has a certain though about her…” Skids said, averting his gaze from his friend. This must have been painful for poor Pipes, but it had to be done.

Pipes sighed, his head slumping. ”Fine… When they want to meet her.”

”Now.” Drift said as he moved to the side to unravel the three most powerful Mers in whole pod. First was Rodimus, a bright and beautiful Mer adorned with gold as he was bold. Second was Megatron, equal to Rodimus as dark predator. Third was Ultra Magnus, a giant whale Mer who kept an close eye on everyone and every rule ever invented. Pipes gulped and swam forward. ”Captains… What do I own this pleasure?”

”Nothing much Pipes, we just came to check if the rumours were true.” Rodimus said shrugging with a free mind until Megatron jabbed him on the ribs with his elbow. ”Ow, I mean, we want to see if you’re holding a bloodsucker in your care!”

”Rodimus!”

”What!?”

”That’s not the word we use for them!” Megatron yelled at his co-captain. Rodimus grunted and corrected himself mindfully. ”I mean, we want to see if you really have a Abyss dweller in your care. Just so you know, we make sure they don’t attack anyone.”

”I do have one…” Pipes straight up admitted head hanging but he was quick to correct himself. ”But she wouldn’t attack anyone! She has been eating grabs this whole time!”

”Would you mind showing her to us?” Ultra Magnus asked calmly. Pipes, after a moment of thinking about it, nodded and turned to his cave’s darkness. ”(Y/n)… Could you come out for a moment?”

”Just a second!” You chirped back and after a couple of seconds you swam out from the cave. At the sight of new Mers you flinched and hid behind Pipes and he never felt more manly. Rodimus leaned in close and smiled to you. ”Hi there. You won’t bite me will you?”

Megatron and Ultra Magnus tried so hard not to discipline Rodimus for his chose of words but Ultra Magnus found it impossible. ”Rodimus! Language!”

”I didn’t even say anything bad!”

”Yes you did! Look how scared you made her!” Ultra Magnus pointed at you.

”I- I’ll try not to…” You whimpered from behind Pipes and shrank under the the stares of three big Mers. Rodimus smiled big and wide and pulled back. ”Great, so you won’t bite anyone or eat anyone or suck them dry of energon?”

”No, never!” You cried out loud, stepping up from behind Pipes to defend yourself. ”I would never bite anyone without their permission!”

”Yet how does it work in Abyss?” Megatron grunted and you had tendency to look ashamed. ”It’s different down there…!”

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat and gave you a harsh look. ”I’m sorry, but as long as you display a threat to our pod I must insist you leave as soon as possible. Now even if it’s possible.”

You gawked at them, then looked for Pipes for help, but the poor minimer couldn’t do anything to help you. If the pod leaders chose to drive away someone then their words was to be followed. You frowned, heartbroken and sad as you excused yourself.

Before leaving for good, you took a glance at Pipes and smiled sadly. ”I’m sorry. If you ever need me I’ll be at the Abyss’ border…”

And just like that you were gone. Pipes watched sadly as you swam away and finally he got the courage to move, to seek you out and cry out for you not to go, but Drift stop him on his trail. ”No Pipes, don’t…!” His friend cried as he held Pipes down and the little mer bursted into tears, feeling like his heart was broken.

Rodimus, Megatron and Ultra Magnus had manners to give a mer a peace when needed and swam away, pack to their main pond where they usually got together. Meanwhile Pipes cried against his friend’s shoulder…

#merformers #pipes #reader #rodimus #ultra magnus #megatron #drift #reader insert #mtmte #mtmte transformers

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aresaphrodites · 6 years

Note

Hey but sorry to bother u but could give me those book recs? Relying on u girl

of course!! sorry bout the long wait, dear x

you said you preferred trilogies or series’ (which i don’t read much of tbh) so here are a few of my favorites: (( some of these will have full on summaries and some… not so much, i got lazy lol ))

The Lux Series by Jennifer L. Armentrout : Meet Katy and Daemon! Katy is a funny, down-to-earth book blogger who has just moved to West Virginia. And Daemon? Well, he’s her hot and arrogant next-door neighbor. He’s also an alien. This one is cheesy, yeah, but it’s so FUN! Follow along as Katy and Daemon try to figure out what they mean to each other while trying not to get killed by the Arum; the Lumen’s enemy. In this world, the DOD is well aware that aliens exist and that they live on Earth. However, they are unaware that the aliens known as Luxen actually possess powers that make them.. well… powerful beyond means. This isn’t just a romance story; it focuses on family and friendships and it has a bunch of kick ass action and the entire plot with the DOD is so interesting.

The Pine Deep Series by Jonathan Maberry ; I’m only on the first book but this one is a bit more mature in terms of horror and things like that. If you like scary books or feel like being spooky in time for Halloween, you should definitely check this one out!

The Mortal Instruments Series by Cassandra Clare : I’m sure you know about this one, but if you don’t! Angels, demons, warlocks, vampires, faeries, werewolves? What more could you want? When Clary Fray discovers she’s actually a Shadowhunter; an appointed warrior of the Angel Raziel and has angel blood coursing through her veins, her life is about to change forever. Join her and the rest of the Shadowhunter gang (and even a few others) as they team up to rescue her mom and stop an all out war from happening.

The Darkest Minds Series by Alexandra Bracken ; I’m only on the first book but I absolutely love it! It’s an intense read that has me on the edge of my seat constantly. I adore Ruby and she’s easily become one of my favorite female characters of all time.

Dorothy Must Die Series by Danielle Paige ; Okay. I know, I know. Really? Dorothy Must Die? Hear me out! This book is FUN. Trashy? Perhaps, but fun! The first book is really fast paced and honestly? I am living for a world where Dorothy is evil. So basically our main character is named Amy and she is the other girl from Kansas. She’s sent to Oz to save it from Dorothy Gale who has become power hungry and is now pure evil along with the Tin-Man, the Lion, and the Scarecrow. The rest of the series doesn’t really live up to the first book, but I would say you should read the first one anyway. It’s a lot of fun.

Did I Mention I Love You Series by Estelle Maskame: Sixteen-year-old Eden Munro decides to spend the summer with her father in Santa Monica as her parents are divorced now. Once there, she meets her father’s new family and that includes Tyler Bruce; her new asshole step brother with a short temper and a huge ego but as she gets to learn more about him, she finds herself falling for him. This trope isn’t for everyone and I know the whole step sibling thing is super taboo but this series is awesome and I read it during a huge reading slump and it really helped me get though it.

Perfect Chemistry Series by Simone Elkeles: When Brittany Ellis walks into chemistry class on the first day of senior year, she has no clue that her carefully created “perfect” life is about to unravel before her eyes. She’s forced to be lab partners with Alex Fuentes, a gang member from the other side of town, and he is about to threaten everything she’s worked so hard for―her flawless reputation, her relationship with her boyfriend, and the secret that her home life is anything but perfect. Alex is a bad boy and he knows it. So when he makes a bet with his friends to lure Brittany into his life, he thinks nothing of it. But soon Alex realizes Brittany is a real person with real problems, and suddenly the bet he made in arrogance turns into something much more. (Each book in this series focuses on a different Fuentes brother.)

Fighting to Be Free Series by Kirsty Moseley: Jamie Cole has just been released from juvenile detention. Determined to go straight, he tries to cut ties with crime boss Brett Reyes - but Brett has no intention of letting him go. Jamie’s life is already more complicated than it needs to be, yet it’s when he meets a beautiful stranger at a bar that Jamie knows he’s really in over his head. Ellie Pearce has just come out of a terrible relationship and isn’t looking for anything serious; until she meets Jamie. Their attraction is overwhelming and intense - she can’t seem to shake her growing feelings for him, even though she’s trying to keep it casual. But when fate goes horribly wrong and Jamie’s family is faced with ruin, he’s forced to strike a deal with Brett. Despite his struggles, he wants nothing more than a future with Ellie. That’s until Ellie finds out that he’s been hiding more from her than she could ever imagine.

Mind if I drop in a few stand alone’s? I’m trying to read more series’ but I’ve always been more of a stand alone kind of girl, so here are some of my current favs:

#MurderTrending by Gretchen McNeil : WELCOME TO THE NEAR FUTURE, where good and honest citizens can enjoy watching the executions of society’s most infamous convicted felons, streaming live on The Postman app from the suburbanized prison island Alcatraz 2.0. When seventeen-year-old Dee Guerrera wakes up in a haze, lying on the ground of a dimly lit warehouse, she realizes she’s about to be the next victim of the app. Knowing hardened criminals are getting a taste of their own medicine in this place is one thing, but Dee refuses to roll over and die for a heinous crime she didn’t commit. Can Dee and her newly formed posse, the Death Row Breakfast Club, prove she’s innocent before she ends up wrongfully murdered for the world to see? Or will The Postman’s cast of executioners kill them off one by one?

One Small Thing by Erin Watt : Meet Beth and Chase. Beth is entering her senior year and is still trying to move on from the death of her older sister three years ago. In a small town with parents who have suddenly become her wardens; that seems nearly impossible. And then she meets the mysterious and hot Chase who immediately draws her in. Their attraction is instant and he’s the first person who makes her feel like Beth Jones and not Lizzie; the young girl who lost a sister and is somehow broken by it. But as she falls harder for Chase, she’s hit with the reality of the part he played in her sister’s death. It’s about forgiveness, love, and moving on. It’s sad and sweet and such a fun, quick read. Definitely good for trying to get out of a slump!

Autoboyography by Christina Lauren : Fangirl meets Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda in this funny and poignant coming-of-age novel from New York Times bestselling author Christina Lauren about two boys who fall in love in a writing class—one from a progressive family and the other from a conservative religious community. If you read one book off of this list, PLEASE let it be this one. This book is so… amazing. It’s been months and I still think about it constantly.

Fault Line by C. Desir : Trigger WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS A RAPE. It is not shown, but it’s the main conflict in the book. Over the years I have struggled with if I liked this book because it was good or if I liked it because of how much it fucked me up. I read this book in one sitting and when I finished, I sat in my bed for a good hour and just…. didn’t move or do anything. You will NOT be rooting for the main couple. The narrator is unlikable and you will HATE all the characters in this book. The ending is NOT happy and I don’t know why I’m recommending this but GOD. This book, after so many years, just stuck with me because of how fucked up it was. It deals with the whole “recovery” process in such a dark way that we normally don’t see in YA fiction and I think that’s what makes it stand out so much. If you want something darker, read this. But read it with caution. If this isn’t something you like then please, don’t bother reading it. It’s not happy and it’s sure as shit not fluffy. Summary : Ben could date anyone he wants, but he only has eyes for the new girl—sarcastic free-spirit Ani. Luckily for Ben, Ani wants him too. She’s everything Ben could ever imagine. Everything he could ever want. But that all changes after the party. The one Ben misses. The one Ani goes to alone. Now Ani isn’t the girl she used to be, and Ben can’t sort out the truth from the lies. What really happened, and who is to blame? Ben wants to help her, but she refuses to be helped. The more she pushes Ben away, the more he wonders if there’s anything he can do to save the girl he loves.

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero : If you like Scooby-Doo or Archie’s Weird Mysteries this book is probably for you. 1990. The teen detectives once known as the Blyton Summer Detective Club are all grown up and haven’t seen each other since their fateful, final case in 1977. Andy, the tomboy, is twenty-five and on the run, wanted in at least two states. Kerri, one-time kid genius and budding biologist, is bartending in New York, working on a serious drinking problem. At least she’s got Tim, an excitable Weimaraner descended from the original canine member of the team. Nate, the horror nerd, has spent the last thirteen years in and out of mental health institutions, and currently resides in an asylum in Arhkam, Massachusetts. The only friend he still sees is Peter, the handsome jock turned movie star. The problem is, Peter’s been dead for years.The time has come to uncover the source of their nightmares and return to where it all began in 1977. This time, it better not be a man in a mask. The real monsters are waiting.

Fatal Throne by Candace Fleming ; A book about Henry VIII and his six wives. If you like historical fiction then this book might be for you! It’s told through the perspective of his six wives (and even Henry himself) and it’s a really fascinating read.

Okay, I think I’m going to stop here. Let me know if none of these speak to you and I’ll give you some more recs! I didn’t know what kind of genres you liked, so I tried to throw in a little bit of everything.

#books n tings

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n00dl3gal · 7 years

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Puppy Dog Eyes (Shance Secret Santa)

Hi @strawberrylovely! I’m your @shancesecretsanta! I took your request for fluff literally, I hope you enjoy- and happy holidays!

Read on AO3 here.

Shiro liked animals well enough. There were undeniable therapeutic benefits to owning a pet, many species were adorable, and they didn’t ask invasive questions like “how’d you get that scar on your nose?” or “why is your arm metal?” He’d probably have gotten a pet sooner if he wasn’t busy at the Garrison all the time.

Lance, on the other hand, adored creatures of all kinds. He constantly talked about the golden lab his family had when he grew up. He cooed and stopped to pet every dog they passed on the street. The “subtle” hints he was dropping about visiting the local shelter were getting more passive-aggressive by the day.

“You’re gone all day, Shiro, and I work from home, and I get lonely,” Lance moped, laying his head in Shiro’s lap. His lower lip shook, and the words “puppy dog eyes” were never more apropos.

Which is why he found himself being dragged along by his boyfriend through the local shelter, browsing the dogs up for adoption.

Personally, Shiro would’ve gone for a cat- much less maintenance. Sadly, Lance had skipped the felines entirely, opting to scour the selection of canines. “Aww, look at this one! Who’s a good boy?” Lance laughed as a large Samoyed lumbered over and licked his chin. “Who’s a good, fluffy boy?”

Shiro smiled and knelt to let the dog sniff his flesh hand. A pink tongue snuck out and lapped at his knuckles, earning a chuckle. “He’s friendly, I’ll give him that. But a dog this size wouldn’t do too well in an apartment,” he said. “You’d need a nice, big yard to run around in, wouldn’t you?” Shiro scratched the dog’s neck.

Lance sighed. “Yeah, you’re right… I’m sorry, buddy. Maybe some other ti- SHIRO, LOOK!” He jumped up and pointed to another cage. Inside was a small mix breed with black and tan fur and bright blue eyes. But what struck Shiro was the left back paw- or lack thereof. The pup was missing a limb, just like him.

“Her name is Molly, she’s a one-and-a-half-year-old Corgi-Beagle mix,” Lance read from the placard by her cage. “Apparently, she lost her limb in some sort of accident.”

“Hmm, something I can sympathize with,” Shiro said to himself.

A worker came over and clapped her hands when she noticed the mutual interest between Molly and Lance. “She’s a feisty one,” she warned, unlocking the cage to let Lance in. “Either she adores you or tolerates you, no in between. But it seems you don’t have to worry about that, do you?” Molly was already snuggling up to Lance, burrowing in his lap. “Now, her breed is pretty active, and would need both physical and mental stimulation. That said, she would be just fine in an apartment.”

“Shiro, pleaseeeeeeee? I promise to take her on walks, and feed her, and make sure she doesn’t poop in the house!!” Lance pleaded.

Shiro scratched the back of his neck and grimaced. “Don’t beg like a little kid, Lance,” he muttered, “it’s awkward.” Lance’s look of want and affection didn’t waver, though. “Well… let me see how she reacts to me, first.” He bent and stuck his hands out towards Molly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just want you to get to know me.”

Hesitantly, Molly left Lance’s lap and padded over to Shiro. She sniffed his fingers, human and metal, and took a nibble of the prosthetic. She regarded him with a gaze that Shiro could only describe as “distaste.”

“Looks like she likes you, too!” Lance chirped gleefully.

Inwardly, Shiro groaned. This wasn’t going to end well for him, was it.

. . .

He was right. It didn’t go well for him.

True to the volunteer’s words, Molly was extremely affectionate towards Lance and downright distrustful of Shiro, constantly shielding him from the former. It would be laughable, having such a tiny and crippled dog act as a guard, if it wasn’t for the fact Shiro couldn’t spend time with his boyfriend.

“Molly, please move.”

Lance shrugged. “Good luck, babe. She’s been stuck to me all day.”

Shiro bent down and looked Molly straight in the eyes. “Molly, I’ve asked you nicely. I’ll do it again, but then I will move you by force. Please move,” he said sharply.

Molly stood, took one step to the left, and sat back down. Shiro grabbed at his hair in frustration and Lance burst out into laughter. “Oh- oh my God, she has a sense of humor, I love her,” he sputtered between chuckles.

“Yeah, a real comedian. Molly, c’mon, I’ve had a long day and I just wanna snuggle with Lance.” She blinked a few times before resting her head on Lance’s knee, baring one tooth towards Shiro.

They did eventually get her to move- using a bribe of peanut butter, but the glare Molly gave Shiro every time he reached over to hug or kiss Lance was burned into his mind by the time he fell asleep.

. . .

She kept giving him that glare. Whenever he kissed Lance on the forehead, or rubbed his back, or even looked in his general direction. Molly would let out a low growl and plop herself on Lance’s feet, trapping him. Lance found it horribly endearing, for some reason. Was he really that oblivious?

“She’s just protective of her papa, aren’t you, baby girl?” he said, rubbing her stomach. “Protects her papa just like her daddy protects him!”

“Lance, I’m fairly certain Molly would be mortified to have me as a father,” Shiro said, pinching his nose and exhaling.

Lance snorted. “Yeah, anybody would, babe. You’re not even a real father yet and you still make all the shitty dad jokes.”

“I- but- what does that- you love my jokes!” he protested, face flushing crimson. Lance snickered and pressed his lips to Shiro’s cheek. “Just- ugh, get going before you miss your appointment. Good luck, sweetheart.”

Lance grabbed his keys from the armchair and beamed back at him. “Alright, you two get along while I’m gone, I’ll be back in a couple of hours!” The sound of the door shutting echoed across the apartment.

Shiro sighed and went to grab the jacket laying across the couch. “He forgot his coat again… one of these days, it’s gonna cost that man.” But before he could take it, Molly jumped up and burrowed herself in the fabric. “Wa- Molly, you’re not allowed on the furniture without permission! Get down right now!”

She didn’t budge, instead rolling her gums up to reveal her canines. Shiro repressed a gulp. “Molly. I need to hang up Lance’s coat. Please get off the couch,” he tried, keeping his voice calm and level. No movement. Shiro snatched the arm dangling off the side and tugged. “If you don’t move, I will pull you down with the coat and it will hurt. You have to the count of three. One.”

She lifted her leg and started grooming herself. Shiro dug his heels into the rug.

“Two.”

Molly yawned.

“Two and a half- and if this jacket gets ruined, Lance is going to be so pissed at you- three!” Just as the word left his mouth, Molly rolled across the couch, leaving the leather coat to be yanked by Shiro’s full momentum. He tumbled backwards, banging his head against the floor. He groaned, reaching his prosthetic arm to his head. “Ow…”

Molly limped over and eyed him carefully before barking twice. If Shiro didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was laughing at him.

. . .

Forgetting his coat, oddly enough, did have consequences for Lance.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Lance coughed, burrowing deeper into the blankets. Shiro sighed. “I’ll remember my jacket next time, I promise.”

“You’ve said that at least a dozen times so far, hun,” Shiro reprimanded him, grabbing Lance’s glass to refill it. “It would be nice if you would actually stick to your words.”

Lance sneezed before shrugging. “Maybe getting sick will make me remember?”

“I hope so, Lance.”

Shiro walked briskly to the kitchen and filled the cup with water, carefully adding three ice cubes (just the way Lance liked it). By the time he’s returned, Molly had curled up next to Lance. Shiro exhaled through his nose as he sets the glass back down. “Molly, please move. I need to take Lance’s temperature to see if it’s gone down.”

She didn’t, of course. Shiro wasn’t sure why he even bothered. “Lance-”

“Molly, you gotta move, this is important,” Lance said, nudging her lightly with his arm. She growled and bared her teeth. “Molly!” he chastised. There was no response from the dog. “Why are you so mean to Shiro? He’s just as much your owner as I am!”

“I’m not so sure that’s true, sweetheart, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Shiro knelt beside the bed and reached for Lance’s hand to squeeze it. Their fingertips just managed to touch when Molly snapped and tried to dig into the flesh. Fortunately, with reflexes honed from life in the military, Shiro withdrew just before blood was drawn. “ALRIGHT, THAT’S IT!” He stood up, back straight, towering over the tiny dog. “Molly, I understand that you are protective of Lance. But you have to understand that so am I. We love each other dearly, so when you try to attack me for being near him, you’re hurting both of us. Is that what you want?”

Lance gasped a tiny bit, eyes shining. “Babe…”

Shiro knew that the words likely meant little to Molly, if she could even comprehend them, but it was no matter. He needed to get this out in the open. “Molly, we have a lot in common. We were both injured dramatically, which resulted in lost limbs. We both love lounging on the couch on Sunday morning. There’s a shared fondness for bacon, and sunny days, and walks in the park. But most of all, we have our love for Lance. So please, at least try to get along with me. For his sake,” he finished, voice dropping.

For a solid minute, the apartment was quiet. Only Lance’s coughs punctuated the silence. And then, Molly stood, waddled over to Shiro, and licked his hand.

“M-Molly?” Lance croaked, struggling to sit up. Molly glanced back at him before pawing at Shiro. “I… I think she wants you to pet her, babe.”

Gingerly, Shiro reached out his flesh hand and stroked the fur on Molly’s head. She let out a low mumble of contentment, wagging her tail all the while. “Was that all it took?” Shiro asked, mostly to himself. “Me losing my temper?”

“I think it was you declaring your love for me,” Lance joked, rolling over in bed to join them. “C’mon, I wanna snuggle the two people who love me most in the world!”

“Lance- Lance, you’re still sick- I’m not going to kiss you while you have a runny nose-” Shiro’s protest were lost in a whirlwind of joyful barks and giggles.

. . .

Three months later, and it was Lance’s turn to complain.

“But babe, I’m the one who saw her first! I should be the one to attach her prosthetic!” he whined, lower lip quivering.

Molly barked and Shiro nodded sagely. “We came to an agreement, Lance,” he said sternly. “It’s only right that I, the one without an arm, would be the one to attach it. After all, you did say that’s why we matched.”

“Yeah, but that was back when she hated you-”

Shiro and the vet sealed the clasp as Lance spoke, and Molly bounced off the table to run in circles properly for the first time. Lance tried to protest, but Shiro ignored it and focused on their dog, finally enjoying life with all four limbs. Maybe Lance did have a point, not that Shiro would ever admit it.

But he could withstand puppy dog eyes a lot better now.

#noodle writes #shance secret santa #shance #shance secret santa 2017 #strawberrylovely #voltron #voltron fanfic #vld shiro #vld lance #voltron: legendary defender

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funkymeihem-fiction · 7 years

Text

My Lovely Assistant- Chapter 4 (Junkenstein Meihem)

Junkenstein sat with Mei’s body propped up against him, his tongue stuck out in concentration as he ran a hairbrush through her locks, carefully bundling it with one hand before snapping the circlet back around her new pigtails. “There we go! You look good, darl, I think I’m getting better at this. No more tangles for you, eh?” He eased her stiff form back down into his bed, tucking the quilt around her chin before pausing. “Oh! Looks like you’ve uh…s’popped open again; here, lemme get that for you.” One of the jiangshi’s eyes had half opened, staring blank and white as the doctor leaned across to lick his broad thumb and very carefully push her eyelid back closed. “There! Pretty as a picture! I’m just…I’m just gonna be over there if you need me.” His own eyes felt droopy and tired, and the bags under them had turned almost black with exhaustion. He had shut himself into his personal quarters days ago, with piles upon piles of books and papers. He hadn’t been eating or drinking, hadn’t been sleeping, and definitely had not been bathing. Even he had to admit that he was beginning to stink a bit, spending all his time hunched over his notes of translated Chinese characters, useless taosims, charms, and manuscripts as he tried to understand everything he had on hand about the jiangshi. Everything had to be cross-referenced and then corrected, filling in the bits that were lost in translation, piecing together what he could…but he’d always been good at piecing things together. “Don’t worry about a thing, love, we’re almost there. You’re going to be right as rain. Here, you got lots of room if you need it; you got the bed all to yourself again, wouldn’t want to suggest anything improper while you’re asleep. Don’t you fret, I’m going to keep working and make it all better. Don’t let anyone say that Dr. Junkenstein ever gives up on a project.” He gently patted her head before moving back to his desk, slumping down into the chair and taking up his pen. The words and symbols all over the papers were starting to blend and blur together, an incomprehensible mess of ink and parchment as he tried to focus. Sure he was feeling a bit tired and all, but he had to keep at it. His genius was the only one who could fix her, after all. He still blearily remembered falling to his knees with the jiangshi in both arms, pleading with the Witch to bring her back. But the Witch had turned him away time and time again. Mei was his servant, not hers. She owed the Witch no debt and had never been bound to her will, not like Junkenstein or the Reaper. Mei was not one of hers, and no matter what the good doctor had tried, the jiangshi’s life could not be bartered for. He had asked for the Summoner, and received a curt reply that the ancient Dragon’s power had no way to revive a creature that had already felt the ice of death. He had even asked for the advice of the Reaper, but the Reaper had never bothered with an answer at all. So it was up to him to undo what he had done. There had been a particular character that had caught his attention, seeing it used time and time again. 血液, for ‘blood’. Over and over, it spoke of blood. The jiangshi were not precisely like their Western vampire counterparts, but they had a specific interest in their victim’s essences and their blood. And though Dr. Junkenstein didn’t know how to harvest something as nebulous as ‘essence’, he knew how to get blood. And not just any blood…

***

He’d taken a bath and forced a meal into his jaws, waiting for the moon to rise into the sky. The Monster stood firmly by his side, his gut shuddering occasionally as his piecemeal lungs struggled to breathe life into his massive form. Junkenstein fussed nervously at his hair, still a little damp where it had formed into a spike on one side and dried that way, refusing to change shape now. Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen, though that was hardly unusual. A small group of zomnics drifted around the enormous lab space, carrying tools and stacking equipment…And a new figure lay under a large white cloth on the same table that had birthed his beloved first creations. He waited, chewing at the tip of his glove nervously, the rubber catching in a disgusting textural way between the tips of his teeth, squeaking as he gnawed and waited. Occasionally he heard the opening and shutting of doors as the zomnics moved around the tower and courtyard, but they were not the sounds he was listening for. The only solace was that this breed of company was never late, and he waited for them with bated breath as the clock on his wall ticked down the minutes to their alloted meeting time. The Monster tilted his head down to him, and offered one of his very, very rare instances of input. “Hrm…Bad idea.” Junkenstein’s glare snapped upward, baring his teeth with the sharp canines still sunk into his glove. “Begging your pardon for my language, mate, but that’s tough tits for you! Because it’s the only idea we got. You know what to do! I’m going to bring her back, just like I brought you back. And this is the only way I can do it.” The Monster rumbled unhappily and turned back, lifting his ponderous chin as footsteps sounded from down the hallway. Junkenstein beamed, clasping her hands together as the doors to his lab creaked open with the squeal of old wood and even older hinges. The Reaper came first, metal boots heavy against the cracked tiles, the grin of his jack-o-lantern head throwing eerie shadows over his leather-clad form, coat trailing behind him. The Summoner was second, scaly hide emanating heat and malice as her eyes glowed wild yellow against the darkness of her scales. And behind them came the Witch herself, carrying her broom in one hand and not nearly so intimidating as her servants; her expression kind but cold, and her soft lips curled into that ever-present smile that never truly reached her eyes, her presence a potent mixture of both offputting and soothing that Junkenstein had never been able to understand. Her attendants stood aside to let her pass as the Witch strode forward, resting her broom on the ground before removing it again with a little curl of her lip…The floor was too filthy even for her broom. Glancing back up to the twitching Dr. Junkenstein, she placed a gloved hand to her hip, her eyes drawn past him to the sheet-covered form on the slab. “I understand that you think this is worth gathering us all here, good Doctor?” Junkenstein wheezed out a shrill giggling laugh, tapping his fingers together nervously. “Ladies and gentlemen! I’ve had some spare time on my hands as of late, and I happened to remember an old prototype I’d been working on ages ago. I’ve improved on the zomnic formula to make them better than ever. But we’re still missing something, don’t you think? The zomnic shock troops and the rank and file are all well and good, but what we need is something a bit more…in-your-face, shall we say?” The Summoner examined her claws, somehow managing to look the most unimpressed out of all his audience. “You brought us here to look at an old prototype?” He tried not to bristle at the criticism, tried to remember Mei’s sleeping face on his pillow instead. “N-not at all, my dear Lady! I brought you here to look at its improvements. If we put a few of these out onto the battlefield during our attack, it’ll make them think twice, if they’re still alive to think at all! So, for your approval, I want to present you…The Harvester!” With a curt nod, he signaled the Monster, and the sheet was yanked from the table to reveal his newest creation. The zomnic below was thin and scrawny, with skinny metal digitrade legs and curved claws. Its top half resembled something of a cocoon, almost a thin metal barrel with vertical slits up and down its circumference, up to a metal skull-like head, its mouth brimming with needle-sharp spikes, on top of a spring-loaded coil neck. It wasn’t really the most elegant thing he’d ever made. Honestly when he looked at it now, it looked a bit topheavy and silly, and judging by the expressions of his ‘business partners’, they thought even less of it. He quickly lifted a hand, bearing a remote control panel, and fumbled with the switches. “Unassuming now, isn’t it? But wait until you see what she’s capable of!” With a press of the button, the Harvester whirred to life, its eyelights flickering on and glowing bright blue as electricity crackled over it, shuddering to life. It launched abruptly upright, landing with a click of rigged-together metal feet as numerous arms extended and unfolded from the length of its body, unfurling into multi-jointed appendages that each ended with a sharp metal scythe. Junkenstein made it perform a little twirl, its movements rapid, but unnatural and jerky as its arms whirled and spun, transforming it into a whirling dervish of deadly metal blades, whistling through the air as it tromped forward at them. The Reaper tilted his head and for once seemed thoughtful. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but…this one isn’t that bad.” The Witch tapped her chin and nodded. “I suppose we could use a more deft sort of troop to deal with melee distractions. What else can it do?” A zomnic target-bot drifted forward at that, and the Harvester turned its head and immediately set upon it, scythes whirring and slicing as its unlucky victim was shredded into parts with a screech of metal. The next several target-bits suffered much the same as the Harvester gave several agile little leaps, slashing apart anything that stood in its way. But then it shuddered hard as electricity suddenly crackled around its lithe body, head jerking to and fro before its glowing eyes set upon its next target, and it leapt again… This time it slammed into the ground next to the Reaper, and its scythes swung straight for him. The pumpkin-headed specter managed to dodge the first two, much to his credit, but the third and fourth caught him across the arm and torso, spraying black ichor as the ghostly figure bellowed. The Summoner’s yellow eyes widened and she tried to step back as the berserk Harvester turned upon her next, its blades clanking against her hard dragon-like scales. The Witch turned upon the doctor, eyes narrowed. “Turn it off!” Junkenstein slammed at the buttons, “It’s not listening! It’s not listening!” The Summoner’s armor broke, a long cut opening up along her upper arm as it bled molten yellow-red. She clutched at it and fell back, just as gunshots echoed through the hall. The Reaper was retaliating, his lower half shrouded in black smoke as the bullets clicked and clanged off the Harvester’s steel form, bouncing off its armor plating where it did not manage to rip through. Junkenstein made a show of slamming his fist into the buttons of its controls, then paused when the metal monstrosity turned its eyes not upon the Witch…but onto him. With a warped cry of mock vocal-cords, the Harvester set upon him, one of its blades catching him across the chest and another along his shoulder and nicking his cheek. He fell, red fountaining out over his once clean labcoat, the control panel shattering under him. Still, even as he grasped at his new wounds, Dr. Junkenstein watched as the Harvester finally -finally- fixated on the Witch herself. It advanced, its blades dripping with blood of all sorts, as the Witch took several steps back, cursing under her breath. But before it could reach her, The Reaper blocked its path yet again, more gunshots ripping through it and sending two of its arms clattering to the ground. And Junkenstein almost screamed aloud when his Monster joined the fray, grasping one huge hand onto its spiked head and pulling it up away, crushing and ripping even as the Harvester flailed its scythes at its bulky form. With several more wrenching blows and the squeal of metal, the blade-bearing omnic monstrosity went limp, sparks occasionally erupting from its twitching body. Blood still oozed down his front and onto the ground around him as Junkenstein clutched his chest. The rush of adrenaline in his ears almost drowned out the words of those that gathered around him, shouting insults and abuse at his stupidity. He saw the wounds on the Reaper and the Summoner above him, and only the presence of the Witch and his Monster kept the two from destroying him outright as he lay bleeding on the floor. His eyes darted under his goggles, searching for any sign of a cut or gash on the Witch herself, but his heart sank when he found none, her skin as young and beautiful and unmarred as she had always been. He mumbled apologies and excuses, promising to do better, that this was just an unfortunate accident. The Reaper was not convinced, his gravely tones still raving. The Summoner even spat on him, a glob of molten saliva oozing down his coat and eating away the fabric. Junkenstein quailed and shook slightly, and the Monster rumbled dangerously and moved to shield him, grasping him by the peg leg and pulling him out of the fray, smearing red as he went. “The next time one of your creations goes awry, I’m putting it- and you- in the ground,” the Reaper snarled after him. “You’re lucky it didn’t manage to hurt Our Lady or I would have destroyed your mad soul!” “I told you including this lunatic was a worthless endeavor!” The Summoner ran a claw ruefully along her wounded arm. “If your zomnics were not necessary to this plan, I would do this world a favor by sparing it from your further ineptitude!” The Witch waved a hand to calm her associates, speaking platitudes and calming things that Junkenstein could barely hear. “Well, it seems as though we have seen enough here for tonight, I think. The prototype I liked, I think. The mess that came from it? Well…” She gestured to the wounded. “Come now, my friends, I will take you back and heal your wounds. Although I believe I will let the good Dr. Junkenstein think on his mistakes for just a bit longer.” The Summoner and the Reaper vanished in a spout of black flame just as Dr. Junkenstein slipped into unconsciousness, still holding his wounded front. ***

Things returned to a tenuous quiet despite the carnage around them, as the Witch tapped a finger to her chin and watched as the Monster leaned down to scoop up the doctor’s limp body. “You know,” she said in an almost conversational tone, “This was all a rather bad idea.” “Mmm,” the Monster agreed. “I will admit, I actually do like the prototype. We might be able to use it later, although I believe there are more…pressing matters to attend to. It’s a shame he ruined the thing with this little plan of his.” “Ghmm.” “Still, there’s almost a part of me that’s impressed that he had the gall. And another part that was impressed that he actually managed to get my servants to bleed. I suppose it’s the only way he could get it. His acting could use a bit of improvement, but I appreciate the effort,” she waved a hand, a little flicker appearing in her palm before going to hand the Monster a tiny vial. “This is a single drop of my blood. If he is planning what I believe he is planning, there may actually be a small chance for it to work. Or well, I hope it does. I’d love to be able to invite Mei for tea again, she’s a breath of fresh air in the chaos of this place.” The Monster nodded and took the vial carefully into one huge palm, before offering up the Doctor’s sprawled form. “Mm?” “He will live, and really, it’ll be a good reminder about caution during these schemes of his. Do let me know if all this works, won’t you? This has been…amusing.” With that, the Witch vanished in a whirl of black shadow, and was gone. The Monster placed one huge hand to his creator’s chest, staunching the blood under his fingers as he carried him away. ***

Junkenstein awoke later, his chest and shoulder crudely bandaged, slumped in his favorite armchair in his study. He groaned, clutching at the stained gauze, muscles sore and his mind still delirious from stress and lack of sleep. He coughed wetly and heard the answering shuffle of someone nearby, as his Monster loomed up out of the dark and into the fire’s light. Junkenstein allowed himself to relax slightly. “Did we get everything?” “Mm,” the Monster confirmed. Scarecrow appeared on the other side of his chair, straw shuffling with a dry hush as it held out containers filled to the brim with blood; the black sludge from the Reaper, the molten yellow of the Dragon’s servant, the bright red from Junkenstein himself…and there was the teeny, unassuming vial that glowed eerily from within. Her blood. The Witch’s blood. Strange. He couldn’t remember seeing his creation wound the Witch, but he must have simply been mistaken. He had all the blood he needed now. “Victoryyyy!” he managed weakly, lifting both fists in his chair. “All right, naptime’s over, boys. I’ll take these!” He snatched the vials from Scarecrow’s hands, heading for the set of vials and tubes he had rigged up on the table earlier. Turning on the burners, he went right back to work. Far from the chaotic mess he had caused down in the kitchens, now he had the need of being precise and careful, no matter how much his hands were shaking. Dumping the blood from vial to vial, he carefully measured, poured, and stirred. The blood was not the sort to mix naturally, and he had done all the research he could on getting them to meld. The Summoner, a being of fire, and the Reaper, a dead thing of black cold, were not exactly close friends in business relationship or blood types, and it had taken all his chemical finesse to get them to blend. Perhaps it had been a good thing the Harvester had accidentally provided so much more of Junkenstein’s own blood then, a human blood that the other blood types could blend into and dominate, adding in more and more of his own red as it was threatened to be consumed by the yellow and black. When the balancing act was perfected and boiled and blended and finally stabilized…then came the final ingredient; the Witch’s own blood, that single, precious drop of glowing red that was so much stronger than his own. The droplet bobbled and wobbled, clinging reluctantly to the lip of the vial before gravity finally seized hold, dripping into the mixture. There was no crackle of electricity, no steam or smoke, not even the faintest of booms, but Junkenstein felt something ripple across the mixture, change it, and its power changed tenfold. Very carefully, he took the mixture and dumped a portion into the ink pot, taking the jiangshi’s spell paper and her old peacock feather. Dipping it into the mixture, he carefully painted the Chinese symbols he had made before, the bloody mixture seeping into the paper, redder than ink and blacker than blood. With his tongue stuck out and biting until it almost bled even more, he carefully swirled the pen into the last symbol, finishing the new spell into an infinitely more powerful version. “Bring her in!” Junkenstein shrilled quickly, just as the door opened and the Monster reappeared, cradling her stiff body in both powerful hands. He brought her down to Junkenstein’s level, the Monster shifting her into one massive arm so his other could pry her fanged jaws open. The doctor took the remainder of the blood mixture and, after pulling her tongue out of the way with two delicate pinching fingers, poured it down her cold and unresponsive throat. Pushing her jaws shut once more, he attached the spell paper to her hat and then draped it across her forehead as the charm fluttered slightly, the symbols on it seeming to glow for a moment before going dull. Junkenstein held his breath as he and the monster leaned in expectantly. Scarecrow, lurking nearby, also tried to lean in, only to have Dr. Junkenstein roughly grab onto its head and shove it away again. He and the Monster listened quietly…and then they heard the jiangshi swallow. Smacking away the sticky blood concoction in her throat with a few gulps, Mei’s eyes rolled back down into focus, turning from unseeing white back to their usual gentle darkness as she blearily adjusted her glasses as though that would help. Junkenstein didn’t feel tired anymore, a too-wide grin stretching nearly across the entire width of his skull, baring almost every single one of his sharp teeth. Especially when she coughed a little and tried to find her voice, whispering aloud in her strong accent, “D…doc-..tor?” “Welcome back, Mei.”

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