#while under the red death's rule

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Ooooh daaaang! Along with the Green and Purple Deaths, the dragons of the Hooligans and the Meatheads are beginning to question their loyalties. Follow the human masters or the two gigantic dragons that have just landed on their beach? Either of which could flatten these two tribes in a heartbeat!

And that's the end of chapter 13! The dragons deciding to help the boys, until they lose, in which case they will either switch loyalties or desert.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

How do you think Nanami would announce your pregnancy to Gojo and the jujutsu high cast…. Possible fic idea?

Rainbow Baby

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, TW- mentions of a previous miscarriage, (is not described, but it’s heavily referenced), grief, tooth-rotting fluff at the end, happy ending that you and nanami deserve.

An: This is def not the fic that I accidentally wrote about the wrong character for. I definitely did not write this entire fic about Satoru before rereading your request and seeing that you clearly wrote for Nanami.

Nanami is a private man — not secretive, just private. While he loves when you visit school to see him because your presence eases his weary mind, he doesn’t flaunt you around to his coworkers. It’s honestly just a known thing around the school that Kento has a very pretty wife who he doesn’t introduce to anyone.

There is only one exception to the rule: the man who isn’t afraid of anything and has no concept of social boundaries, Satoru Gojo.

Nanami watched in utter disdain as Satoru always found a way to inset himself into yours and Nanami’s conversations. He never bothered to hide how much Gojo gets on his nerves.

However, Satoru gets a pass. Nanami may shoot him death glares and give him short, irritated responses, but Nanami will never shoo him away.

Satoru gets a pass because he was the one who made sure you and Nanami didn’t drown in grief when you two lost your first little one.

Nanami hadn’t even told anyone that you were pregnant yet — it was so early on. You two were still enjoying keeping it a small secret between you two. However, Gojo picked up on it immediately after seeing you. You weren’t showing, but he could see the small bundle of yellow and orange energy radiating from your tummy with his six eyes.

To Nanami’s surprise, Satoru didn’t make a huge deal out of it. He shook Nanami’s hand while whispering a quiet congratulations into his ear. Nanami laughed as he realized that Satoru knew, and he pulled the white haired male into a hug.

Satoru immediately knew something was wrong when Nanami didn’t show up for work the next week. Deciding to check up on his friend, he stopped by yours and Nanami’s house.

Nanami looked like a wreck compared to his normally put together self when he answered the door. His skin was pale, dark bags under his puffy red eyes from crying. He was wearing a shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked even worse…

Satoru didn’t need an explanation whenever the small bundle of energy was no longer present in your tummy.

If it wasn’t for Satoru, Nanami was sure that the grief was going to consume both of you. You were… you were understandably a wreck, and Nanami was so heartbroken himself that he struggled to hold you together. He was the man of the relationship, but he lost a child too. He had to witness his wife go through the worst pain imaginable, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Satoru checked up on you two often. He never mentioned what he knew, which was comforting. He was just always there with a kind smile and food plus desserts. Even though you and Nanami barely would eat anything, Satoru would come over anyways.

He was the only thing constant and stable in yours and Nanami’s lives. He was the only one who knew, and he helped you two out with a level of empathy and care that Nanami didn’t know he was capable of. The house would get cleaned. Food would be served. Different bills and other miscellaneous items ended up being paid.

Soon, the grief became easier to deal with. You and Nanami learned how to cope with the loss and start living again. The grief books lie by the way. You never truly get over the loss of a baby. You just learn how to live with the subtle ache in your heart.

It sneaks up on you sometimes. You see a small baby on tv, and you’re in shambles. Nanami watches Kusakabe announce his wife’s pregnancy, and he has to excuse himself to the restroom for a breather.

Satoru spent father’s and mother’s day with you and Nanami. It’s not like he had any family to celebrate with anyways. He brought you two gifts - making sure to remind you two that you are still parents. Your little one just isn’t on this earth.

So when you see those two pink lines on a test a year later, you feel your heart stop. You can’t take another heartbreak. You’re so scared; you don’t even want to tell Nanami. You two weren’t exactly trying for another baby, but you weren’t preventing one either.

You and Nanami celebrated, cried, laughed, rejoiced, mourned, grieved, every emotion hit you two like a truck when you revealed your pregnancy to him.

You don’t stop by the school for a little while. You and Nanami are both not ready for Satoru to find out… especially not during the first trimester when it’s possible that miscarriage can happen again…

Once you hit 20 weeks and know the baby’s gender, you finally think it’s time to let Satoru know. Nanami reluctantly agrees — also because Satoru has been hounding Nanami for weeks about where you’ve been. Satoru misses the cookies you’d always bake for him.

“Do you have plans for dinner tonight?” Nanami asks the white haired male at work that evening. Satoru immediately perks up, knowing this is basically an invitation to come over.

“Nah, I was thinking about getting hot pot. Why?” Satoru asks, trying not to sound overly excited, but it’s a rarity when Nanami formally invites him over. He also hasn’t seen you in so long. He wants to spill all the new tea to you since you like that sort of thing, unlike Nanami.

“My wife baked those cookies you love so much. You should stop by tonight.” Oh, and Satoru was getting sweets? Hell yeah.

Though, the cookies wasn’t the biggest treat of the night. When Satoru enters your home behind Nanami, he walks to the kitchen where you’re standing over freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Your tummy is rounded, and there’s a strong accumulation of golden energy residing in you.

“You’re-!?” Satoru’s eyes widen and he flicks his head quickly between you and Nanami. Your husband playfully rolls his eyes, but his smile tells you everything you need to know. He’s proud to be announcing your pregnancy.

“Yes, she’s pregnant.” He answers with a laugh, and Gojo pulls him in for a tight hug. Even if Satoru lacks some social skills, he’s able to read people like a book. He knows that this is all you and Nanami have ever wanted — a little family to call your own.

Now, imagine his big blue eyes welling with tears when he sees the cookies have writing on them.

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Toru!”

Now, imagine how fucking ecstatic Nanami is when he finally gets the privilege to announce your pregnancy to the rest of the school. He’s private with his life, but after everything you two have been through, he happily announces your pregnancy to anyone — everyone.

Oh, and your baby girl, Satori, was born happy and healthy. Besides you and Nanami, Satoru was the first one to meet your sweet baby. Yes, he cried like he was the baby when he found out about her name.

[shomixremix]

THE ALTAR OF ADORATION ♥︎

recently i've been getting more and more into my zhongli brainrot (even though he's been one of my fav characters since forever lol) so here you all go!!

oh also tysm for over 1k notes, 100+ reblogs and 50 new followers!! you guys are the best <3 i really didn't expect that kind of support on my last post - turns out everyone likes some dragon men!! so i decided to write some more, here you lovelies go!!

tags: Zhongli, female! reader, dragon! zhongli, religious themes, sacrificial offering, smut, fluff, mating, breeding, creampie, monsterfucking

-> you have been chosen as a sacrifice to the great geo lord rex lapis, during a period where everyone believed he was mad at mortals. scared for your life and trembling, you now realize there was another problem troubling lord morax.

reqs open ♡︎ | minors DNI

great lord rex lapis roamed the earths and heavens for centuries, ruling the land of geo and its people through the thick and thin. they were very devoted followers, obeying his every wish.

however, the height of his reign has long passed, and people simply stopped caring about their archon. until recently.

crops began to wither, mines dried out, contracts were getting broken left and right - rex lapis has had enough of their careless behavior. his people have disappointed him, and this was a sign of his fury. if something wasn't to change, he would abandon them completely.

the people of liyue decided to recommit to their religion, prepared to offer the geo lord a sacrifice of any kind, just so he'd once again bless them. you, even though born in a time where people lost their respect for the geo lord, have always been a devoted follower, praying to him each day and leaving flowers and beautiful crystals under his statue of the seven.

already being a believer of the geo archon, you were chosen as the ceremonial sacrifice.

while nobody knew where rex lapis resided, the site of the ceremony was chosen to be on mt. hulao. as the crowds of people gathered from all over liyue around the lake on the top of the mountain, you stood in front of them, shaking. while you were a follower of morax, you didn't feel it was right to die for the sins of your people.

"it's time to pay our sacrifise!" yelled one of the townsfolk, holding your wrist in an iron grip as he he slit your palm with a sharp knife. you screamed out in pain as maroon blood dripped down your hand. the man who slit your hand placed a valuable cor lapis stone in it, watching as the orange stone quickly became stained with your red blood.

you held your breath as they placed you on the highest point of the mountain and pushed you off, chanting morax's name over and over.

falling seemed to last centuries, even though it was just seconds. you waited and waited for your body to hit the ground, tightening your hold on the cor lapis and in your head praying:

"rex lapis, if you're here, if you hear my prayer, please, i beg you, save me!"

suddenly, your feel onto something, tightly closing your eyes. was this... death?

you open your eyes and realize this wasn't any kind of afterlife - in fact, you were very much still alive, spread on top of the back of a large dragon. your mortality was confirmed by the sharp pain you still felt in your left hand.

"..r-rex l-lapis..?"

the dragon stayed quiet as you clutched his mane, holding on to him for dear life. he only let you get down once you were inside a large cave, seeming like it wasn't a part of the human world - no, this had to be an adepti realm.

an uneducated mortal maybe wouldn't be certain just who was standing between them, but you knew oh so very well. his goldenish brown scales, the big, honey-colored eyes and the tail which ended in a mosaic of clouds all gave him away. standing before you was the geo archon, the adeptus who saved your life even though you were a peace offering.

he stayed quiet, removing you from his back like it was nothing and moving to a completely different side of the cave, laying down on the cold ground with his back turned to you.

he was in no mood to talk, you knew, but you had to thank him for saving your life.

"lord morax..?"

he grumbled in response, steam coming out of his large nostrils.

"i cinserely thank you for saving my life... i was supposed to be a mere sacrifise, yet you still showed me mercy.. i.. just, thank you so much.."

the second the word "sacrifise" leaves your lips rex lapis perks up, turning to you with frantic eyes. he grabs your hand to inspect the still slightly bleeding cut, tearing a piece of your skirt to wrap around your wound as a bandage. morax tightly ties it, then quickly moves from you.

"it should stop the bleeding," he grumbled low, never turning to look at you, almost as if he was completely uninterested, "i will bring you to the villege tomorrow, little mortal. now sleep. your body needs rest"

how could you rest after such a traumatic experience? after almost having your life, all your hopes and dreams, unfairly thorn from you?

"no, i.. i can't return! they will all know that i failed, that i wasn't the sacrifise they all needed to save liyue from your punishment!"

morax huffs, his tail hitting the ground with a loud thump.

"then you can tell them all that i do not wish for a sacrifise. spilling innocent human blood is not only unecessary but also completely repulsive to me."

your eyes widen as he says this, your body instinctively moving a little closer to him: "you.. do not wish for a sacrifise, my lord? then how should we repay you for our sins? how can we ever make you forgive us for losing our faith in you..?"

rex lapis growls lowly, his body tightening like he was in some kind of discomfort or pain.

"the lack of my blessing isn't for the reasons your kind believes," he growled, "i'm not upset at you humans. now sleep." you knew well that that was an order, and an order coming from an archon must always be obeyed. yet, you didn't, scooting closer to him.

"the only thing to be upset about is that they sent you as the offering. how unfair it is to send one of my most devoted followers to die for my amusement.."

you hold your breath, afraid that he was actually considering killing you.

"i've recieved all the little treasures you leave out for me and have heard your every word. you're a persistant little one, aren't you?" even though you couldn't see him, you could feel the smirk on his face.

the knowledge that he has seen and heard how you worship him makes your heart thump loudly in your chest, a pool of pride and flusterness swirling in your belly.

suddenly, morax smells the air sharply, then started writhing on the ground in pain, cursing out a deep yet broken"fuck..!".

"are you in pain, my lord? can i do something to help?" you ask eagerly, wishing to help your saviour.

"move away!" he roared, steam coming out of his mouth. "go to sleep and stop talking to me when i ask, mortal!"

you frigtenedly to as told, laying down on the ground and turning away from him, squeezing your eyes shut. suddenly, you hear little muffled whines and cries coming from him, which immediately makes you look at him again.

his large head is completely flushed red, his lungs heaving up and down quickly. he panted out short little puffs of air, his eyes bloodshot ready and his body trembling slightly. you didn't know what was wrong with him, he acted like some kind of a wild animal in a rut-

"lord morax, are you.. in a rut..?" it was a shameful question to ask the archon, yet your curiosity got the better of you.

he huffed out, more and more in pain with every passing minute. "i haven't... hah... i haven't been in centuries... it's inevitable i go through it every couple of hundred years..."

morax groans, visibly in a lot of discomfort.

"and of course that when i'm in a rut they just have to send me a gorgeous woman as a sacrifice to worsen my state..."

your cheeks darken as he murmurs this, blood rushing to your head.

"how do i worsen your state..?"

"your arousal" he rasps, "i can smell it, little mortal. i can smell you, and it's torture. it pains every muscle in my body to resist you, but i have to; it's my duty"

your heart aches at his words.

"i can help" you breathe, unsure what you were even offering. his sharp eyes turn to you, piercing you with his gaze.

"no", his answer is short but stern, "i could kill you, i could harm you and leave you not remembering your own name. i cannot do that to my most devoted follower. not to you, y/n"

your heart stops, dropping to your feet.

"how do you know my name...?"

he groans as he explains: "i often wander around the mortal world in my human form, to feel closer to your kind... i have met you a couple of times during your prayer at the statue of the seven. i cannot use your pure body to breed when i know how much respect and hope you have in me. it would be betrayal to you, and you would never see me, nor my human form, the same"

"it pains me to see my archon in pain" you whisper as you get closer to the large dragon, your stomach stirring. you gently touch the scales down his back and feel how he shivers under your touches.

"i want... i want to help you, if i can... i want to help you through this.. you have helped me through the darkest points in my life, and even though i don't know who your human form is, i have a feeling i'm close to you even then... i just desire to help you, lord morax..."

"do you even understand what kind of help i need? what i will do to you if you allow me?"

you smile, running your hands through his shiny mane.

"yes, i understand. use me however you like, my lord."

his self control snaps, big paws pinning you down on the ground. he's panting like a dog as he nuzzles his head against your neck, tearing the rest of your skirt off. only left in a pair of underwear and a thin shirt, you tremble under the archon's touches.

"hm.. such a beautiful mortal..." he hums as he tears the rest of your cloth from your body, leaving you completely bare. you try to cover yourself with your arms, yet morax grabs them and pins them by your sides.

his large mouth comes in contact with your skin, licking, kissing and biting as he moved down. morax grazes your skin with his teeth, never biting down hard enough to draw blood from your veins. you had already done your sacrifice, more blood wasn't needed. his tounge moves from your neck to your exposed breast, swirling around your hard nipples, earning a little whimper from you.

then, he moves even lower, nipping at your stomach. he forces your tighs apart, burying his large head to your folds and forcing you to hold on to him by his horns. rex lapis tastes you eagerly, lapping up any slick your body oh so willingly gave him. you moaned and whined as he fucked you with his tounge, making you come almost instantly.

"ohhhh!! m-morax~ ahh..." you moan as he helps you through it, sharply tugging on your sensitive clit with his sharp teeth, always careful not to hurt you.

"celestia" he sighs into your slick folds, earning a tremble from you. "you taste devine, my dear. i haven't enjoyed such a sweet taste in centuries"

he shows you no mercy and continues to eat you out as if you were his last meal, one paw holding down your wrists and the other secured on your hips, not allowing you to move at all. after about three delicious highs he pulls from your frail body with his tounge, you start begging for the real thing. you knew his rut wouldn't be over unless he fucked you, and you were kinda hoping this torterous foreplay would be over soon...

"m-morax... please.." you whimper, squeezing your legs around his snout. he grumbles low, giving one final lick to your greedy pussy.

"i have to loosen you as much as possible so you could even try to take me. preperations can take up to days."

your eyes open wide and your mouth partens. you couldn't wait days to get him to fuck you, and you certainly didn't know how you'd survive days worth of eating out!

"but i cannot wait that long" he smirks, rubbing your outter tighs and ass. in one swift motion he flips you over so you were on your knees, face down and ass up. you feel his length rubbing up on you; even though you couldn't see him, your eyes went wide in shock. you felt how impossibly large he was, both in size and girth, almost being comparable to your legs.

but another thing surprises you - the head of his cock is poking at your tight entrance, but another thing is poking at your ass! you turn your head in shock, and he reassures you.

"i am different than a mortal, my dear"

you let out a loud scream of his name as he harshly thrusts both of his heavy cocks into you. he thrusts as far as he can, entering your cushy womb from how big he is and almost ripping your ass apart. you scream and cry and writhe yet he doesn't budge, letting you get used to him inside you for a few moments before he starts thrusting.

he starts moving without a warning, dragging you back on his cocks. you turn into a sobbing mess as each one of his thrusts so pleasantly tease your g-spot, bullying your tight walls.

"ahh.. ahhh! mphhh! mmphshs! m- mor... ah! ohhh!"

you cry and cry, not even knowing your own name out of so much pleasure. you feel like your holes are completely loose and yet, clamping down on him greedily. he tugs your head back by your hair, snuggling his nuzzle in your neck so you'd hear him better.

"shh, don't cry... you've asked me for this, little mortal. you asked to be fucked like this, hm? look at you, so pretty like this. so no need to cry, you will be fine. i allow you as much pleasure as you need. "

you couldn't stop yourself from coming, squirting your juices all over his cock. he watches this in amusement, fucking into you harder and faster. in one moment, he threw his head back in pleasure, making a loud roar.

"fuck, y/n..." he groaned as you hiccupped your sobs, finally giving a harsh, last thrust and stilling inside. you felt an impossible amount of warmth spread through your body as he filled you with seed, spilling a wave after wave of cum in your womb. he had filled you so much that it spilled from you, leaving you entirely breathless.

as soon as he's done he pulls out, letting you fall to the floor. he picks up your limp body, curling himself around you and cuddling you close.

"it's alright, my dear... you did perfect. you were just devine, and you've felt better than anything i've ever felt in all my years. rest, now. i will take care of the rest tomorrow."

your head hazy, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and your eyes heavy, you lay curled against him and finally get the much needed sleep.

the next morning, you wake up with a human, veined arm around your bare waist.

"there you are... you are too adorable in your sleep" a deep voice said from behind you, and you turned around, expecting to see the geo archon.

yet, you were faced with a man you knew all to well - the man you had deep feelings for ever since he first arrived in liyue harbour.

"mr. zhongli?!"

he hums out a laugh, tightening his hold on you.

"yes, if i'm correct, we've met in my human form a couple of times?"

you blush deeply, reminiscing on the few blissful times you talked to him. he was a very handsome, successful young man, with great wisdom and a clever mind - and you admired him very much, so much that you couldn't help but fall in love.

"you look dissapointed... are you not fond of me after finding out who i am?"

he asks, his gaze softening and looking almost saddened. you quickly reassure him:

"no, no, i'm not dissapointed! more like stunned.." you blush and he notices, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

"oh? why is that? i have always assumed we had a fairly good relationship, y/n. you have always been so nice to me"

"i.. i've had feelings for you for quite a while..." you say shyly, almost embarassed of the fact.

his lips curl into a genuinely happy smile, his arms pressing you closer to his bare chest.

"then everything turned out alright"

you smile, but everything suddenly dawns on you - that zhongli seemed to be okay with your feelings for him, that you almost died yesterday as a sacrifice, that zhongli is morax and most importantly, that oh, you fucked the geo archon, in his dragon form no less!

"am i pregnant now..?" you ask quietly, reminded that the act of a rut is mainly to breed and create off-spring. zhongli laughs at your question, leaving a quick peck on your forehead.

"no, most likely not. but you will be, in a few hundred years, once i have to go through this all over again" you almost choke on your own spit as he says this.

"but... i won't be alive in a few hundred years... you will have to find another to help you through this.."

as soon as you mention him sleeping with another woman his face turns into one of disgust, his strong arms gathering your entire body in his hold.

"as my mate, you will live as long as i do, and i'm immortal, my dear."

"your mate?!"

"yes. by helping me through my rut, you have become my mate. of course, only if that's what you wish" he says, pressing a loving kiss to your eyelid. "and do not worry, my dear, dragons mate for life"

he almost purrs into your warm skin, making a referance to what you said about him sleeping with another woman.

"...being your mate.." you sigh, cuddling into his chest.

"it's like what you humans call "relationship" except a stronger bond, sort of an unbreakable contract between the two of us. a forever promise of care, love and loyalty."

"i think i would like that" you humm into his chest, "but, let's take it a little slow?"

he kisses you full of warmth, his hands soothing your sides.

"of course, my dear. i will take you on a proper date when we get back. for now, just lay there and let me thank you properly for your help last evening..." he sighs as he kisses your shoulder over and over again.

yesterday at this time of day you were supposed to be nothing but a sacrifice to the geo lord, and now here you were, getting your body worshiped by him, forever safe and secure in his arms as his mate.

[astralnymphh]

The Sweeter the Wheat

# pair: post-seattle!jackson!ellie x reader

## summary: There is no better birthday gift than loving her.

### reader discretion is advised: romance angst, fluff, bit suggestive towards the end, alcohol consumption, jesse is alive (he thought ahead this time), loser!ellie, sometimes!awkward!ellie, sometimes!cheekyandflirty!ellie, reader is sickenly envious and a bit nosy, but aware, ravenous and tipsy makeouts, sappy shit. #### a/n; listened to "to all of you" by syd matters + "cardigan" by taylor swift while writing parts of it.. got a love/hate relationship with this fic but it slaps i guess

WC: 7.7k+ | DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST | ART BY @trackinglessons | DISCORD SERVER

SPRING SUN

 

 “At least we got back before her birthday. Psh—‘magine that sweet tooth havin’ to commemorate her twentieth with nuts and jerky.”

Jackson tholes the bright spring against countless heavy hearts, numb from the death groans of winter. Under the melted snow, came old meadows, but nobody returned to comb through them. Only to pluck them bare of flora for a sole reason—a sole person—and not in the name of beauty. 

Some meadows were stabbed through. Pierced into, made into a final home for the dearly departed he.

Time slipped slowly.

“Huh?”

Jesse sits at the tail of the bar, mumbling somethings that fly right past your ears. The diner is packed and the jukebox softly plays, but that of joy and conversation rules, so all nearby speech that is spat has become hodgepodge, herding your brain to run where the world is quiet. Given that, and the subtle significance in the day around you, you feel less than yourself. Immaterial.

There's a rightful wager that you didn't hear Jesse at all. Something about birthdays, maybe.

You pull yourself from the stars with a head-shake, having to retire the tiny notepad in your clutch. “Sorry, I completely tripped out just then. Why are we talking about birthdays—whose birthday are we.. talking about?”

Jesse appeared to be in doubt that your star-scaping moments were over; his features contorting more and more into disbelief as you gave him that barely curious squint. Poor him for having to be offended for somebody else.

A special somebody else at that!

His drawl comes in handy, “Come on, man. Four years strong and now you wanna forget that girl's birthday?” a voice so versed in pettiness, you could smack it right from his clever, grinning lips.

At whim, you almost do. But then his words fall into perfect place; that subtle signifigance makes all the more sense.

Spring: dappled in sunlight and vigorous in the trees, seems lovelier than it would in March or May. Seas of crimson and clovers thrive in the middle of April, and so does the red in her hair—soft, auburn tines—and the meadows in her earnest and shiny eyes. Recently dim, bruised and disheartened. But there, and unplucked at least, above the freckles you least regret missing when vengeance and a clue drove her out of this large, timber sanctuary. Home.

Every year on this day, the sun is relentlessly beautiful. No wonder, you think, now that you remember.

It's Ellie's birthday.

“Shit,” you curse, chewing at your guilty lip. “Is Ellie hiding out today as well? Haven't noticed her walking the thoroughfare at all.” Through the idle-talk, your hands find stray porcelain to retrieve and pile in the sink, scoffing at the liters of coffee that inevitably go cold in forgotten mugs.

“Do you notice anything working behind that counter?”

“Duh, dipshit,” you spout, back-talking him shamelessly, “I noticed you ambling towards the window earlier and knew my ears were in for a grating punishment.” Minding your eyes on nothing but the various plates you grab, the clutter clears fast. Like a damn robot.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, not my fault patrol’s been on cruise control this week.” With a part of the counter graciously tidied by your speedy work, he reclines in the barstool and claims that space with his lower legs, off to the side. Blissfully permission-less. “Can't say the same for here, though.” 

You draw in a prefacing breath, tilting a cup at him. “You could if you hel—”

“No chance.”

“Fuck you, Jess,” you reply wielding a nickname given for occasions of defeat, little knives glaring from your eyes. “Thought this friendship had a no-questions-asked sort of thing. You've disgraced me.” Cueing that age-old love for drama, you gild the lily; mock a drama-queen. Hand to your heart and a pout to your mouth.

Hating Jesse is out of the picture, and hate is an easy pill to swallow. Sure, you two bark blank insults from time to time, but it's all in good humor. You just get each other too well. A hitch fated to click. A shoulder to violently sob into.

Jesse tuts at you, rolling a smug pair of eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Diners just aren't my thing, as infected aren't yours.” He reaches and grasps his mug of coffee that'd been basking there ever since you whipped up his usual, content in keeping his gob flat for the ‘noon.

And you're content in the casual peace and company. Always are. It coerces you to fulfill orders quicker, you would say. Here you stand, in perfect function, machine of the cogs.

That's how all days streak by here. A warm sun arises, and the hustle and bustle of human nature crowds every faded red booth in here, as your kin would have you sustain, and you sustain it fine enough. Even with the latching, mostly silent presence of your best bud Jesse to keep boredom a stranger and insanity a myth. Peckish lips, thirsty throats; everybody. All famished faces of Jackson, satisfied in the wake of your work. All, save one. 

Ding!

At the entrance, you hear the jingle of the tiny, golden bell topping the door, and it doesn't intrigue you to investigate. Everyone is a frequenter, and you're basically omnipresent; sensing who it is and where they're routed to before they even sit. Call that perfect function.

Abruptly, the vintage magazine Jesse blankly browsed through is smacked back in place, and his throat clears. “First customer to break the hour-long streak. Let's see who—” he trails, and a dramatic pause thickens the air. Surprise loudly ensues. “Oh, ain't that funny. Look what fate dragged in.”

“Is it not a regular?” you ask, and at last perk your chin up. Intrigue clasps you now, as Jesse thought it atypical enough to point out. 

Turns out, it isn't a regular at all.

Fate was a scary portrayal, as fate—and unfinished threads—would have you snuck into a corner and stranded for her to find. Plaid and blue, stood Ellie, lost as a doe in tangled woods, yet tall with purpose in front of that swinging glass door. From here, you notice her right arm supported in a white sling and twisted into her chest, right off the bat, as you did the night of return. Changes were made, obviously, sprigs of marker detailing the canvas-color of it, no doubt produced by those pesky kids in-town. Her tattoo is sorely invisible behind the bandages too; you've always liked that thing. 

She's a bona-fide crush. A red-headed angel.

There and then, you recall why your heart reawoke into a prance that night she returned head to toe in dry, aged blood. You felt the revival of an inner-warmth, tracing fingers over the stitches in her back as she hunched in repressive quietude. Felt the moon evaporate off your skin, felt her wrist tensen in your palm as you dressed the wounds in hers. Felt the elusive moment staying became going, as it wasn't right.

You went straight home and threw right up, that very night. Her cold, marred skin was as deathly-like as the skin of a corpse. And you trailed your fingertips, all over it. 

Strange. In a week, her flesh has been suppled of life. Hale, blushing and glowing as in younger days.

In your heart: a tremor. It reaches up every time you swallow, and blooms its beat, pounding at the pit of your throat. You don't feel real, you feel light, you feel fright. You feel the past, waking from a slumber in you, emerging breathless beyond the surface. So many things.

You feel fourteen again.

“Guess her ears were burning,” mumbled Jesse, polite enough to not transform your shared scrutiny into a scene, only so he could leave it in your hands. His head carefully turns, speaking softly, “You spoke to her at all, recently?” 

“No,” a weighted breath departs you, and your shoulders repose. “Only the night she returned, while I tended to some of her travel wounds. Conversation wasn't easy to digest.” Shunning her very blatant presence, you pick your wash rag and begin again, foraging distraction.

“Bet not. Shit got hectic on the route Tommy picked,” he hums, and his eyes pursue once more to secretly follow her walking the opposite direction. Eyes you expectantly the second she slips into a booth. “Gonna take her order?”

You glower at his smug stare, knowing full well he intends to badger you into jumping the gun. Well, you're employed to do that, but, fuck fate! “Uh, duh? Di—”

“—Ipshit. Stop stalling.” He aims his hand, escorting you. “Birthday girl awaits.” 

“Yeah, hold that smile. See what happens later.”

“Mhm.”

EXTRA SYRUP

 Spectral hands suffocate your heart, and now your chest is tightened. Gut nervously sickened. There, she sits, seemingly absorbed by the air, and the sun that ripens with it. Thumbing at her nails, but not anxiously. Blowing at her lip, but not boredly. Hair dark ochre as the earth, yet fiery as the flaxen ray that pours into it. Tucked into a neat bun, as it was in December, January, and every paving year before. You like her hair that way.

She halved it up when Joel passed, and Seattle howled her name. 

A lot about Ellie changed, really, but that is the perennial nature of water. Ellie is Neptune; a late-teenage girl experiencing a crucial shift into a new, individual season. Ones so seldom—they're cataclysmic, but temporary. 

So much of her is eclipsed to the naked eye. Buried to make burrowing space for others. Just not you, it seems.

Every now and then, she glances as you intricately work your way over, a fist cupped to itself as if it alone safekeeps her deep and untold intentions; the warrant for sitting there. And you too, glance when her eyes smoothly retreat, dedicating pockets of this single, cherished minute to drink in little glimpses of her face. Trying to read her, read the shapes on her face if they indicate trouble, or truce. Last time you talked, you declared your resentment for being left worried and sleepless in Jackson.

Was it out of love?

Through the fair-haired light, that scar-heavy look on her features has noticeably abated, recapturing the tender warmth that gave her face the kind, puppy-browed ambiance you hesitated the world for. Gently laid brows, scarred the same as ever.

Those fucking freckles, too; a constellated map. Hidden miles and miles away for one sun and moon too many. 

Not a mile bridges you both apart now, not anymore.

“Hey, Ellie,” you chime in, frail in respect of the one-mind conversation her idle stare partakes. Just her, and the spring sun. Sweet wheat skin is taken from its aerial shine as her head heeds your voice, a loose twine of auburn falling from place.

Your somber greeting fine-tuned the focus in her eyes, softening into a shape less spacious, more devoted.

And though away from underneath the boughs of sunlight, her eyes found a disembodied source. Dried moss, gleams into a violent sea glass, pupils taking in how you hold that notepad firm in thumbs and pointers.

For the first time in an age, you too, have changed.

The corners of her lips crease into her cheek. “Hey,” her reply mirrors the breathiness of yours, and her left arm low-arcs up to rest on the booth seat, body facing you head-on. Totally relaxed. “How come you didn't mention the job switch? Was lookin’ for you,” she asks curiously, a tinge of that sweet-talk peeking through her wide grin. 

Now that you've stepped closer and garnered her attention, you can see and feel every notched nicety of her face on yours. You can only imagine how a swollen, sliced lip feels, and the continual migraines a fractured nose brings. Weeks of healing have swept by, but her afflictions in particular weren't petty.

“Guess it felt irrelevant to bring up when you got back. But you're here now, and you found me. So?” your tone edges on.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckles. “Did you not miss me?” She feigns offense; brows quirking and her tone pitching slightly.

You did. 

A sigh starts in you, “Hard to not miss and worry for somebody when you picked up their slack in every patrol dating way back.” Barely nipping what you really felt with a snarky tease. “Oh shit, that rhymes,” you glance off and whisper to yourself, still loud enough to inspire mirth.

And it does; her forehead pinches and her voice rises in mirth, laughing casually and shifting in her seat to lean one elbow upon the table. “Ha— yeah,” she admits defeat. Ellie is undeniably cute when she does, always shrinks into herself and sinks into thoughtful conference, thinking of something—anything smart to knock you back into that corner. “Guess you're right. Hm, always were on my ass about that, huh?” 

You tut, “Mhm. Missed my scolding in Seattle?” crossing a leg and bearing weight upon it.

“Nah,” she confesses briefly, and you barely believe it. Wringing in doubt at that sly smile she tries to conceal from you. “I learned my lesson this time.” Ellie glances up, a prayer written on her face asking you to hold your scolds. “Trust me.”

“Hurt enough this time?”

“Fuck you!” She punts you playfully in the ankle and begins a laugh again. “You’re not allowed to point that out!”

That was the way of things; Ellie would charge into a fight wearing her life on her chest, slackening the rules, and you had to reel her in. Tug the leash. It had you suspecting her to have a foolproof reason as her backbone, like she was daring the devil with eyes fearlessly open. Steadfast intent. She would lure runners to her, grapple them from you, or push you away beyond safety. Leave you to watch an animalistic vigor fill every bind in her body until you're convinced she’s either coming out bitten or scathingly torn.

You wish she saw how worrying she truly looked; a sweet face splattered hair to chin in the blood of infected, catching her breath and shaking the arm of the croaking infected she just slaughtered off her ankle. Being way too blithe-hearted for the sacred sake of everyone involved.

“Don't worry about me.”

One day, when she asked you with her solemn eyes to be afraid, you thought she finally trusted you to handle yourself past her overprotective nature. Then, one clicker got too close for comfort, and she retracted the pact of fighting equally. Losing more than what her blade owes the earth would prove her fears to be a product of her unsacrifice.

Ellie figured it was half the reason you quit patrol duty, but not that it was fully the reason you anguished over her leaving for Seattle later on; her appetite for violence.

She accepts it so easily. But even when you had sworn she had place in something as simple as retiring from patrol and nothing else, she smelt the sugary scent of a white lie. Joel did it before. She never accepted it under a gentle radar. Instead, it had her wondering if she had upset you, if you would forgive the crimson melodrama and still take her up on breakfasts at ten when she returned. Regardless if you painted the full picture in the end, apologies spilled alike to winded waters out of this girl; sorry that she still could not stomach you tagging along for vengeance. Never-ending sorries, and you lapped each one up. Brought gaping arms around her and absorbed all the ugly and hopeless sounds. You wanted to prove her fears wrong, but perhaps it was time fear let you be the lamb. Live and let live.

Then, Dina would step in, and Ellie would be wrapped around her finger in sudden laughter. Happy and unhurt. Couldn't even remember what occurred before her sun entered the room, and dried those tears.

Crimson melodrama is all you preserved when abandoned, and is all you could look at her with when in longing.

The winter dance had your guts up to your throat.

Seattle, inexplainable.

You don’t hate Dina; your envy lies with the disconnection of it all.

“What do you recommend?” she questions, and her eyes anticipate you to be the ultimate apocalyptic-dining expert. Locked and attentive. She then begins to shake her head in gesture, planting the menu down. "I don't— I don't usually go to these kinds of places, so.. What do you think?" she awkwardly giggles, tapping the menu's plastic sleeve.

Tension presses a smile onto your lips at her inelegance. "Nobody does, not even people who went to these places before the outbreak," you opine, swapping the notepad to one hand and sliding into the booth. "It's okay. I mean.. hmm, what do you prefer? Sweet or salty?"

Her eyelids flick down, fingers coming to lace together as her eyes traverse the options. "Uh, I guess I— wait, wait," she interrupts herself. A swift finger draws you to look down at the menu, "You guys make pancakes here?" green eyes gaping at you with pupils more voracious than her stomach—or her sweet tooth.

"Yeah."

"I'll have that then."

It was a steadfast verdict. The sweet honey pancakes, she shall have, at the cost of a couple minutes and a couple ingredients. But it isn't traditional for birthdays, so you weigh in. “Just pancakes? I mean.. Faye is back there if you want something a little more celebrator—”

“—I'm not really a blow-the-candles-out and make-a-wish type of person,” she corrects you, brows cinched in as she rambles. Then, her free hand scoots the menu forward. “But you already knew that, you just insist otherwise,” she chuckles, unable to meet eye and eye.

True. Your soft insistence dawns from wanting nothing less than heaven inside everything for her, and maybe a dash of that sweet-sweet crush on her. But, Ellie is so staunch in being the humble girl that doesn't glorify every recorded happening with string lights and a wish hurled into the uncaring universe bent upon nurturing demised, late lights young girls reach for. She kept everything low-key: a small garage get-together on her last birthday, the one before that, and the one predating those two. Alcohol in your palms and movies playing back to back. Budding distorted laughs and tumbles into each other. Birthday things.

The remnants of her fifteen-year-old mind hangs aimlessly inside that museum. Dangled and stretched into archaic bones. On the day of return, she arrived happier than a sunflower drunk on the sun. Broad smiles and whatever else.

Wasn't for long.

“Forget you're so down-to-earth and reserved about all the fun things,” you snarkily deliver, retiring that still empty notepad behind your back. Memory shall serve. “Will that be it then?”

“Are you saying I'm not fun?” 

“I'm saying you need more of it.” You emphasize with a tiny bounce-up on your calves, tilting your head north. Though, nothing she uttered was wrong and so your voice silkily drones on, “And that.” You act the lack of a ruder way to insinuate. “But yeah, okay. One order of pancakes coming up.”

“Cool, I'll uh—have a 'celebratory' drink in the meantime?” She nudges the menu towards you once again, irises pulled thin on themselves. Thoroughly staring; your reflection in a bead of black.

You have to laugh, kindly laugh. “No alcohol here, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right.” Her doe-stare only crescendoed from there, shying away at the result of her asking. Something reluctant is lodged in her pale throat, stumbling out only when it feels imminent as you turn away. “D-Do you wanna chat, afterwards? There's so much bullshit surrounding Seattle I have to catch you up on and I-I didn't before, so.."

Swinging your head back, you gauge that mercurial girl there. Tripping up her request like it couldn't escape hibernation from her head any quicker than insult does.

Faye shouldn't mind. “'Course, I was left to wonder about everything since that night anyway.” Your boss might even encourage it; knowing that your long-standing crush for her—heartbreaking to fathom, beautiful to feel—never swept you from rambling Ellie into some fairytale, so she would use it to psych you into asking her out. Jesse, too. Damn the nosy ones!

But it's the one thing that keeps you worried now.

“Cool, cool. Oh, hey, add extra syrup will you?”

What does Ellie think of you?

“Mhm,” syrup is nowhere as sweet as your hum. “Got it.”

Does she think of you at all?

MOUTHS ALL-CONSUMING AND DEPRIVING

  Minutes in, minutes out, wallowing at that ruby-red booth fed the realization to Ellie that the nerves feeding off her anxious chest could not combat conversation alone. She needed an aid. Liquid courage. Velvety smooth and robust.

Fortunately for betting gods and heaven-watching anyones, leftover whiskey from the last bonfire made stock in her cloistered, chaotic cabinets. So it founded no surprise that it whirled to mind after the celebratory-drink fact; leading you here, in her bedroom, on her bed. She pours whiskey into stubby glasses, One for her, one for you, and a lucky extra two for further along this unexplored line. Nothing overflowing limits.

But, oh boy, did it make you all lovey-dovey.

Her lips move and they dance over words, but all you hear is your own enamoration of how heart-shaped they are. You see, but fail to hear and comprehend. Floating aimlessly into those freckles, again. Something a fourteen-aged, sanguine mind would do.

Ellie was relaying Seattle to you, she prefaced. Prefacing didn’t aid you in paying attention, though. Today is not your sharpest, it dates to be your most absentminded. Not your usual, at all.

Nods are swayed to every shock-value word that you manage to understand, but the star-crossed rest, you miss, and replace with whatever story her pupils trace. They flit to read your face after each end of her sentences, so it has you thinking too much of her time has slipped without the company of a listener, and now that her time slips into you, she can use it to stretch your expression with whatever witty remark she makes. 

She did one day blurt that your laugh compliments your smile—or however that fucking flirt threw it over the crackle of that bonfire.

In fact, when you begin to let parts of her body neck-down from her face distract you, only then do you decipher how much she has grown in a month.

She pitches her drink to sip, and your eyes are hot on that glassy trail, artistically concerned with the way she swills down whiskey: fluently gulped, throat bobbing, the scar on her lip licked clean. Her brows too, have thickened, much so as her leathered skin, her callouses. She traces her thigh in circles repeatedly—a fidgety habit—and her lips purse and tug and wrinkles hug and press said lips when they are prettily wide. 

Every high noon or low point of her body was different, and you have missed a great many things you care too much about to not appreciate every brink and midst. You don't want her to be lost to otherworld winds without studying her presence harshly. She is in your scrutiny, now more than ever.

“So, do I get to see my pancakes yet, or?”

“Oh, oops.” You snap out of your woolgathering, wagging your head left to right. Then briskly as you assented her invitation, you slide your knees under you, reorganizing your seating. “Can't blame me for being so invested in your epic tales. Could totally be a comic narrator for the school in town.”

Ellie had already been sat skyward. Sprawled at one leg and tucked at the other, arm in her lap, where her whiskey is nestled. “Oh, sure,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Those kids are a bunch of little shits. They would probably interrupt me with fart jokes or make actual fart sounds than sit still and pay attention for thirty minutes.”

“Hmm,” you hum, short and atonal, peeling the corner of the plastic lid back. “And who do you think taught them those terrible jokes, huh?”

Soft lids narrow together to sharpen her gaze; glaring at your clever comment, lips propped slightly open. “Terrible?” An offended, toothy smile pulls on her lips. All sentences she could possibly muster up come crashing into each other; an agglomeration, “I—They aren't bad jokes—and they're puns, really, so they're actually pretty fuckin' smart,” she boasts with brows raised. “And It isn't my fault that every annoying kid picked them up and started repeating them.”

It most certainly is her fault. Hell, even you catch yourself reciting them at the crest of nightfall, giggling into your palm. Although, why she's trying so rigorously to plead her pun-enjoying case to you, might just be funnier. “Are you seriously trying to explain puns to me?”

“God,” she surrenders in a chuckle, and bows her head to introduce another quick sip to her parched lips. Ellie then eyes you for a blank second thereafter, tugging the plump of her lower lip through her teeth. Like contemplation has her hindered.

Around you, the lungs of the garage’s foundation inhale, and exhale; creaking and settling.

She dashes a huff. “You basically asked,” Ellie reminds you, her tone and eye-roll implying obviousness. “Can I eat my pancakes now? M'hungry.” Her face sutures into a pseudo-frown and encloses herself to a crisscross, impatiently behaving.

Now, as for the pancakes. Fluffy, biscuit brown, star-shaped, bountifully rivered in unrestricted syrup, topped off by a definitely-melted, humbled ingot of butter. Needless to say, you're pleased by what boredom and intact cooking-books taught you, and she hasn't even seen them yet.

The ask for a carryout-container was already in order the moment you set pace for her table, because you wound up in a near-catastrophe as she sought you out around the kitchens like a lost pup and maundered right into you. Thank patrol for instincts; it's the one thing you held an undying clutch to. And the sweet pancakes you proudly plated, making refuge on the counters as you cross-examined Ellie in case you injured her arm more.

Lucky girl was all fine and peachy, of course.

She only knocked you two right into that near-injury mess to invite you here. Persuasion sat readily in her throat incase you questioned her motives—most of her ideas turning out to be a little friend-group antic, never anything serious or singular—but you agreed to it in double-time. 

“Think you might just be one of those kids at this point.” You gingerly tweak the rim of the plate you kept the pancakes on and lift it outside the container, planting it between all four knees.

“Eh, you're not so innocent yourself,” Ellie contends before she even casts her first peek at the hillock of starry sweetness, totally taken aback when she does. “Holy shit,” she awes, just as if she were a young teen again, “Are you kidding me?”

Labor-intended nights never slip soft through the gaps of your fastened fingers, not even days where your work period is abridged, but hey, strange, space-brain girls are far beyond ordinary exception. Hell, Ellie is vital! Commemorating the red angel you worship in the patterned and soapy act of cooping up on her bed, toasting to the moonlight and letting her talk your ear off for old times' sake is your approach to telling her you love her.

“Know I'm not a pancake-connoisseur, but I gave it a unique whirl. Just for you.” You held a fork out, gracing her with first honors. “Don't blame me if it gives you a stomachache,” your forewarn is a doubtful one; in your mind, morningtime will arise with an extra punch to her gut.

Ellie, however, stares right into the baying eyes of a challenge, snatching the fork from you. "Hey, if it's good enough for my tongue, then it's good enough for ma' gut!" and promptly after exclaim, gashes and tears her fork into the sweet, airy texture of the pancake, popping it past her sweet, berried lips. “Mhh—and I will blame you. So you end up feeling sorry n'take care of me.”

God, whatever souls you would sell to spend paradisal afterlife with this fool. Talking with a gob flush of the birthday project you're humiliated to be proud of. You scoff, “Asshole,” lightheartedly scornful as can be, and it snaps something to mind. Head tilting eye-to-eye, “Dina wouldn't be the one to?” you ask, right after she swallows.

That particular question seemingly struck a chord as her brows cinched together, eyes dropping with allusion. “No,” she says meekly, soft in the sound, but you can tell it came up heavy. Shadowed by a sigh, and an untimely chuckle. “Do you want to know?” She throws on a shrug that ripples through her head, sending it to hang lopsidedly. As the stout willow grows.

“Guess so,” you agree temperately, not wanting to seem too eager—even though with this topic, you just might be. Camouflage those old, foul feelings of envy. “Did Seattle have you kicking more ass than just Wolves and infected? Couldn't have been a very romantic tr—”

“Dina's pregnant.”

Silence carves it's way after that. Thick, tense and unyielding. You had words lined up but like a shot in stark night they've just—vanished, sunk back into the chamber. Nothing prepared you to hear that, “Pregnant?” lowering a hand to your belly where you swear your heart has pummeled to.

Ellie glances up, once at your widened face and once at your hand. A bite of humor works it's way above her chin; smugly smirking. “God, don't tell me you're pregnant now too.”

“What? No!”

Damn idiot. Should punch her right in the—nevermind.

Ellie is way too quick to make serious things unserious. “You're a damn menace,” you unapprovingly giggle.

“Am I?” Amusement raises her brows, tearing into the pancake with her fork for another bite. “Cause you seem to like menace.”

You adjust onto propped elbows, “Do I?” playing all nonchalant. “I mean, what do you mean by that?” your voice dims, expending for the small space that separates you and her.

“Mhh,” she contemplates with a purring sound, and shrugs. “Dunno.” Ellie retreats those eyes downward where you won't compel her to smile. You can tell she battles the letch to look up again, which—as proven in her case—doesn't fucking work. She shoots up carefully, and it's a conflicted gaze this time. “Not with Dina anymore, though. That’s the other thing.”

And we're back.

Having reconciled the chance, you retrace. Look at her with somber concern. “Did something between the two of you happen?” It's a gentle question, reinforced by the bulletproof stare you offer her to unwind in.

The air in her voice softens, “Sort of,” and the meridians of your body then become easier to look at as she continues, wrinkles in her brows. “Said some things I shouldn't have, and we.. figured it best to leave it at that. For now.” her explanation sounds desolate and attemptless, like she has sat in shadow and vigil accepting this fact and has given up on hope. Crestfallen and quieter; this isn't like her. Bent at her wrist, dangling that glass above her crisscrossed lap like a sad child pokes at the food on their plate.

“For now?” You hate that you pry, but that sick greed in your gut from times before haunts with a hunger for knowledge. Your envy that is enlightenment. Still, you hesitate to seem nosy, wanting nothing than to possibly just console your friend in need. “What's holding you back from.. calling it quits? The pregnancy?” You crane your body upright slowly.

“Just still feelin' bad.” Her fingers begin a tap-dance at the glass' rim. “I'm an asshole.”

You duck at the neck, searching for her downcast eyes. “Come on, El. I've only ever seen you rant and rave at middle-aged grumpy men and infected, no way it was that bad.”

“You weren’t there,” she insists otherwise with an earnest voice, inciting a refreshed sigh as she swigs her whiskey.

“Well, what did you say?” You are relentless. No, normally you would not condone it, but tonight, tongues are loose and boundaries are blurry. You miss your happy girl. “I could talk to Dina, if it helps.”

“Wouldn’t change shit.”

“If you love her, you would try.” Even if it sickens you.

Ellie slots her drink in her lap, and grouches. “Dude.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and stifles a groan, frustrated. It draws out in words without proper footing, “It's weird. We just don't know what to say to each other—I don't know what to say to her, it.. it's just how it is—it was a mutual agreement. None of your business, really.” 

Her own tongue is a very obvious byproduct of nerves, whiskey, stress, by and large a lot of things. Being goaded, definitely.

How it is, is how it will be.

“She broke up with me.”

You didn't mean to goad her, but curiosity—and a kiss of alcohol and envy—ate your refrain. The lack of any eye contact or movements to stray from you thereafter her word is telling enough. That it aches her head, and a cold, guilty sweat crosses over your skin. It was a stupid thing to blurt. You feel fucking stupid for even saying that.

Fuck. 

Her dry sniffle is noisy on your shortcoming, and has you scrambling to think. “Sorry, just been worried for weeks.” But you shrink into a ball of abraded arms and legs, conserving yourself into a shy, spotted egg of curiosity that clads no hatching cracks to be convicted of. “Thought you two finally getting together would be the dream to end all dreams.” What the fuck do you know anyway?

Her eyes watch through you, into you like water; she notices, and the pancakes are slid to the side. Shuffles of fabric clamber closer as she eats the inches between you two, her breath brushing your forehead. “Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. It's fuckin' great that I got somebody I can drink with and mope to. Really. Just been shitty all around—Tommy? Fuck, he's been the worst lately.” 

Everything ascends in temperature once her hand plants on the side of your neck, every nerve petrifies; unheard-of touch. She can feel the gasped tension in your throat, thumbing the muscles down. 

“Don't worry about it,” she says, and her saying that amuses you.

A moth-eaten phrase in particular is what was said. You scoff at it, plopping your legs back out. “Dude.” You bite a smile into your lips. Sucks that such a hackneyed thread of words does so; you're really chewing back the urge to call her any byname of dumbass, per usual. But damn that sincere face on her face that sweetens the teasing deal for you. You settle for low-hanging fruit. “You always say that, Ellie.”

“Ugh,” she seconded a scoff back at you, grimacing coyly. “Don't you start.” Ellie drags her hand off, not intending for it to land smack-dab on your thigh. It takes her a second to register the sound, the texture, slinking her hand behind her when you say nothing.

“Start what?” you stutter a laugh, bringing your thighs together.

“Nothin,”

“Don’t bullshit me, WIlliams.” To educe her, you dig your foot into her side, poking her. “Does it have anything to do with only me being here and not anybody else?” You lean into her.

Ellie does too, an exact mirror of you. “No..” The only thing that contrasted you, was her hand again, seeking what was left behind on your thigh. “Just wanted to see you first,” her lips barely move besides a slick smirk. Voice tiptoeing through the air, the noise-level two clandestine lovers live at, in secret song.

“You fuckin liar. No hang-outs for weeks before you left and suddenly you want to see me?” You call bull when she relucts to raise her hung head, witnessing the corners of her lip curl. Her head twists away more, and you spearhead the first, little move: tuck that irkful strand of auburn with a single finger. “C'mon.. what is it?”

“Stupid,” she blatantly spits, and at last confronts your face with her puckish one—glimpsing down, and up, and down. Watching her grip flex into your leg intermittently, chewing her lip. “Mhh, maybe 'm starting it.”

Ellie is heart-poundingly close; her breath is now yours to breathe. You whisper, “Maybe you are,” perking yourself right up to her cheek, unnoticing of the ardor her eyes spin over your face. Unsure where to stare. You pretend the pressure on your thigh flies under the radar, too, and that your heart isn't in the middle of a love-logged swell, and your cheeks aren't tender from smirking at the feeling of it perched there. Love-struck death befalls, if else confessed, so you tease, tease, and tease to stomach your excitement. “Maybe, you're stalling on those pancakes because they actually gave you a stomachache. You feeling good?”

Her bitten lips part, and the next sensations you feel—are transcendental.

Wisping whispers so hot, and intoxicating on your skin, you fail to catch her hand coming up from your thigh to clasp your face, or that hers has shifted in front of yours. She breathes out, “Won't you shut up already?” through lips pulled into a smirk, and rushes to press it fondly against your mouth.

You wince—somewhere between an electrified gasp and a reaction of delight—into the kiss she stole, and it only beckons her to starve more for you. The heat of her whiskey breath pours into your mouth, and you drape your eyes closed. Scoring these seconds by, she spends them concentratedly rolling the skin together, others pushing and shying from the kiss, until she stills and bleeds out the pressure in a slow, wet smack. Hazily eyeing you for a response.

Once you feel her no more, your eyes blurrily creak open, and the corners of her lips at soft upturn greet you. Single creases at either side, the few freckles above them outspread.

Judgement renounces you, leaving you with pathetic pickings for reply. You aren't sure what she wants—or needs you to say. “Ellie?” daintily, a mumble flows onto her lips, and is far from a frail sound of concern. Intrigue encapsulates you.

What does this mean?

You think you know, but self-reason has always proven itself to be naive and too eager to trust.

By cruel emotion, she misunderstands you. “Sorry,” she pants out breathlessly, blowing the shape of it into your cleft lips and hovering right upon. Her fingers gouge the fabric clothing your chest, mangling it into her fist—an attempting grasp. This proximity is all she could ever dream of. “Is this okay?” Yet, dreams always sever at the apotheosis. So when she comes in for the second kiss, she wants no more for dreaming; the reality she yawns with hunger into, is insurmountable.

A dewdrop of something cold dribbles between you. Tears.

In turn, you misunderstand her. Using your own stubbornness to create an enigma. To think, that out of the blue, all of this would transpire? After endless wishes unanswered? You doubt it.

You love her, but you refuse the reality of it happening upon you.

Separating from the plush, licked skin of her lips fleetingly, you speak. “Is this you being drunk?” Only to be drawn back in without her processing your words right away, and then drawn back out. Intricate intimacy.

“Please,” Ellie begs, “Answer me, before I feel like an asshole again,” and chuckles sobbingly before her teeth feel rapaciously empty, and cannot tolerate it any longer. Instinct, and teeth nip your bottom, vulnerable lip.

Neither of you could be totally drunk, having only drank a modest portion.

So this is raw.

Thinly pulled, she slowly stretches it across the air between, and watches it spring back beneath eyelids sunken low. The action entails nothing else for her to feed satisfaction from, already panting right in your mouth in search of more as soon as your tongue descries the answer. “More than okay,” you heave in a passioned breath along that all-consuming, deprived mouth. Your hand squeezes her fist confirmingly.

It quenches her lust to know, a hot-blooded, moaned and voiceless curse snapping into your mouth. “I fuckin' love you.” Her rage softens in meeker kisses, peppering them up to the corners of your lips until she pauses, and pulls herself away. Her eyes turn troubled and adrenaline-rushed. Stains of tears shimmer beneath, along new ones that begin to plunge, and for the first time ever, you know they're yours. But then the flesh between frowns, the mood shifting, and she croaks, “Am I.. an asshole?”

It breaks you to hear that.

You glare, and stammer, “W-What? You aren't.” Hooking dearly onto her wrist when her hand glides up to rest against your cheek. “Why?”

“Cause I sprung this on you, 'nd I don't wanna force you to..” Ellie cranks to a halt, mouth screwing shut like her thoughts were too much to bear hearing aloud. “Fuck,” she quietly spews, cowering her face near your neck.

“Said it was okay,” you coo, clarifyingly coo, raking your fingertips up and through the tied loops of her hair. “The only asshole thing you'd ever done was not let me come with you.”

“I know.” Her eyes search for uncomplicated plains. The sheets, her lap, your neck. A kiss is planted as she tips her head, the gust thereafter a warm reminder of her sorries.

“Thought you were going to die.” You awoken in violent patterns, cold nights restless in bed, tossing and turning. Waking and falling into daydreams of how Jackson would feel missing a cardinal component. A girl to rave against dying lights. Thorns scale your throat at the thought. “You're reckless, y'know?” you mean it as a gentle insult, chuckling as it leaves your lips, and sealing it into her scarred palm. Kissing reckless consequences.

Her lips loiter on the pulse of your throat. They drag, and they drag.. sloppily limping over your jaw as she makes her way to observe you in her palm, mumbling low, and gravelly, “How many times am I gonna have to say it?” Ellie deems it redundant to tell you that she knows again, resorting to her own little gentle insult, “Such a fuckin' sap.”

“Says you.”

Her hand is comfortingly warm; you aren't fain to break away. But her fingers are curious, thumb nearly making it into your mouth before she second-guesses herself, easing it at the verge of your lips instead.

A longing moment of Ellie staring at the way her thumb looks—a decoration to your mouth—passes, and she responds, “Still alive, aren't I?” to that loose thread of a plea you forgot you even said. It calls you right over, bidding you to look into her eyes again as space finds itself thinning again, her scratchy, band-aided nose caressing yours. “Dumbass.”

She chuckles into your mouth as you chuckle into hers, cutting yourself off with a kiss that ebbs, and flows. Suckles, and smacks, snaking her tongue in for a change. That sweet, sweet wheat. Saccharinity you can't explore anywhere else other than the outline of her mouth. And you—of grunted volitions in her chest—take exploration further, replacing the grasp of her shoulder with the coursing of fabric, sliding under the hem of her shirt and palming the skin there.

You feel her skin breathe, her belly breathe into your hand, and a content wrinkle pinch between her brows. Her skin, is as soft as nothingness.

“You're a dumbass.”

Air clings to your cheek as her hand reaches around you, pressing fingerprints into the base of your head as to prop you for her delightments. Ellie is no amateur, enjoying you as if she knew you were hers without explicit pledge.

“Sure, babe,” she scoffingly counters, and pulls her tongue out of you, lips messiy shining. She scouts you out; lays eyes on your expression with undertones of satisfaction and presses an appetent bite right back into your damp skin, grunting into the filthy kiss.

Your mind is one-pathed right now; in the most maddened form, you crave the story further down her throat. In that warm space, is air thinned and balmy with the scent of alcohol and syrup. In those whimpers, is the sincere confession she held tight in throatly gloaming, all those intimate times before. In all of your yearnings, your lips never parted for more.  

Two holes that want to consume each other.

Weeping, wailing, tormenting in an empty forever.

“Fuck you, Ellie,” you cathartically sob into the humid cavern of her, a hint of wanton—and other repressed things, taking form. That hand under her shirt wanders from her navel and tweaks the button of her jeans, pressing your body against all of her like it hurt to be inside your own, singular body. Overcame by a need you could not chew out.

Ellie cuts the kiss, quick to soothe the movement with her hand pressing down and collecting yours. “Hey, hey, too fast,” she laughs, distancing herself and giving you those eyes that could see you were overstrung, hectic to go somewhere you aren't prepared for.

She loves you, but that means appreciating you enough to wait until time is perfect.

Her head cocks, “Let's take shit slow, huh?” fingers weaving into the pliant gaps of yours and pulling your fist dear to her chin, kissing it.

You speak over the repeated sounds of her smooches, “Yeah, sorry,” cringing slightly at how fucking cheesy the scene became. But, when is Ellie not? Wonder clasps you now; intent to know what this makes out of the two of you, having held your feelings for forever. “Well, what does all this mean, then?”

“It means..” Ellie slants her body even more, stealing your wrist along with her. Planning something, no doubt. “You and me, breakfast tomorrow at ten, Tipsy Bison?” Her mouth stuck to the side of your hand like syrup, so firm in not letting you go.

It makes your ears simmer hearing her shamelessly set up a date, of all things she could have said. God. You errantly laugh, totally not giddy when her mouth starts sprinkling up your arm at an alarming pace. “Sounds more than good—hey! You slow down!” 

Happy birthday, asshole.

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[see-arcane]

Something I’ve been chewing on for this go-around of Dracula Season is the fact that, for all that I am absolutely 110% on board with the whole ‘Dracula wants Jonathan for himself, calls dibs, wants first taste, wants to keep him as part of the castle permanently, I too can love~ et cetera’ deal, I can admit now that I’ve been overlooking one very key part of the whole Bluebeard wifery setup.

And that’s the unavoidable fact that Dracula fully intends to leave Jonathan Harker to be drunk and collected by the Weird Sisters.

Now there’s all manner of guesswork to make about what exactly these three’s relationship to Dracula really is. A personal harem is usually the go-to, and what I usually land on as explanation, considering how things will play out in the future regarding his usual choice of vampiric victim. But others have suggested familial connections, going by Jonathan noting a couple similar traits between the two brunettes, ala facial features, hair, the same red eyes and so on, leaving Blondie as a potential wife the Count turned along with their daughters. Or hell, maybe they’re all actual sisters. We never get to know.

All we know is that they accuse Dracula of ‘Never loving,’ while Dracula stares meaningfully at Jonathan, insisting otherwise. And claims that the trio themselves know it is so from the past. Whatever past that is.

To that end, the Weird Sisters matter to Dracula. Enough to keep them fed, enough to not even put up a full villain monologue at them when they go against his orders to try and snatch Jonathan out from under him, followed by laughing in his face. Beyond his far-too-intimate interactions and abuses with Jonathan, this is the closest we get to seeing Dracula trying to be close with and/or properly*** interacting with someone. An exchange that ends not only with handing over the poor stolen baby in the sack, but outright promising Jonathan to the Sisters once Dracula is finished with him.

And that’s sticking with me this year. Because for all that I’ve joked and memed about it in the past, it never really whacked me over the head with the import and terror that comes with Jonathan’s opening line in this entry.

God preserve my sanity, for to this I am reduced.

Reduced. That’s the key word here.

Even if he doesn’t know all the rules, he knows now that he is no longer just a temporary prisoner. Not even a mere murder victim waiting out the clock. No. He has been reduced to a living decanter. A possession there to be nursed from and used and given as a gift from Dracula to his companions. Like a toy or a new pet.

At the risk of slight spoilers (avert your eyes first-time Dracula Dailiers!), two important lines are yet to come during Jonathan’s stay in Vampire Hell. One from Dracula:

But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.

(Yes, he does think he’s very funny. Prick.)

And another from Jonathan:

At its foot a man may sleep—as a man.

Two vital beats.

The first, because it is a winking confirmation to all that Jonathan has feared. Namely, that Dracula and the Weird Sisters mean to never let him leave the castle again, alive, dead, or otherwise.

The second, because it shows that for all Jonathan is not aware of, he does rightly suspect that there is more expected of him than being a mere meal to have and discard. He knows he is not due for a fleeting pain and escape, even via death. Because Dracula wants to ‘love’ him. To keep him.

And Dracula will do so because he keeps the Weird Sisters, and they will keep him. A parting gift from their loving lord of the castle. The conqueror’s playbook in miniature.

I turned you. You turn him. I have you all.

This, buried under the veneer of:

See girls? I care! Here, a fine new plaything to keep you company. Housebroken already.

(To this I am reduced. To this I am reduced. To this I am reduced.)

There’s time right now. However much time Jonathan can win by playing a good guest. But if he doesn’t get out by the time Dracula is done with him? He lives the rest of his human life as a wine bottle and then all of eternity after that as joint undead property.

Better hope your acting skills are up to the task, Mr. Harker.

[the-aisei-cousins]

Event: Camping Trip

(Tw: mention and talks of Pedophilia, R@pe, child abuse, and cannibalism.(also sorry that I forgot to add this. I thought I did when I wrote this.))

You had received an email from Hope's Peak Academy

'You were invited to help Ms. Dai to take Class 82 onto a 2 week long camping trip starting tomorrow! Class 82 will be thankful for your participation.

We are not responsible for any minor damage, major injuries, any human beings being eaten, and/or deaths that Class 82 may cause.'

You decided to join. Probably your better judgment but to join, you chose none the less. The next day, you went to Hope's Peak Academy to see a group of 7 teens and one little robot girl. All had on a white shirt with brown shorts on.

One was a dark skinned girl with two IDs. One was a Substitute Teacher ID and the other a Student ID for the same school. She was in front and facing the rest of the students.

There was a boy with black hair and brown eyes. He had a bunch of scars on his body, some old, some new, some healed, some still fresh.

The robot girl was to his left. She seems to be design to look around 8 years old, but she seems to be an old model. The body was rusty in some areas and wore down by time.

To her left was a boy with an red jacket on. He had the hood over his head and sunglasses covering his face. His hands were in his pocket.

To his left was a young lady with long light reddish pink hair, dilated pupils, and a slightly jagged tooth. She was the tallest in her class.

To her left was Irofuka Nijiue. It was weird to see him not in a butler uniform. He was stilling wearing his red gloves and his hair was pulled into a short, low ponytail.

To his left was Yolei, wearing a light turtleneck sweater underneath the shirt. The also had leggings and a bag on. She was leaning towards Irofuka.

And finally, Yoshino, who had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing stockings under her shorts. She also had a small backpack on.

Yù: "Okay, let's go over the rules, one more time. No killing people, selling illegal substances or items, and no eating people. Alive or Dead. We will still be doing theapry sessions while camping. Don't wonder to far, especially at night. We have to introduce ourselves to our guests, even if we already met them. That means, telling them your actual names and Ultimate Talents, alright?"

"Yes Ma'am."

Yù: "Thank you Yoshino."

Do you say anything?

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[petew21-blog]

Sexy revenge

I died serving my country as a mercenary all my life since I was left the school. Some might say that I did it only for money and they would be right. I did. It pass good. But I was freaking good at my job. I was a pro. And that's why they always called me back. Why I asked for more and more money and the government always provided. Cause they knew I would succeed.

But once, I wasn't the one picking my team. I always do background checks on them. But this one time I was assigned soldiers I knew but wasn't comfortable working with. Especially this one guy who would kill himself just cause his captain said so. The most loyal one I knew. I knew he despised me for the mercenary job. He did it for country, I did it for money. A loyal dog he was, I called him Rex just to mess with him. He clearly didn't like it. And to be honest, I really don't remember his name.

We were on a mission, the goal was clear. Secure the target, eliminate and get enough evidence and leave immediately.

It went smoothly. But as we found the guy, bombs around. Our squad was separated and I was left with Rex alone. We decided to find the evidence and leave. We were ambushed by a group of our enemies. Thanks to me, we managed to eliminate them all, including the target. But our team was still under fire from the roof. We sneaked up there. Rex was covering me and I eliminated the guy and saved my squad. And suddenly a shot went through my chest. I turned around painfully, just to see Rex holding our enemies weapon after firing.

"Nothing perosnal, orders are orders. You were a pain in the ass of our government. Always wanting more money, making your own rules. They know you're good, but so am I. This way, I'll get medals for saving our guys up here. While you will die here. That's where money gets you." and then he shot me in the head

And that's the last thing I remember. My body was transported back to the States. I somehow felt my prevence around it. The more time passed the more I could see the world around me. I become a ghost. I knew exactly why I didn't pass on. My unfinished bussiness was the one who shot me in the head. But how was I suppose to finish the bussiness now since I was a ghost.

Time went by. My body rotted in the ground. I was just roaming the world without no goal. But one day, I saw a ceremonial in the TV on the street. Rex was recieving a medal just as he said. "That fucker". The anger fuelled me. Revenge is the thing that let's me move on.

"I have to get to him somehow. But he is now protected. Hidden in the army. And I am still a ghost that only now knows how to make lights flicker and slightly move objects. Unless I scare him to death I won't get my revenge. I have to get a body."

The first person I tried on was a homeless person on the street. He was high on fentanyl. That made it easier for me cause he didn't fight. But staying in a body that's this high is really hard. I left his body and tried on some kid in a park and succeeded. Ok, next level. A teenager.

My luck was really great today. I picked one who was a pickpocket and was followed by a police officer. So much running after being dead and the possession made it hard for me to run from him. And I got caught. Whiel we were writing on the red light. Me, still in the teens body, I now focused myself on the police officer on the passengers seat. He was asleep, probably from his night shift, maybe that will make it easier for me.

I concentrated and then my soul just moved a bit to the front. Being accepted in the adult body. He did put up a fight even though He was sleep, but I won.

I opened my eyes. My 'colleague' was looking at me and just laughed. "Bad dreams?"

"What?" my deep voice left my throat. What a manly body I picked.

"You were sharing man. You dreamed of some chick atleast?"

"Haha, yeah that's right" I chuckled and then pretended to sleep again to not let him question me again.

I left the teen thief with my colleague and went to the lockers to change and end my shift

Taking off the uniform I found out that the police officer, Adrian Jackson, I now possesed, had bunch of tatoos, hairy chest, muscular body and satisfactory dick. Mine was better. But this one is young. Might be nice to enjoy the young fertility again

I went to the mirror to get a good look at myself

"Ooooooh, look at those GUNS!" I flexed to see what I was now working with.

"This body is really nice. If I get my revenge I could stay being you, Adrian."

Tapping into Adrians mind I found out what his adress was. And what any man, not only gay ones, would do in this situations? That's right. I went to explore my new body in the shower. Feeling the hot water running down was erotic itself. I missed having feelings.

As I was drying off my hairy dick that just shot cum on the shower wall, I knew there was something missing

I found the clothes in his closet that were slightly resembling the ones I used to wear. What was now reflecting at me in the mirror was a young, hot reflection of an adult man, very similar to me as when I was starting my mercenary career.

I took a very revealing photo for later. Don't worry, I have to give this body a nice ride. And FUCK how I wanna ride someone. Whoever it is. Man, woman, anyone.

My plans are about to proceed. I have a body I need to take revenge on Rex. Another step? Leaving Adrian's job as a cop. Becoming a mercenary again. Getting a haircut and get as close to REX as possible.

Surely he will be tempted to take down another mercenary that is just like me before.

Revenge is so sexy if you ask me

Story request from inbox: You can make a story about an old mercenary possessing a handsome young cop, and turning him into a new mercenary.

[hirschkuh-im-traum]

Bloodlust

the plot is: it's becoming problematic to stay in the hotel for a hungry vampire like you, but alastor knows how to help you

part 1, part 2

words ≈ 8k

warnings: smut, blood and gore, so much blood, mention of animal death, biting and licking of blood and just licking, bj, kinda intoxication, hallucinations, size difference (reader is a short vampire), grammar or spelling mistakes

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

“I think you better not ban her from eating,” Commented Angel, not taking away his eyes from the screen of his phone.

“Angel, her food is blood. She tortures and kills to get it. ” Vaggie tiredly massaged her temples, “It goes against the rules of the Hotel, you can't hurt anyone.”

“Then why is she even here?” He threw up the lowest section of his arms, looking up at Vaggie.

“Because she needed it!” Charlie interrupted.

The princess would always remember how she met you. You came to the hotel late at night, when Charlie couldn't fall asleep, trying to find the answers to the questions of redemption. You rushed into the hall red-handed. Blood was on your face, hands, clothes. It dripped from your mouth and claws, staining the carpet. Your eyes were wide with fear, and you came up to the frightened princess, grabbed her hands with yours covered in blood and pronounced, stuttering, “You… can change me?”

You had just gone down to hell then. You didn't understand your nature, didn't know why you were always thirsty, didn’t know why you had insomnia. And you wanted to change, wanted to become yourself again. That's why after your first murdering, that you didn't even remember clearly, you ran to the place from the commercial. The place that promised you the second chance.

That first murdering was gross. That she-demon looked so… appetising. And it was your third day in hell, your hunger grew with every minute but you couldn't find any food that your organism wouldn't reject. But seeing her blushing chubby cheeks, that little pulsing vein on her neck, you thought that she was made just for your sharp fangs.

Greedy pouncing on her, you sank your teeth in her throat, squeezed her arms in your clawed grip, and you drank, drank, drank…

The first meal was messy. The body under your feet was barely recognizable, you were covered in her blood, as during the process you wanted to drink dry her every artery and vein, so you simply tore her body apart.

Your own savagery frightened you.

But two months had passed and you got used to your new essence. Blood was delicious. It was your life, your fare, drug and desire. You found decades of ways of making someone's blood run faster, so it would more easily slip past your lips through your throat right into your belly. You knew how to make a bite a torture or a bliss. Knew what type of blood was most delicious and from what part of the body it was the hottest.

The threat of eviction from the Hotel hung over you, as Niffty had found a dead stray cat under the stairs (you decided never feed on animals again, their blood was simply bad and smelly), and Vaggie with Charlie were the witnesses of something more horrible.

You had a strict conversation with them, when the girls gave an ultimatum — you had to stop killing or you'd be turned out of the Hotel.

Blood was your food, and only hot fresh blood could kill your hunger, so those plastic bags filled with blood of donors that Charlie brought from hospital were useless for you. And it caused even more anger from her girlfriend. All your words remained unheard. Vaggie looked at you with uncovered disgust and hate, Charlie with sorry and… fear.

Then you locked yourself in your room. You wouldn't leave this hotel. Just in two months it became your home. And not only the building was dear to your heart, the sinners you had found here became the thing you didn't want to lose. The prospect of leaving them seemed more terrifying than drinking cold blood from the plastic bags.

They all sat in silence for a while. The fourth day since you locked up in your room was drawing to a close, the setting sun illuminated the living room with an orange-red glow. You didn't go out, didn't speak with anyone, didn't eat. And the residents began to hear the weird sounds from your dwelling, as if an animal was raving in its cage: scratching against the walls, growls and cries, the sound of breaking furniture. But this wild noise was sounding for just three days. Today there was only silence. And it terrified the residents even more.

“It's okay to eat meat here, right?”

“Angel, she's a vampire. All she eats is blood. Fresh blood.” Her voice trembled, as she recalled how she once pointed to the smudged lipstick on your lip, and you smiled predatorily at her, licked your lip and thanked her, your eyes flashing red. Vaggie tired of explaining to everyone why exactly your diet was so… complicated. And she shivered every time explaining it. It was disgusting. This nature was disgusting. You were disgusting.

The expression of aversion on Vaggie’s face couldn't stay unnoticed from a pair of bright red eyes. The man who said not a single word during the meeting opened his mouth. The sound of atmospherics cut through tension in the air as a knife when he said,

“Why judge the girl for her diet? It would be better to help her, don't you think?”

All eyes looked at him.

“What do you mean?” Asked Charlie. Her doleful expression slightly lightened up with a hope. She didn’t want to lose you or any other resident, but she also had to protect her people. So she would listen to any advice. Even from a cannibal. Perhaps, he could know how to best combat voracious appetite.

“I mean, my dear, the only way to satisfy her hunger is to give her what she craves.” A mysterious smile played on his lips.

Vaggie prepared her spear, “I won't let you-”

“There's absolutely no need for such measures, my dear,” He said, standing up and pushing away the spear with his forefinger, “No one will be hurt, I promise. At least not of their free will.”

“Then how are you going t-”

“And that's, dear Charlie, only my worries!” And with these words he vanished in his shadow.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Alastor materialised in the hall and headed for your room. He wanted you to hear him coming. It could whet your appetite: hearing someone's steps, heartbeat, breath. As a predator you had a good hearing, and he wanted you to feel a living being. Maybe it could make you suffer from hunger a little more.

When you came, Alastor expected your failure. He didn't believe in redemption, but if it could work after all, for everyone it was more possible than for you. A gluttonous bloodthirsty creature like you could never find its way to heaven. And how entertaining it was to watch how bit by bit you understood this yourself. And how much fun Alastor had, watching your attempts to kill secretly, to retain your chance of staying in the hotel. And how you failed every time. Indeed why couldn't a vampire hide a body after her meal? Must be too excited after her dine to worry about the consequences.

But Alastor loved you accepting your nature. He loved the sight of your sharp fangs when you smiled; loved when you sniffed with your little nose, smelling blood when he returned from another slaughter; loved when you looked at the residents like at your prey; loved when you kept your hungry gaze on him for a little too long.

Oh, how ravishing you looked when Alastor caught you in the act of eating with your lips blooded and your eyes glowing with yet not satisfied desire.

But his favourite memory was the day before your voluntary shutting. He remembered how he suddenly felt someone's eyes on him and looked up from his book. You shamelessly stared at him, as if you were going to pounce on him right there. Your forefinger was placed between your teeth, and you bit into your own flesh, peering at him with a glassy stare absolutely lost in your thoughts. The tip of your pink tongue lewdly stuck out and caressed the pad of your finger. Alastor stared back at you, but you didn't dare to take your eyes away from him, until your fang sank into your flesh, and a little red pearl slipped down your hand. Only then you came out of your trance and quickly left the room, leaving Alastor with a whetting appetite.

He smelled your blood then. It was heavenly. Just a single drop was enough to make his mind blur and his mouth salivate.

Now he was heading to your room to take more and to give more. Oh, how perfectly starved you were now after several days of hunger. And he was ready to help you, but in exchange of course.

He stopped in front of your door, the dark wood with a pinned crucifixion on the surface. Everybody knew that any symbol of any religion couldn’t work on you, but you thought it'd be funny to hang a steel cross on the door of a vampire. After all, you were a little bit of a goth. Somehow the crucifixion got rusty where the lines crossed each other perpendicularly. With sharp tips of his claws Alastor touched the cross, and it slipped, now hanging upside down. Alastor smirked and knocked slowly at the door, though he didn't have to be invited to enter.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You heard the steps coming closer and recognized them immediately by the time between each step, by their loudness, just by their clatter. The loud clops of Alastor’s heels sounded clear through the empty corridor, and the sound came closer. Then you heard his breath, slow and calm. Alastor stopped in front of your door, and his heartbeat echoed in your head, making your own pulse imitate his.

You ran to the door, although it was already locked. Three knocks on your door, cautious but demanding.

“Get out!” You could almost feel the heat of his body even through the door, his pulse became louder and louder in your head, driving you crazy. The feeling of hunger increased.

“That's me, darling,” You heard a tender voice from the other side.

“I know, go away! I can hurt you, Alastor,” Last words you pronounced quietly they were barely heard on the side of the door. But Alastor had as good hearing as you.

“Wouldn't that be lovely, dear?” His voice was low, and the words were imbued with something dark. You swallowed hard when you recognized hunger and anticipation in his tone. “Hurt me to take you pleasure?” Next moment you heard a dark chuckle behind your back and turned around, “I'm here to help you, dear.”

Your bedroom was in semi-darkness, for no lamp or candle were lit up, and the windows were curtained though not completely, so the only light coming to your dwelling was the scarlet light of hell pouring through the window right on your bed. But you and Alastor, had eyes made for hunting, and you saw each other perfectly in the dimly lit room.

Your skin was paler than usual and your lips seemed dry. Your almost insane eyes weakly shone with red when you looked at Alastor unbuttoning his coat.

“Wha-? What are you doing?”

Without taking his eyes from you, Alastor took off his coat and headed for your bed, unbuttoning the left cuff of his shirt.

“Preparing dinner for you,” He sat on the edge of your bed, one sleeve rolled up, showing his scarred skin.

His face was pale grey, but his hands were coloured in black right to his elbows, where it slowly changed into the greyish again. Thin and thick lines of white crossed his forearm mostly on the inner side, making you wonder whether he was the cause of them or the countless battles he took part in. 

You didn't notice how you creeped and sat nearby him. Alastor outstretched his forearm, softly smiling at you and lightening the dark with dim yellow. You almost wished your fangs could radiate the light like this. Where the black of his skin changed into the grey you saw a thin pulsing vein. Alastor saw your dark eyes lightened up brighter, and his own mouth watered with anticipation. Slowly, very slowly you lowered your head. You took a deep breath in, inhaling his scent and brushing your nose against his skin. But instead of sinking your fangs into his skin immediately you pressed your lips to this vein in a light kiss. You looked up at him, watching his emotions. He frowned, his crimson eyes flashed suddenly. You lowered your gaze and closed your eyes, preparing to taste him.

When your thin fangs sank into the flesh, Alastor gave a sigh. He didn't feel pain, just a quick prick and then a wave of pleasure, as you let your venom slip down your fangs into his vein. It took away the pain and affected your victims like a drug, making them want to give you more of them.

You kept your teeth inside of him for a few seconds, slightly rocking your head to make the holes from your bite wider. You slightly raised your head, but before Alastor could take his arm away, you pressed your mouth against the wound and began to suck. Your one hand grabbed his wrist, while the other one grabbed his shoulder.

You pressed your lips against the wound, sucking and swallowing his hot blood. It was a tad bitter and visсit, but still the taste was beyond all of your expectations, making you slightly moan against his skin.

When the first drops of blood splashed onto your tongue, you thought you would lose control, though these were the first drops of blood for the first time in several days and the most delicious you’ve ever tasted. You grabbed onto his arm, trying to keep yourself from biting deeper into his veins. You drank blood greedily, and despite its thickness it flowed into your throat easily. You held it in your mouth, basked your tongue in it, enjoying the unique taste astringent like alcohol. Venous blood is always more bitter than arterial one, but his blood had some other tint. This taste drove you crazy. Each drip of him had to be yours.

Alastor watched you closing to him, heard you softly moaning with pleasure, as if you were trying a delicious dish. To stay focused on your beautiful hair falling in heavy waves like curtains became struggling, as his thoughts became fuzzy. He felt his hand go numb, your lips pressed against his skin tighter and tighter.

A clawed hand harshly grabbed you by your hair and pulled back. A dark liquid dropped from your fangs on his hand and the bed, as Alastor tugged you back. Your teeth tore the tender skin of his forearm, and dark red drops stained the sheets. You swallowed the blood in your mouth, still being seized in Alastor's grip. Your eyes met Alastor’s and you gave him your sweetest smile. Your poison didn't work on him so easily. Of course, he was too powerful overlord for becoming a vampire's dish just after one drop of toxin.

His blood glistened on your white fangs, evoking strange envy in him. You had a taste of him, slaked your thirst even just a little, and he wanted the same. But he felt a tad dizzy and suspected that your fangs could produce something venomous that you instilled by drops in his vein. Naughty girl, how could you poison him? And you thought he wouldn't notice? How naive of you.

He grabbed your jaw roughly, when you tried to move closer to his forearm, “Ah ah ah. Not all at once, sweetheart,” He leaned to you, still holding your hair, “A bite for a bite,” He whispered against your wet lips and threw you on the mattress.

Shadowy tentacles squeezed your hands and held them on the sides of your head. Alastor leaned over you, pressing his weight against you, taking away any chance for you to make any move. He licked his lips, staring at your bare neck. Luckily for him, today you wore a strapless short black dress. He leaned so slowly to you, saying in low, “Let me just have a taste…”, and his long tongue slowly glided over your collarbone. It was hot, but the wet trails it left made you understand how cold the air around you was. His tongue went up your neck, then under your jaw and came back to where it started its trip.

Suddenly you felt sharp pain, as Alastor buried his sharp teeth in the curve between your neck and shoulder. You whined and arched your back, but he pinned you to the mattress, gripping you by your shoulders. His teeth were merciless compared to the fangs of a vampire. Your fangs were thin as needles, they sank into your victim easily, gently parting their flesh. Caressing the hands, back or temples of your victims, you made them forget about the pain, plus your intoxicating saliva. They surrendered to death with pleasure.

Alastor was rough. His bite gave you nothing but pain, and tears formed in your eyes. You wriggled under him, but he pressed you firmer against the bed. Harshly his teeth left you, and something wet and smooth touched your skin.

Alastor licked your sweet blood and salty sweat like an animal treating a wound of its mate. His tongue left bloody traces on the unwounded parts of your skin, and he licked them clean too. Every touch of his wet muscle brought you shiver. You tilted your head, giving Alastor more place to bite and lick, and rewarding yourself with his growl against your neck, “Good. Very good.” He wasn’t wrong. Your blood was the most delectable thing that’d touched his tongue. Sweet at first lick and bitter in aftertaste like dark chocolate.

The tip of his tongue went up your carotid, and he closed his eyes, feeling your pulse. You held your breath. If he wanted to, he could end your sinful afterlife right this moment, he could take his demon form and consume you with just one bite.

Your flesh is stuck in his teeth, your blood trickles down from the corner of his mouth, he licks his fingertips soaked with your juices, his eyes tracing all over your destroyed body in a search of untouched place…

The sinful delusion caused heat between your legs. Damn, could you be aroused in one step (bite) from death? Well... Why not? That was what you made your victims feel like, sucking their last drops of blood, as you poisoned them. No wonder the man whose taste you dreamt of since the day you met roused such feelings in you.

Alastor raised his head, making you sigh in relief. He licked away your tears, placing gentle pecks in the corner of your eyes.

Alastor straightened himself when the last drop of blood was licked away and you stopped bleeding. You were slightly dizzy. He drank much more blood than you did, and you were angry with this. You still were hungry and weak, and he made you even weaker. Alastor held you by your wrists, you hadn’t noticed when his tentacles disappeared. He looked down at you, admiring the marks he left on you. The sight of your own blood dripping down his chin, falling on your tights, made your heartbeat go faster.

With a seductive smile Alastor leaned over you again and loosened his bowtie with one hand. He undone several buttons of his shirt just enough to expose his neck and thin collarbone. His scent hit your nose, watering your mouth, you could see how his carotid artery pulsed in a rhythm that accompanied your own heartbeat. Your fangs grew bigger when he whispered, “How thirsty, how impatient you are, darling. You're even drooling,” With a dark chuckle he let his two fingers slide into your mouth, and you gasped in surprise. He cut his digits against your lower incisors, and you greedily licked the little drops from your teeth and captured his fingers with your lips. The tip of your tongue played with his fingertips, and you didn't mind when your tongue bled from the contact with his claws. You were so hungry and felt fuzzily, so you could accept a little act of self-cannibalism. 

Your fangs carved his fingers up again, and with a pop his fingers left your oral, making you frown displeased. Alastor stuck out his tongue, and you finally saw that inhumanly long red muscle, that turned you weaker than you even were. He licked his fingers red with yours and his blood, not taking his eyes from you. Oh, you wished you could taste this cocktail too. Though you poisoned Alastor, you felt like it was he who infected you.

“Alastor… need it.. Please…” Your voice was weak, the hunger teased with those few drops of his and your blood drove you insane, and you fought with your desire to assault him.

“I know, darling, I know.” He didn't move, still sitting atop and grinning down at you. Reckless girl. He came to you to help, voluntarily, but instead of taking what he gave you gladly and patiently, you drugged him with your venom like one of your prey. No, he wouldn't let you take it anymore. At least, not so easily.

“Alastor…” You pleaded, but he just slowly shook his head. The red light pouring down from the window illuminated his silhouette like an ominous halo. “Mm-mm. Darling, you're ungrateful. I was kind to you, and how did you treat me?” His claw slowly traced down from your chest to your belly, “With poison?” He felt how your venom ran through his veins. You ran through his vein, arousing foreign feeling in him. He felt like his mind was out from his shelf, hovering somewhere above, felt how his skin got warmer and his pulse became faster. How he hated you for infecting his mind, making him less conscious. And what was worse… Your bloody venom affected not only his mind but his body too. At least, he hoped it was because of the venom.

He could tear you apart right in your bed, drink all of your sweet blood, eat your tender meat up, and he knew some could even thank him for this. But watching you shifting your hips, rubbing your thighs against each other, he thought there would be no fun in a simple murdering of you. The sigh of your wet eyes looked so pleading and your weak voice made him think that he was not the only one under the spell. Could it be possible? Perhaps, the little of his blood made you so anticipating. This thought brought a wide predatory smile on his face. No, he wouldn’t end you, he’d rather make you face the consequences in a way suitable for a greedy little thing like you.

Your doe eyes filled with fear and then regret, “I-I'm sorry, Alastor... Sorry, I won't drug you again, I promise…” Your next mumbling confirmed his decision, “F-feed me… Alastor, please… feed me, I’ll be good…” Your plea was sweet and pitiful. But not enough.

Alastor leaned closer, ruby eyes half-lidded, lightening your face with red, “You can do better than that.”

“I-I beg you, Alastor… I need… you..?” He cocked a brow at you questioningly. Your throat was dry and you swallowed, “Only your blood is good, only you're so good, Alastor, I beg you,” Your eyes flashed and fangs grew bigger, but seeing how he leaned back from you, you bit your lower lip to blood, “Beg you, Alastor, let me have a little more of you.”

You were begging him? That was delicious indeed.

“See? That's not so hard to be a good vamp, dear.” You moaned with anticipation, your hands grabbing the edges of Alastor's shirt, not letting him go far from you. “Now now, dear, here's your treat.”

With the click of his fingers the candles near your bed lightened up, making the atmosphere in the room more gloomy but intimate. Weak flames shone in the eyes of you both, and you could see your own reflection in his widened pupils. Alastor’s face was two inches from yours, you slightly lifted your head just enough to brush your lips against his, and he captured your mouth.

The kiss was greedy, predatory, the kiss of two creatures wanting nothing more but to devour each other completely. His long tongue immediately went past your lips, going deeper than you expected, and brushing against your soft palate forward and back, making you moan in a mixture of fear and pleasure. Alastor showed plainly that he could eat you up right now. You bit into his lower lip, making him groan in your mouth, and causing a few savoury drops to fall into your oral. You held his face in your palms, and he held you by your neck with one hand and the one was on your crown.

Gaspingly you broke away from each other and stared at wonder. Alastor swallowed audibly, a thin stream of saliva mixed with blood trickled down his chin. You knew your mouth was in the same messy state, and you licked your lips still hot with his blood. Both of you smiled at the work made with your fangs and tongues.

Alastor leaned slowly, and the curve of his neck appeared just in front of your sharp teeth. He pronounced in law with a slightly trembling voice, “Ahh. Do it, dear. Now.”

But you didn't bite. His carotid artery pumped so near against your lips, you felt the heat of his body, his scent so strong and tempting. It was the smell of dirt and blood with a subtle pine scent.

You tilted your head away from the artery. You wouldn't bite here. It could be fatal.

Instead of biting you grazed his skin up with your fangs, avoiding all dangerous places and letting his blood spill without any harm for him. Alastor sighted when your soft tongue ran up against his throat. You did it slowlier than him, not spreading blood all over his skin, but licking clean, tilting your head up and down whilst your tongue caressed his skin.

“Mmm… Ah! Darling, it's tickling!” He said, when the tip of your tongue drew circles around the slit under his chin, collecting the red drops.

“Most people think we bite at the neck, but this bite is fatal,” You whispered against his skin. You slowly unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, and ran your fingers across his torso. The touch of your fingertips to his skin sent thrumming static from his chest that vibrated through your own body. “There's another lovely place to bite.”

You rolled over and changed the position, now you sat atop his pelvis, feeling how he swelled between his legs. You didn't take your eyes away from him, and he watched you going lower with your hands drawing circles around his chest, ribs, belly. You lay your palm on the middle of his chest and slightly left and felt his palpitation. It was beating like the bass drum, loud and hard. A melody you would choose to listen to forever. 

Tenderly you left a kiss against the place where his heart was beating, after the second kiss you felt his throb became uneven, and you looked up. Alastor looked at you with a strained smile, his eyebrow knitted and gaze was full of doubts. “Even without venom it won't hurt, I promise.” He still kept his eyes on you, when you slowly sank your fangs into his flesh, sending him a vision to relax in your grab.

You keep your fangs inside him for a while and slowly take them out with a deep sigh. Looking straight into his eyes, you come down slowly, tracing your fingertips along his body, and making him shift slightly under your touches. Alastor swallows, watching you undoing the belt and the buttons on his trousers. The rustle of cloth seems unrealistically loud. Your little palm releases his twitching cock, and he can’t help but tilt his head in admiration, seeing how small you seem now, when your fingers can barely close down around his organ. The dim red lights in the room barely illuminate your face, and it seems to Alastor some of the lights are dancing right in the air as fireflies. You bring your face closer to his cock and touch his tip dribbling with precum against your soft lips. Your eyes don’t leave his face, when you place tender kisses on the top of his member over and over again. Your cold fingers get warmer because of his own heat.

Alastor watches you pressing his cock to your soft cheek and tilting your head down, until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. He sighs, seeing your blush and feeling with his skin how your cold cheeks become warmer in shame. Then you lick upward with your tongue, causing a shiver down his spine, and when you come back to the tip, you wrap your tongue around his length, moving your head down. Your devilish tongue is long and strong enough to reach to the middle of his cock and to squeeze it, making Alastor hiss and claw the sheets, “Ahh.. Right. Take it, darling.”

Your flashing with lust eyes are still on him, when your thin fingers come to his balls, caressing them, while your opened mouth goes down along his organ. He wishes you'd put it already in your little mouth, but you always delay the moment, whetting his appetite.

You capture his balls one by one into your mouth and slightly suck, moaning. Alastor throws his head back, whispering your name, when you begin to stroke his cock in your palm. Your forefingers appear on his wet tip and draw circles around it, causing more white drops to dribble down. He aches, wanting to grab you by your hair and force you to take him whole already, but he only clutches tighter at the sheets.

The darkness seems to become denser as the hell's sun begins to hide behind the horizon, letting a pentagrammed moon take its place; the candles flash brighter, turning into blurred flares, as if he sees them through the fog. Two bright flames of your eyes turn out to be the only clear lights in the room, and he focuses his gaze on them. You softly moan and with a loud pop remove your mouth from his balls, bringing your face near your hand which holds his cock. The sight of you licking and biting your red glistening lips, as you watch how his dick moistens your fingers, makes his mind fuzzy. But the undoubted feeling of being touched, the realistic sigh of you and your hunger mixed with lust, chase away the thoughts that it was only a dream. You promised him not to use the venom again, and he believed you, because he hoped you were not so silly and reckless as to disobey him. And because he wanted you to take him. Maybe it was because of that venom, maybe not, but it was indubitable that he wanted you, and he wanted you to want him. So he would do anything to arouse your desire for him. He'd let you drink as much blood as you need, let you play with his body as you wish, let you suck his cock as you want it. Anything to satisfy your hunger.

And as you slowly bring your pretty mouth to his cock, as his tip lies on your tongue, as you embrace his length with your lips and go down so slowly, he closes his eyes in a bliss.

He feels the back of your throat and groans, his hand is on your crown and strokes your head, as you’re keeping to take him deeper. He throws his head back with a growl when you take him whole, and your nose’s buried in his hair again whilst his balls bump against your chin. You stay in this position without moving, and he can see only your crown and the pomegranate light pouring down from the windows on your back. Alastor begins to thrust slightly at the beginning, accelerating gradually, and you moan with his cock in your mouth. You begin to bob your head up and down his length, adjusting to his rhythm. Your tongue wraps around him, and your fingers caress the sensitive skin of his thighs.

“Ahhh, fuck!” The sound of static fills the room when he curses, as your fang accidentally touches his skin. He’s impatient, he wants you to taste different parts of him, to swallow not only his blood, so he shoves faster. And when he feels he’s coming closer, he pulls your head down, causing a whine from you, and doesn’t let you move. He makes several slow thrusts, his tip touches the deeper parts of your throat, and he hears another whimper from you, as you try to take the air through your nose and relax your throat. 

“Just a little more, dear, relax…”

With a final slow thrust he comes, and both of you moan: you, feeling a different intimate taste of him, and he, drowning in pleasure with a long-awaited release.

Both of you’ve satisfied your hunger.

Hot blood was pouring into your mouth as from a tap and you only managed to swallow. Alastor lay still under you, his breath was slowly and with every deep sight the crackling of static brushed your hearing. He didn't try to evade your bite, moreover he put his palm on your crown, pressing you closer and preventing you from taking your mouth away from him. Your hypnosis worked, it helped him to relax, to accept your desire as it was his and infected him with the same hunger. His fingers brushed your hair and scratched your scalp, he whispered “good” and called you “love”, when suddenly he became louder and more active. His hips moved in slow motions, bumping against your thighs. What was he dreaming through? You only knew your hypnosis could show something pleasant, so people you bite wouldn't fight against you. You guessed sometimes they could see something seductive, as their blood ran faster into your mouth, but you'd never seen such a reaction. Alastor was loud under your touches and sucks, and it seemed that the delusion you made him see, became more realistic in his mind. His curses and moans became louder, making you blush as you never thought that the radio demon could let such lewd noises escape his mouth. And when his blood ran faster through the two tiny holes you'd made, and you felt his hardness between your legs. You understood that the lecherous mirage came to its acme and would end soon.

These new sucks of blood were matchless, simply better than anything you'd tasted before. Just sprinkling on your tongue, this rich and bitter taste watered your mouth. Tasting his blood would become your new obsession. The heavy breath reaching your ears, blood you swallowed, his movements and mumble of nothings raised your feeling of euphoria, making the laughter escape your mouth.

You looked down at the hell's overlord moaning your name in the most obscene ways and thrusting his hips against your clothed core, and you felt you’d already become wet. His blood assuaged your hunger and thirst, but not your desire. Now a different type of hunger had assaulted you.

Alastor now lay still, with trembling eyelids and panting. The vision ended, and soon he’d open his eyes, realising that what he saw was a hallucination you’d sent. You couldn't let it happen, he couldn't know that you tricked him again.

You slipped down to his knees and undid his trousers, releasing his aching cock from the cloth. It appeared bigger than you thought, and you swallowed, when a scent reached your nostrils. The tint of his skin here was the same greyish colour as the most of his body, excepting the tip that had the deep black shade. Slick and smooth; only your middle finger could hardly touch your thumb when you wrapped your fingers around it, sliding your palm down and up. The hallucination had already made him so hard and ready, that you were afraid he'd come earlier than you brought him to your mouth. The sight of that thick vein pulsing under your fingertips couldn't escape from your gaze though you were full, so firstly you placed the tip of your tongue there.

Alastor opened his eyes and felt a caress below. Hadn’t it all ended?

He rose up on his elbows and looked down. Oh, you still were there, devouring him but now in a more innocent way, if such a word could be used in this situation. Your eyes were closed, and you left quick tender kisses all over his length; on his tip you slightly sucked in; going down, you stuck the edge of your tongue and licked his dick; descenting to the base of his cock you brushed your nose against his skin and breathed in his scent.

The scent drove you insane. It differed from what you inhaled around his neck before, this one was more savoury, and you couldn't help but take deeper breaths every time as you came down. But not only his scent. Placing kisses and licking his twitching cock, you appraised new taste. It didn't provoke your hunger, but made you feel heat between your thighs and hastened your heartbeat.

The black pulsing tip appeared between your plush lips again, and you felt a gaze on you. Looking up, you saw Alastor, eyeing at you. He covered his exposed fangs with his palm, but you saw through his fingers how long and crooked his smile was. Your heartbeat became faster, when you noticed how blood from the slit on his neck was still dribbling down his chest, belly and lower part of his abdomen, how this fluid red thread came closer to the organ now settled between your lips.

You let his cock slip past your soft lips, and you had to open your mouth wider to not hurt his sensitive organ with your sharp teeth. You moaned, sucking his cock and savouring the new taste. It was salty and musky, close to the smell swimming in the air you were breathing with now. The taste so unusual sent a quiver through your body and made you dizzy as if you were feverish.

The huge palm with long red claws cupped your cheek gently, and then it traced up to your crown. Alastor held his eyes on you, still covering his mouth, and now he bit into the knuckle of his thumb, fighting back a rude desire. His ears were pressed back to his scalp, hair slightly tousled, his grin was wicked and blood with saliva dripped down his fist. He seemed pleading and angry at the same time, and you would be a liar if you said you didn't like him like this.

The wax trickled down from the candles on the floor, whilst you licked up every salty drop of your tonight lover, the wind trembled the curtains and fanned your perspiring back, making your shiver in coolness of night, and every sound of trembling velvet drowned in the rustling static of Alastor’s hard breath. You bobbed your head up and down, up and down, and every slope was lower than previous. His warm palm caressed your cheek, sending a vibration through your body, then it slowly went upward, brushing your temple and forehead, until his long fingers buried in your hair to tug you up, so only the tip of his cock grazed your tongue and lips. 

You looked into each other's eyes. Your gazes pierced into your souls, facing only desire and greed. Two unsatisfied bloodlust creatures, yearning for something that was forbidden for both of you, and now found the way to satisfy your appetite.

You moaned with impatience against his dewy member, the want to lick him clear, to collect every drip of seed and blood and saliva that dribbled from his mouth now, was too strong, but he held you firmly, and you could only patiently wait for his command.

You wanted to plead “please”, but the moment when your lips touched his aching cock to pronounce the first letter of the word, he harshly pushed you down. As a muted whimper of you clanged in the dark bedroom, Alastor groaned, pressing you down to the base of his cock, as his seed flowed down your throat. You rolled your eyes back and moaned, letting the liquid glide down, subduing your desire.

“Ahh- ah! Ah, d-darling!” His palm slid to the nape of your neck, and you could finally make a move.

Alastor slightly started when you didn't let go of his member but went down once more again and again. Your eyes flashed in a different hue of bright pink, which he hadn't witnessed before, you were bobbing your head, sucking his semen and fondling his length with your small palm, which barely ringed round his member just like in his dream.

His dream?

You slipped his cock out of your mouth, a sticky white threat chained your lips and the tip of his organ. You caught it with your tongue and sent it into your pretty mouth. You kept your eyes on Alastor, licking your hand clean and sucking out what was under your claws, the prurient sound you made when you did this caused rose on his cheeks.

Your raspberry red tongue cleaned his length with several long slow licks and touched his abdomen. Slowly you began to crawl up with your opened mouth pressed against his skin. You felt him quivering under your lips as you went higher, wiping the remaining red liquid.

“Is this how you treat your every victim?” You heard soft static brushing your ears.

“No. Only you.” You whispered, glancing at him. Alastor finally seemed calm, you felt his muscles relaxed under your fingertips, he closed his lips in a soft smile, and looked at you from half closed eyes. Was it his release or a satisfied desire you didn’t know.

The air he evenly breathed out fanned your crown, when you put your head on his chest. You lay on him, bending your knees, so your legs embraced him by his sides, and you knew Alastor could feel with his bare skin what he had done with you even without touching you there. You wanted to continue and by the way Alastor's fingers drew lines around your skin, where the skirt of your dress rode up, you guessed he shared your need. But he was too exhausted. The venom, the hallucination, the orgasm, the blood he lost, all of this was too much for one night. And though your heart still palpitated too fast after all that sampled, you would give him rest. He gave you much more than you expected when he came to your bedroom.

The last candles burnt down, plunging you into the darkness. The light of the moon illuminated your bed, falling on you and Alastor. Several drops of blood were still present on his lips, you gave him a soft peck, and Alastor kissed you back weakly but tenderly.

“I won't leave this place," You whispered into his mouth.

“Of course not, darling. I won't let a sweet thing like you wander in hell all alone, and I won't let anything foul get into this lovely mouth of yours.”

You chuckled, burying your face in his chest. You were happy and grateful to know that finally someone didn't judge you but even helped you. But what else could you except from a demon like him? Why didn't you even try to ask him before? Perhaps, you were not sure he would let anyone take a piece of him into their stomach. It was too intimate.

But now...

You slightly lifted your head and asked with a mischievous smile, “Does that mean only you will feed me?”

“Why yes, my dear!" The words sounded cheerful and serious at the same time, "Since this night you can receive my blood only, and I will be the only one who'll receive yours. It's a deal, darling.”

“What? We didn't make a deal! We didn't even shake hands!”

“Sweetest,” He grabbed you by your chin, making you look straight into his eyes, “We drank each other's blood. That's more serious and intimate than shaking hands, don't you think?” His thumb slipped a red droplet into your mouth, and you nodded assent, chewing his digit, “I already have you inside of me, and you have me.”

You were bonded now. Alastor didn't offer you a deal, it wasn't necessary, he knew you both would come back to each other to satisfy another greedy desire. And you both were ready to give anything in return just for a single bite. No deal would have such power as the obsession that had taken hold of you.

You listened to his calm breath and heartbeat and thought. You sent him a hallucination, and this hallucination made him see… an interesting thing. And that thing developed into something more interesting. Did he really think this way of you? Did he really want not just your blood, but your body too? and would he like to have your soul? Oh, you were ready to give him everything if he asked. Blood, pain, soul, screams, body, love, hate. Even for free. What he gave you to taste was a worth price for your service to him.

And only the desirous part of you, the night, vampiric, ravening part of you, couldn't accept just an hour of pleasure. This part would not just take but give more to receive more in praise.

“If you want to know, the effect of the venom's over,” You said suddenly.

“Yes, I can feel it, dear,” He pronounced, gazing at you.

Why did you even say it? You wanted to be honest with him? But why? You'd never found it difficult to lie or to keep back, but now you felt uncomfortable, hiding the truth from the man in front of you. His look was sharp, and you knew Alastor wasn't the one who forgives liars (even if he himself wasn’t always frank). But not the consequences frightened you. You just didn't want to hide something from him. His red eyes and their rozy gleam hypnotised you, piercing into your soul. How could you lie, looking in these eyes?

“Darling, you better be veracious with me,” His grip on your hips tightened, and you gasped when his claws sank deeper into you soft skin. “Or do you want me to pull the truth out from you?” His razor-like teeth dangerously flashed in the darkness.

“Uh, no!” You nervously chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck before confessing him, “Well, when I bit you, you were very tensioned, and to help you to relax I… I made you see kind of a daydream, a vision.”

“A vision?” He tilted his head, smiling wider. Why did he look like he'd already known everything and just wanted to see you ashamed of your actions?

“Yes, a vision, but! I only made your mind see something you wanted to see, I couldn't influence your vision.” You added it, considering it was important to mention that you wern't responsible for the erotic scenes Alastor saw. But he wasn't impressed with your revelation.

“That is, you are not to blame for what I saw.”

You slowly nodded.

“Interesting.”

Suddenly the room was lit up by candlelight that appeared out of nowhere. The bedroom was illuminated brighter than before with black waxed candles, and now you could clearly see each other in the uneven orange glow.

Alastor lovingly tucked a lock of your hair by your ear, his thumb caressed your cheek. He brought your face closer to him, and you whispered as your voice failed you, “Don't you need a break..? You've lost so much blood-”

“What a nonsense, dear!” He purred into your ear, stroking your back. Shiver ran down your spine, when he pronounced, “The night has just begun!”

The sharp teeth sank into your neck.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

@totespferd i know you've been waiting for this <3

author's note: i'm still learning to write this genre, and i hope it was not so bad, as my brain tries to convince me, and i'm ready to take advices ^_^

also! i wrote it, listening to the soundtracks of "only lovers left alive" (adore this movie), and i wrote the smut part whilst listening to the "sexual hallucinations" by in this moment (i fucking love maria brink), so you can listen to it too, it's a good horny song and suits well to the fic ( ͡ _ ͡°)ﾉ♡♡

[rosemarydisaster]

This post inspired me to think about secret identity logistics and I think Cass being so cavalier with her secret identity would actually help. Like, it makes the rest of the family's secret identities better because Cassandra Cain is obviously Blackbat/Batgirl. By contrast they would look even more civilian and if someone is not going to realize their kid is a vigilante is Brucie Wayne.

"But wouldn't they connect the dots to the rest of the family?" Listen, If those were bats they'd simply get out of the kidnappings and hostage situations they get themselves into like Cassandra. The fact that they always need to be saved proves they're, indeed, civilians.

Also, I doubt the math would math unless you knew very specific internal things to connect each vigilante to their civilian identity. Brucie is, for starters, as civilian as can get and thanks to the Mandela effect everyone is convinced that he was caught on camera making out with Batman anyways. So that's a non-starter.

Dick Grayson is trying to be a regular person, so the public would know he exists and comes back to important things but he's mostly out of the public eye. Plus, he's a police officer, why would anyone assume he's in kahoots with his little sister that was adopted after he'd already left Gotham?? And when he came back to Gotham for a while to take care of things for his father, is not like there was a new vigilante. It was still batman and Robin (the Robin was new, but Dick Grayson is an adult so, not likely).

Then we get to the big one: Jason is legally dead. You can't assign him any vigilante because he's mmm super dead. I'm sure there's a true crime podcaster trying to argue that he was the second robin and died doing robin shit, that's why Batman and Bruce broke up. But even if it's compelling, it's also considered in really bad taste. Also, can't be tied to Cassandra because she arrived after his death.

Tim gets a similar reaction to Brucie in the sense that there's no way he is a vigilante. He's the immunocompromised Twink from Forbes "30 under 30". He's literally physically incapable of being a super hero due to both a lack of Muscles and a lack of time. That boy has to run an entire massive money making machine and, for all gothamites know, he may very well be asthmatic as well. Plus, he gets kidnapped like crazy. If he was a hero he would at least now how to avoid being put in those situations. They suspect he's covering for Cass though, since he's smart enough to realize his sister is freaking Batgirl.

This means that even if Cass is Batgirl they can't really trace Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin or Red hood back to the family (not to speak of Batwoman, Catwoman, Huntress, Batgirl a 1 and 2, Oracle or spoiler). So at this point why would you even try to connect the others? Clearly Cass is the exception, not the rule.

Like, sure, Duke did survive the Riddler ruling Gotham and if you put some effort, it wouldn't be impossible to tie him to the We Are Robin movement. But also ...is it because he's black? Is it because he's the only black person from Gotham you know of?? His sister is a vigilante, and he is black, so he must be the black vigilante of course (He would be the one making this comments in social media through his sock puppet accounts and the True Crime/conspiracy communities would be too scared to touch that one with a ten foot pole)

Damian is another one where I think Bruce would do what he can to protect him from the press (partially for his own good and partially because he's the opposite of media trained). Most of the info the tabloids would get is from people tangentially related to him. Like, sure, he does look a bit like the new robin, and his sister is Batgirl. But, unless you're one of the people claiming he's the lovechild of Bruce Wayne and Batman (test tube baby??? Batman trans???) it wouldn't make a lot of sense now, would it?

Like Cass is so fucking weird compared to the rest of her family's civilian identities it makes them look rock solid by comparison.

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:18」 — h.hyunjin

» stray kids menu | hyunjin menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ shinigami!Hyunjin × fem!Reader wc: 2.5k summary: As a god of death, Hyunjin spent most of his days in the underworld but after deciding to visit the human world, he finds himself drawn to a particular human and even conspires to drop his very own death note, hoping for her to pick it up. genres/themes/au: mild angst, light fluff, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, forbidden romance, themes of death, the afterlife, and gods; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: there isn't much to say other than that i changed the kinks for this because i couldn't make it fit with the direction the story was going in lol but i hope it still makes up for it. Thank you for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), restraints (f receiving), makeup sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (Hyunjin doesn’t need condoms as a god of death but you do if you don’t want diseases or pregnancy), use of pet names (angel, sweetheart, gorgeous, pretty, etc.), and that should be all! kinks: restraints + makeup sex dialogue prompt: ❛❛ I promise I’ll be gentle. ❜❜

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When you first picked up the innocuous notebook, you never expected much to come from it. When you read the rules listed inside, you thought it was a joke. That was until the figure appeared in your apartment the next night.

He was tall, slender, with red hair, clad in black clothing with large black wings.

He introduced himself as Hyunjin, telling you he was a god of death, otherwise known as a shinigami. You learned very quickly that the notebook you had picked up was actually his and it was as real as the world around you. He explained he had seen you from a distance and the only way for you to see or interact with him was by touching his notebook.

He had been bored with his life in the shinigami realm and came to the human world to perhaps cause a bit of chaos but when he’d seen you, all that went out the window and all he wanted was to talk to you and for you to see him.

There was a certain beauty to him, his pale, honeyed skin, his bright apple red hair that fell just past his jaw, strands framing his face no matter how many times he ran his fingers through them. Suffice it to say, he was gorgeous and you were glad it had been you he wanted to pick up the death note. 

You still had yet to use it but Hyunjin promised that as long as it remained in your possession, you didn’t need to use it for you to be able to see him. A friendship of sorts formed between the two of you as time went on and despite your reluctance to use the notebook, Hyunjin remained by your side.

You carried the notebook with you, disguised as a plain notebook to the untrained eye, and Hyunjin followed you around the city. You found yourself enjoying his company, taking him with you to the river when you needed fresh air or enjoying the security you felt in his presence. No one else could see him but you still felt safe with him around.

As time wore on, you grew closer and closer, sometimes staying up all night to talk to him while he ate apples. It was the one thing he liked about the human world other than you. The apples were delicious. You made sure to always keep a stockpile of them in your apartment and he was grateful for it.

You weren’t sure when the shift in your relationship happened, only that one night, you no longer saw him as just a friend but as something more. You knew he wouldn’t feel the same, given you were a mere mortal and he was a god of death, but your curiosity got the better of you and you made the mistake of opening your mouth to ask him about relationships.

He had answered your questions in the moment but the next morning you couldn’t find him anywhere. The notebook was still in your possession so you knew at some point he would be back but one day turned into two which turned into a week which then turned into a month and you wondered if he would ever come back.

It had been months since you’d seen a black feather, heard a whisper of Hyunjin. It seemed like he may never come back. As you stood at the sink, washing the dishes, you went over your last conversation with him once more, turning it over and over in your head.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You’d been laying on a section of grass at the park by the river, staring up at the stars – or lack thereof – while he laid beside you, also watching the sky. You could see planes fly overhead, distinguished by their blinking lights. Your fingers laced together on your stomach though you yearned to reach over and take his hand instead.

You had been harboring these feelings for some time. Hyunjin had become a constant in your life, something you could count on. Someone you could depend on to be there for you. Sure, his constant presence was due to the fact that you had possession of his notebook but you like to think that regardless of that, you had formed a close friendship with him.

You had started to grow fond of him and soon, you understood your feelings to be that of infatuation. Daresay it, of love.

You hadn’t said the word out loud in conjunction with Hyunjin before but you knew deep down that you were deeply, madly, and unchangeably in love with him. Whether or not he reciprocated those feelings was something you were hoping to find out that night.

Hyunjin’s eyes opened and he turned his head to look at you. Your question caught him off guard.

“Have I ever been in love?” he asked. You nodded, eyes shutting as you hummed in response. Hyunjin kept his eyes on you, studying the side of your face in the low light from the city.

Had he been in love? Had he ever experienced that feeling? Did he even know what love was?

He turned his face back towards the sky as he contemplated. ‘No,’ he thought. He was adamant. He’d never felt like that before. He’d never been in love. The draw he had towards you was not one of love but  of fascination. He found you captivating, alluring, intriguing. But did that mean he loved you?

“Of course not,” he finally scoffed, keeping his eyes on the inky black sky as another plane soared overhead, missing the way you turned your head to regard him with a look of pain in your eyes.

“Oh,” you said softly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Right,” you added with a nod.

“Of course not.”

You set aside the pot you had been mindlessly scrubbing for the last twenty minutes so you could move on, grabbing a handful of silverware to scrub at. You forced your mind to stay in the present, knowing that thinking about what was past would only serve to hurt you.

As you finished washing, rinsing down the sink, you heard a loud whoosh and a thud which shook the building. You shut off the water and glanced around, waiting to hear the sound of thunder or perhaps the sound of sirens but heard nothing.

You turned away from the sink, grabbing a towel to dry your hands when you froze, eyes wide as you stared across the living room to the glass windows that let you see onto your balcony.

There in the dark, backlit by the lights of the city, was a tall, lean figure, large black wings tucking away behind it. It was a familiar shape you’d grown accustomed to seeing in the morning when you woke up and at night before you fell asleep. It was the shape of someone you had spent the last few months wishing to see when you woke up in the mornings.

You felt your heart skip, breath catching as the corner of your eyes burned. ‘Hyunjin…’

You watched as the figure turned, wings now completely obscured, retracted into his body and the light from inside your apartment shone onto his face, illuminating his pale face and red hair. ‘Hyunjin’s back.’

You started to cross around the counter when the sliding glass door slid open and the familiar form of the shinigami stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind him as he kept his eyes on you. You froze under his gaze, wringing the towel in your hands as you stared at one another in wordless communication.

He looked the same and yet different at the same time. The usual playful smirk and crescent shape of his eyes was gone, replaced with a solemn look yet his eyes held a look of something else. Something reminiscent of yearning. Of longing.

Could it be that the whole time you were waiting for him to return, pining over your potentially lost love, he had been missing you. Missing your face, your voice, your smile. As he studied your features from across the room, the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

You choked back the urge to sob tears of joy at the simple gesture. Not until you knew the reason for his return and the reason for his leaving in the first place. There was so much you wanted to ask that you didn’t know where to begin so you didn’t. Instead, you continued to stare in silence at him.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice soothing a part of you that you didn’t know needed soothing.

“Hi,” you said breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as the two of you stared at one another, neither moving a muscle. Was this even real? Was it a dream? You weren’t sure, you couldn’t be sure.

Not until you could touch him at least.

You weren’t sure who moved first but in a flash, you had crossed the room to meet him in the middle, throwing your arms around his neck as he caught you in his arms, pulling you taut against him as you buried your face in his neck, a soft sob escaping past your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, holding you tighter. “I shouldn’t have run like that.” Your shoulders continued to shake with sobs as he gently stroked your hair. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear. “I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. I lied,” he continued, pulling back to take your face in his hands.

“What?” you asked breathlessly. “I lied,” he repeated. “I have been in love. I am in love.” His eyes searched yours as his thumbs traced over the curve of your cheeks. 

“I’m in love with you.”

You let out a soft gasp as you stared back at him. Instead of answering him with your words, you pulled him in, crashing your lips against his. He responded immediately, pulling your body against his as he kissed you back with as much passion as you poured into it. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled in between kisses as you pulled him through the apartment towards your bedroom. “I love you so much, angel.”

Once in the bedroom, you both wasted no time in undressing each other, clothes falling to the floor and soon, Hyunjin had you spread out under him, wrists bound together with one of his belts while his tongue ravaged your clit, licking and sucking as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

You combed your fingers through his red hair, tugging at it slightly to try and pull him off. “Hyunnie,” you whined as he held your thighs open, tongue sinking into your hole. “Hyunnie,” you tried again. “Need you. Need your cock.” He pulled back quickly, kissing a wet path up your stomach and chest until his lips met yours, tongue sliding into your mouth with a groan as he guided the head of his cock to your leaking entrance.

You moaned into the kiss as he sank into you, cock filling you and stretching your walls deliciously. “M’so sorry,” he murmured against your lips. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” You shook your head, lips brushing against his. “Don’ apologize,” you breathed as his hips stilled, cock buried in your cunt. “Just fuck me, please.”

Hyunjin captured your lips in a messy kiss, a trail of spit connecting your lips as he pulled back. “Not gonna fuck you,” he said softly, cock slipping out as he pulled back before thrusting into you slowly. “Gonna make love to you. You mean so much to me, angel. You deserve the world.”

A low moan escaped your lips as Hyunjin slowly sheathed his cock inside you, setting a slow but steady pace as he rocked into you. Each thrust was languid, rolling his hips against you as he filled your walls over and over. He angled his hips to hit the right spot while his groin added pressure to your clit.

Every roll of his hips had you seeing stars as he snapped against you a little faster and a little harder. “I love you,” you breathed out, reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into the warmth of your touch. “This isn’t supposed to happen,” he said suddenly, catching you off guard.

“M’not supposed to love you. S’against the rules.”

Your eyes started to burn at the corners but he kissed you deeply, passionately. “But I’ve decided I don’ care. I love you, Y/N. I can’t live without you. I don’ wanna,” he added, muttering the words against your lips. “I love you so fucking much. It hurts when I’m not with you.”

You pulled him into another lazy, sloppy kiss. “Then don’t go. Never leave me again.”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “Never,” he gasped as he snapped his hips harder against you. “Fuck I love you. Tell me you love me. Say it please, I need to hear it!” You moaned, back arching off the bed as his cock reached part of you no one else had ever reached.

“I love you, Hyunjin! I love you so much!”

He let out another groan, rutting faster as he chased his orgasm. “You close, sweetheart? You gonna cum with me?” You nodded fervently, hips matching his movements as you met his thrusts, your own orgasm approaching. With a final cry of his name, you came around him, walls clenching his cock as he stilled, buried deep inside you.

You felt his seed spill inside you, coating your walls as he moaned your name in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin. You held him tightly as you both came down from your respective highs, panting between slow, messy kisses, tongues tangling in a dance where neither were fighting for dominance.

Hyunjin let out a sigh, dropping his head against your chest as his breathing started to return to normal. He could hear your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m never leaving you again,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. You ran your fingers through his hair.

“Please don’t,” you replied just as softly. “I don’t think my heart could bear it.”

Hyunjin lifted his head, turning to place a kiss on your chest. “I promise,” he said softly as he scooted closer, bringing his face level with yours. You cupped his cheek, thumb tracing over his cheekbone. His eyes stared into yours, the lights above your headboard sparkling in his eyes like stars. 

“I will never leave you,” he continued. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” You nodded as you stared back at him. “Because I have the book,” you replied. He chuckled, shaking his head. “No,” he replied. “Because you have something more precious and powerful than that.” You tilted your head curiously. “What’s that?” you asked as his lips ghosted over yours, pressing a kiss.

“My heart.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[wholoveseggs]

Hey lovely, your latest story gave me an idea. How about Reader and Elijah have been together for a while, but he is the one to avoid sex. Every time he has been with a human, it overpowered them or hurt them. He can't keep Red Door Elijah in check, which is fine when he's with a supernatural being, but not when he's with a human. Reader knows his backstory but is determined to show him that their love is different.

Control

{I've officially run out of gifs I want to use, so I'm in my moodboard era now}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Plagued by nightmares of hurting you, Elijah avoids any form of intimacy, but you have had enough. You confront him about his rejection and Elijah finally learns how to let go and lose control.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23, love love love red door elijah and his dark side ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: smut, fluff, lots of angst, red door Elijah, trauma, nightmares, visions of death, blood, blood drinking, rough sex, aggressive flirting, dom!elijah, jealously, masquerade ball, elevator vandalism...

Elijah needed control the way a drowning man needed air. It was as if it was a basic function, like oxygen, like blood. He had always been that way, even before he was turned, but it got worse when he was forced to take lives for food and to stay alive. His nature demanded he take what he wanted, when he wanted, but he was afraid of that, so he clung to rules, to discipline.

But no matter what he did, he was still plagued with the same nightmare. You, his perfect love, dead in his arms. Your body limp and lifeless, your eyes open but vacant. And all because he couldn't control himself. Your blood stained his skin, his clothes, his heart.

You knew better than to sneak up on a sleeping vampire, but it wasn't just any vampire. It was your Elijah, your sweet, loving, gentle Elijah.

All you wanted to do was surprise him with some coffee. It was going to be a long day, there was a huge party being hosted by Marcel. All of the factions were gathering for a masquerade ball, the first of its kind in centuries. There were rumors of a peace treaty in the works, and the festivities were the opening salvo.

You were beyond excited, you never experienced this sort of thing, and you were so happy that Elijah would be by your side. You picked out a matching set of masks for the two of you. For him, a sleek, black one with dark feathers at the tips. For yourself, a delicate, lace one in a deep crimson.

When you were younger, you had dreams of wearing beautiful, elaborate gowns, and dancing the night away with a handsome man. You couldn't help but feel giddy thinking about tonight.

You set the coffees down on a nearby table. Elijah's room was dim, only a small shaft of light peeking out from behind the curtains. He was curled up in the center of his large bed, his hair was disheveled and his lips were parted. The sheet was pooled around his hips, revealing his chiseled chest and toned arms.

He was beautiful, and you very much wanted to explore every bit of him. But he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow himself to lose control. He had told you about his darkness, the red door, the place where he put all of the sins he couldn't live with.

When his control was frayed and his mind was weak, it would whisper to him, tempt him. Because there, in that space, he didn't have to feel guilt or pain. He was free. Free to do as he wished. He would be able to take you, claim you, love you the way his darker instincts screamed at him to.

You pulled off your sweater and boots, leaving you in just a mini dress and socks. You padded over to the bed and carefully slid under the covers, trying not to disturb him. You cuddled up next to him, your hand resting on his chest. You wished he would let you in, let you experience all of him, the good, the bad, the ugly. You loved him, and that meant loving everything about him.

Elijah had sensed your presence from the moment you entered his room, but he remained still, feigning sleep. His sweet little love, so utterly defenseless and vulnerable, alone in a vampire's bed. His fingers itched to touch you, to pull you into his embrace and never let you go. He could hear your heartbeat, steady and strong, could smell the sweet perfume you had dabbed behind your ears, and could feel the heat radiating off of your body. He was acutely aware of every aspect of you. It was hard not to give in to temptation, to pull you into his arms and kiss you until your lips were swollen and pink.

"Elijah," you said softly, in a sing-song voice. You brushed your fingers along his jaw, the stubble rough against your soft skin. He stirred slightly, pretending to wake.

"Hmm, good morning, love." He rasped, his voice heavy with sleep.

You kissed him softly, smiling into it. "Good morning. I brought us coffee."

He hummed, "That's perfect. Thank you, sweetheart."

"I can't wait for tonight." You sighed, tracing your fingers down his throat and along his collar bones.

Elijah was torn between letting his eyes flutter shut at the contact or watching your movements. You had him entranced.

"I can't either," he agreed. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there, I have no doubt."

You blushed at his compliment and kissed him again, your lips lingering against his. He groaned and rolled onto his side, bringing his hands up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones. He let himself give in just a little, let the control slip a fraction. You gasped into the kiss as his tongue swept along the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing him entry. You melted against him, your hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

His hands slid down your body, mapping every dip and curve, memorizing the feel of you. Your skin was like silk, your body supple and soft. You had a slight tremor, nervous, or maybe excited. He wasn't sure, but he loved how your breath hitched as he moved his hands lower and lower, until his palms were flat on your backside, his fingers flexing as he pulled you flush against him.

You hummed, a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. He drank it in, taking all of your little sounds and storing them in his memory. He rolled, pulling you with him so that you were under him. You moaned as he settled between your thighs, his weight a welcome comfort. He moved his mouth down, nipping at the skin of your throat and collarbone, careful not to let his fangs break the surface.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling gently. You had fantasized about being with him in this way for so long, dreamed about how his body would feel pressed against yours, how his hands would feel on your bare skin. You didn't know what caused this shift in him, this sudden willingness to be intimate, but you were glad for it.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, trying to tell him what you wanted. You were not a shy person, you wanted to experience what it was like to be with such a powerful creature, to feel his strength and passion.

Elijah groaned and rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel how much he desired you. His control was slipping, and he didn't care. You wanted him, and he would have you. He leaned back to look at your beautiful face, wanting to etch this moment in his memory for all eternity. You were a vision, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with want.

Suddenly everything started to warp, your flushed skin turned cold, your warm eyes grew distant, and your heart slowed to a stop. His breath caught as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of your mouth. He looked down at his hands and they were covered in your blood, the dark, rich liquid soaking the sheets and staining his skin.

"No, no, no, no, no." He chanted, trying to bring you back, willing the darkness to recede.

Your eyes were glassy, lifeless, bite marks all over your neck, your chest, your legs. You were covered in them, the evidence of his weakness, his inability to keep his desires in check.

Elijah threw himself from the bed, stumbling backwards. He clutched his head in his hands, a scream ripping from his throat. You were gone, dead, and it was his fault. He would never be able to look at your smiling face, never hear your soft laugh, or feel your lips on his again.

"Eli?" you said, stunned by his sudden departure. He was now across the room looking like a caged animal, his eyes wild and his hair a mess. You climbed out of the bed and slowly approached him. He looked like he was going to bolt, his muscles tense and his breath ragged.

"Are you alright?" you asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Don't!" he shouted, flinching away from your touch. "Don't touch me."

"Okay," you said, holding up your hands. "I won't."

He felt like he was losing his grip, the world was shifting around him, the ground threatening to give out beneath his feet. He felt like he was back there, back in that slaughterhouse that haunted him, the place that whispered his darkest desires, the place that taunted him with visions of what he truly was, no matter how much control he thought he had over it.

You reached out to him again, and he snapped. He grabbed your arm and pushed you against the wall, his eyes black and his fangs sharp. You gasped, but didn't struggle, trusting that he would never hurt you.

He released you at once, horrified by what he had done. He backed away, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He sank to his knees, his eyes wild and frantic.

"It's okay, Eli." You said, kneeling in front of him.

"You need to leave, please." He begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not going anywhere." You said firmly, reaching out to touch him again. He tensed, his breath hitching as you made contact.

"LEAVE," he roared, his eyes flashing. You jerked your hand back, surprised by his outburst.

Elijah regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, he watched you run out of the room and all he wanted was to chase after you, but his pride and fear kept him rooted in place. He couldn't let you be around him, look at what he did? If he couldn't control himself in a moment of passion, what would happen if he really let go?

Elijah stood in front of his mirror, adjusting and readjusting his tie. His hair was combed and his suit was tailored perfectly. But none of it felt right, the buttons on his shirt were too tight, the cufflinks too heavy, the material of his suit too coarse. He needed it all to go away.

He felt like a monster. A monster wearing a man's skin.

Elijah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could get through this night. He didn't know if you were coming to the party, and he couldn't decide if he wanted you there or not. He hated the idea of you being away from him, but he also couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him like this, a man unraveling, barely keeping himself together.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to smile, but the sight was a mockery. His lips were pulled taut, and his teeth looked like daggers. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to tear down the entire city and start anew.

"Elijah! we are going to be late!" He heard Rebekah yell from the courtyard below.

"Be right there," he called, his voice hoarse. He gave himself one last look in the mirror before he walked out of the room and descended the stairs. He could see his siblings all gathered, dressed impeccably with their dates on their arms.

Klaus was talking with Camille, they were dressed in matching shades of blue. Freya and Keelin were standing close together, their hands entwined. Kol was whispering something in Davina's ear, making her laugh. Rebekah was on the phone with Marcel, telling him she was on her way. And Hayley was chatting with Jackson, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"There you are." Freya said, noticing his presence. "Where is y/n? She was so excited about tonight."

The sound of your name made his chest ache, he was about to explain, or rather, come up with a plausible excuse when he heard a voice from behind him.

"I'm right here."

He turned around to see you walking down the stairs, dressed in an ornate black gown, matching his suit, your mask hanging in your hand.

"Y/n," he said, stunned by how beautiful you were.

You smiled slightly and approached him, your heels clicking on the stones. He took your hand, inspecting your arm. It was bruised and there were small scratches from where he had dug his nails into your skin. He brushed his fingers over the marks, regret and guilt filling him.

"It's fine," you said, squeezing his hand.

"No, it's not."

You leaned in and kissed him softly, the feeling of your lips on his caused him to relax a little. He kissed you back, the contact grounding him, reminding him why he needed to stay in control, for you.

"Let's go," Klaus said, gesturing for everyone to follow him out the door.

You took your mask and placed it on, the crimson filigree complimenting the dark silk of your gown. Elijah put on his mask, the bold design making his dark eyes stand out.

The group arrived at Marcel's penthouse, finding the place already crowded. People were drinking, dancing, and mingling. It was a lively atmosphere, filled with music and laughter.

"It's nice," you commented, holding Elijah's hand.

"It is," he agreed, looking around the room. "Shall we?"

He gestured to the dance floor and you nodded, taking his offered arm. He led you to the center of the room, where couples were already twirling and spinning.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"You may," you answered, giving him a shy smile.

He took your hand and placed his other on your hip, guiding you through the steps. The two of you swayed to the music, moving gracefully.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him.

He wanted to argue, but you didn't give him a chance. You captured his lips in a kiss, the world around you melting away. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The two of you stayed locked in the embrace, the music and the crowd fading into the background.

The two of you danced for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to one another. The environment letting him relax a little. But when the music changed, becoming slow and sultry, his mind started to drift.

Elijah imagined pushing you against a wall, kissing your neck and leaving marks. He wanted to rip your dress off, and explore every inch of you. He wanted to bite you, to taste your blood. He wanted to claim you, to make you his.

He wanted to let go, to allow himself to give in. To experience the kind of pleasure and power that only came with a lack of control. But then he saw the blood again, the crimson of your mask, the ruby red of your lipstick, turned to the viscous liquid that both haunted and nourished him.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing the way his body tensed.

"Nothing," he said, his voice strained. "I just need a drink,"

He let go of you and headed to the bar, needing some strong alcohol to help calm his nerves. He ordered a scotch and downed it in one go, the liquid burning his throat. He ordered another, and another, until the world was pleasantly fuzzy and his thoughts were quiet.

"Mr. Mikaelson, so good to see you," a woman said, coming up to him.

"Madam," he replied, not looking up from his drink.

"How is business?" she asked, clearly wanting to engage in a conversation.

"Fine." He said shortly, hoping she would get the hint.

"The party is wonderful," she commented, sipping from a champagne flute, her mask was turquoise and silver, a few strands of her dark hair escaping her updo.

"Thank you, the decorations were my sister's doing," he replied, trying to be polite.

"Ah yes, your sister," the woman said, her eyes drifting over the crowd, landing on the blonde vampire. "She's almost as pretty as you," the woman added, a seductive smile on her lips.

"You're quite flattering, but I'm spoken for," Elijah told her, not unkindly.

The woman pouted. "So I heard, a human though? That must be...difficult," she said.

"How so?" He asked, not liking the direction the conversation was going.

"Humans are frail, their lives are fleeting," the woman replied, her hand coming to rest on his chest. He looked down at her hand touching him, her daylight ring a large sapphire. "And they are so easily broken," she added.

He clenched his jaw, trying not to let her words get to him. "That is why they are treasured," he replied, scanning the crowd in search for you.

"They are food. I thought an original vampire would know the difference," the woman grinned, enjoying getting a reaction out of him.

"Watch your tongue, Madam, or you might find it missing," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, feisty," the woman purred, her free hand went up and she ran her finger over the edge of his mask. "You could have any creature here, take them however you want. Break them in the best possible way," she purred, her pupils dilated.

"That's not how I operate, now if you will excuse me," he said, his anger starting to bubble.

"That's how you used to operate," the woman taunted, her fingers trailing over the buttons of his jacket. "I'm a little hurt that you don't recognize me," the woman pouted, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Should I?" He asked, trying to place her face.

"Paris, summer of 1783, you had me by the hair, bent over the side of a balcony, fucking me so hard that the cement cracked," she told him, licking her lips. "You were wild, rough, animalistic. And it was amazing," she breathed, her gaze unfocused as she remembered the night.

Elijah couldn't remember her, nor did he remember the event. It was amusing to him that this vampire thought she was special. She wasn't. He had bedded hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women. He only ever remembered the ones he loved.

"A shame you can't recall, I've thought about it many times over the years," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit pathetic," he said bluntly.

She laughed, not taking offense. "Perhaps, but the sex was fantastic, I can still feel your bite," she smiled, her eyes falling to his mouth.

Elijah shook his head. "My dear, I'm sure there are plenty of willing participants here, if you truly wish to relive the past, you'll have no trouble finding someone to assist," he said dismissively.

"I would prefer you," the woman said, her tone changing. "No one here matches your power, no one can fuck me like you did."

"Maybe try Niklaus, ask him to bite you," he smirked, watching as his brother and Camille were laughing together.

"Both of you dating humans, what a complete and utter waste," she said, her eyes flicking to you. "I bet I could make you forget all about her," she cooed, pressing herself closer to him.

You could see this vampire all over Elijah, touching him and speaking in his ear. You weaved through the crowd, wanting to put an end to it.

Elijah's attention turned from the woman, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you walking towards him.

"I'm going to have to politely decline, thank you." he said, reaching his hand out for yours.

"Come now, surely you could use some relief," the woman cooed, her hands trailing over his body, ignoring your presence completely.

You didn't quite know what came over you, but you reached up and gently slapped her hand away from him.

The vampire turned her attention to you, her eyes going to the bruising on your arm. She let out a laugh. "Oh my, perhaps I was wrong, looks like your little plaything can handle you," the woman mocked, a smirk on her lips.

"Don't," Elijah growled, not appreciating her words.

She just laughed and shrugged, turning her attention back to him. "If you change your mind, I'll be here all night." the vampire winked at him and walked away, joining another group.

Elijah let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You gave Elijah a half-smile, hoping he wouldn't think you were stupid for hitting the vampire. She could have so easily crushed you, but you weren't afraid of her.

"Who was that?" you asked, annoyed by the exchange.

He shook his head. "An old lover, it seems," he told you, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Oh," was all you said, sadness filling you. You weren't the overly jealous type, but knowing that vampire had Elijah in a way you hadn't made you envious and sad.

Elijah saw the change in your demeanor and realized he had not answered the question right. You misunderstood him.

"Not a recent lover," he explained. "It was a very long time ago, and I do not remember the night," he assured you, his hand cupping your cheek.

You sighed, his touch instantly easing the tension in your body.

He pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist. "That was very brave of you, that could have ended very badly" he said softly in your ear.

Your hands went to his shoulders, clinging to his jacket, the material warm from his body. "You make me feel brave, you make me feel safe," you murmured.

His heart constricted. He didn't deserve your faith or your trust. The bruise on your arm was proof enough of that. He should let you go, make you hate him and walk away from you before you get hurt anymore, but he couldn't. Not while you were looking up at him with all that trust and affection in your eyes. He loved you far too much to give up.

He leaned in and kissed you, the familiar spark of electricity passing between you. He deepened the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He was pouring everything he felt for you into it, hoping you could feel the depths of his love and devotion.

You returned the kiss, trying to convey all the things you couldn't say. You broke apart, panting slightly. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

"Eli, I was hoping that we could...," you trailed off, biting your lip.

"What?" he asked, his eyes fluttering open.

"I want us to...you know," you whispered.

His eyes darkened, hunger and need filled him. All of the work he had done to push away his urges, to protect you, had unraveled in an instant. Now all he could focus on was the vision of your body beneath his, the feeling of skin against skin. The blood flowing through your veins singing a song to him that he could not deny, at least, not completely.

He pulled you a little closer, swaying you to the music playing, his other hand gripping your hip possessively. You watched his pupils dilate, saw the tension in his jaw and the bob of his Adam's apple.

"Not tonight," he murmured, trying his hardest to hide how much he wanted you, how much it would hurt to reject you again.

Your fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging on it a little harder than you meant to. He never wanted to give in, to allow himself a taste of pleasure. Even with his walls down, Elijah could never truly give himself to you completely.

His hands went to yours, prying your fingers from his jacket, his eyes dark and dangerous. "You do not understand how difficult it is," he hissed.

You pulled against his grip, anger bubbling up. "So, help me understand," you said in a soft tone, ignoring the fact that you were arguing in a room full of people and that you were both gripping each other hard enough to bruise.

"It feels like..." you started, shaking your head a little, "like, I am not enough. Do you not want me? Or have you realized that you need more and I cannot provide that to you?" You finished in a small voice.

His grip on your hands tightened, a warning look flashing in his eyes. "You are more than enough," he whispered, his eyes softening.

You took a steadying breath. "Then. Please. Fuck. Me," you said bluntly.

Elijah let go of you as if you had burned him. Your words cut him deeply.

You let out a frustrated sigh, his rejection stinging. "I... I'm going to go home," you said, blinking back tears.

He went to grab you but you moved out of his reach, his fingers barely grazing your arm. He watched you leave, his eyes following your figure until it disappeared into the crowd.

It was in that moment that he knew he had to make a decision, either he could keep trying to be gentle with you and risk losing you or he could give in and have you completely, but at the cost of hurting you.

Elijah drained his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar, his mind made up. He followed you, moving so fast that no one saw him leave.

You were upset, your feelings a tangled mess, waiting in a quiet hallway for the elevator to arrive. Your eyes were glazed with tears, your breathing shaky. You didn't know what to do, and you didn't know what you wanted from him.

You were lost in thought when the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, but before the doors opened, hands were on your waist and you were pressed against the wall. His lips were on yours, hungry and demanding. You gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair. His hands were on your thighs, lifting you up and pushing your dress higher.

You wrapped your legs around him, pressing your body against his. The heat between you erupting, causing a soft moan to escape your lips.

He broke the kiss, his mouth going to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. His hands were on your hips, pulling your body closer. He was rough and urgent, his nails digging into your skin. You gasped, arching into him, needing to feel more.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky. "I will," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours.

You clung to him, giving yourself over to the moment. He lifted you off the ground and carried you to the elevator. The doors slid open and he stepped inside, pressing you against the wall. His hands were all over your body, touching and teasing.

You were so caught up in his touch that you didn't notice the doors closing, trapping the two of you alone. He punched the panel, making the elevator come to a jerking stop. He kissed you, his hands finding their way under your dress, pushing the fabric out of the way.

He gripped your hips, grinding against you. The intensity and desperation in his touch was new, making your head spin. You wanted more, needed more. You moaned, the sound echoing off the walls. He groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

He pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger into your wet heat. You gasped, arching into him. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling it inside of you. He added a second finger, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

He groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him almost too much, his lips brushing your ear. "I want to hear you say my name when I make you come," he whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin.

All you could do was nod, your cheeks flushed and your eyes closed, it was all happening so fast and you couldn't get enough of it. He pressed his lips to your neck, nipping at your skin. He added a third finger, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit.

Your eyebrows arched, locking eyes with him, your mouth open and your hands clutching his jacket. The pressure was building and you felt like you were going to explode. You gasped, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

"Elijah," you said his name breathlessly.

"That's it," he encouraged, pulling on your earlobe with his teeth. "Say my name," he ordered.

"Elijah," you moaned, the pressure coiling tighter.

"Again," he demanded, his hand speeding up.

"Elijah," his name fell from your lips, your release crashing through you.

Your eyes slammed shut, your head thrown back, the muscles in your neck straining. You were trembling, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. He slowly withdrew his fingers, placing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw. You could feel his fangs graze your skin.

He was so hard, you could feel his erection pressing against you. You shifted your weight, trying to gain some friction, but he pulled away, his hands on your hips, pinning you in place.

You opened your eyes, looking at his face, his eyes completely black, the veins under them moving, his mouth open slightly, showing his fangs. You felt fear, but not the type of fear that made you want to run, but the kind of fear that sent a thrill through your body, the kind that made you crave danger.

You lightly traced your fingers over the veins, a smile on your lips. His chest rising and falling rapidly. You ran your finger over his lower lip, and he leaned in, his fangs scraping the pad of your finger. You could feel the sharp tips. He was so dangerous, so lethal, a perfect predator, yet here you were, trapped and wanting nothing more than to have him consume you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his body against yours, his erection grinding against you. You moaned, reaching between you, your fingers deftly working the button and zipper of his trousers. You tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing free. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips bucking, seeking more of your touch.

You tightened your grip, stroking him faster, twisting your wrist a little. He groaned, his hands on your thighs, his eyes hooded and his mouth parted slightly.

You released him and wrapped your arms back around his neck, grinding yourself against him. He growled, his hands cupping your ass, lifting you. You used the wall for support and wrapped your legs around him, angling yourself just right. You cried out as he pressed inside, stretching and filling you.

His breath was hot against your neck. "That's my girl," he said softly.

He paused a moment, giving you time to adjust. Then he started to thrust, his rhythm slow and measured, watching the way your expression changed as he fucked you. You moaned, your legs tightening around him, your ankles locking together, trying to pull him closer.

He pumped his hips, burying himself deep inside you. You tilted your head back, exposing the soft flesh of your neck.

It took every bit of control he had not to give in and bite you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling your blood pump just below the surface of your skin. His hips snapped harder, driving into you, focused on fucking you, on drawing more delicious moans and whimpers from sweet lips.

The coil within you grew tighter, the pressure increasing with every movement of his hips. You clung to his jacket, needing something to anchor you, feeling as if you were spinning out of control. He grunted with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin almost drowned out by the blood pumping furiously in your ears.

His eyes never left yours, a predatory look crossing his features, his fingers gripping the swell of your ass, pounding into you with incredible force, your head hitting the wall with each powerful thrust.

It was intense and consuming and you couldn't get enough of him, and neither could he.

You lost track of how many times you'd come, all you knew was the sweet, aching tension was building again and you didn't know if you could handle another. He held you so tight, your body pressed so close to his, his fangs threatening to pierce the delicate skin of your neck. You couldn't stop, you didn't want it to stop.

Then his rhythm faltered, his breathing becoming labored, his hips pumping furiously. He needed a release. It had been a while since he'd experienced such raw, carnal lust.

He could no longer keep himself from drinking from you, he'd waited too long, denied his primal urges. With a snarl, he sunk his fangs into the side of your neck. A guttural cry fell from your lips, your back arching as you came undone, the sudden pain mixed with the pleasure so intense, you felt your vision darkening as you blacked out.

Elijah gripped your thighs, his lips pulling blood from your body, sending your pulse racing, your blood so hot and sweet that he thought he would combust. He let himself go, cumming deep inside of you, your blood in his mouth, the sweetness coating his tongue and rushing into his system. Your body went limp in his arms, your heartbeat slowing.

Sudden panic consumed him, what had he done? The guilt and fear crashed over him in waves. You looked so pale, you were dying in his arms and it was his fault. The rage and self-hatred he had tried so hard to keep in check ripped through him, his true nature unleashed.

But then you opened your eyes, smiling at him dreamily and something inside of him snapped back into place.

Elijah chuckled, still inside of you. He grinned, the edges of his lips curving upwards. He kissed you softly, reverently.

"Holy fuck Elijah," you chuckled, panting slightly, your heart beating erratically, but you felt alive and amazing, and loved.

"You scared me for a moment," he confessed, resting his forehead against yours.

"That was.. You are..," you struggled for words. "Just wow," you laughed.

You held on to him, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped an arm around you, supporting you, the other stroking the side of your head. You breathed him in, savoring the moment, never wanting it to end. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek, his nose rubbing against your skin.

"Let's go home, I want you all to myself," you murmured, kissing his neck, the taste of him filling you.

He chuckled, his voice a deep rumble. "As you wish."

"We have a lot of catching up to do," you grinned, thinking of all the things you were going to do to him.

Elijah chuckled. "My sweet girl," he murmured, kissing you gently.

The elevator rattled, the emergency lights coming on. Elijah pulled away from you, adjusting your dress, smoothing the fabric. He zipped and buttoned his trousers, straightening his clothes. The panel was broken, slight electrical sparks coming from the metal. Elijah gripped the doors, forcing them open. He stepped out and helped you down. You smoothed your dress, looking at him shyly. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, leading you out of the building.

"I like it when you lose control, perhaps that was the solution all along," you teased, walking along the street, your fingers intertwined with his.

Elijah laughed. "Perhaps, my darling, you may be right."

And with that, he swept you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you out into the night.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[edenesth]

Scarlet Requiem

Pairing: emperor!Baekhyun x empress!reader

AU: historical au (Goryeo era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: In his reign, Baekhyun strived to be a virtuous emperor, all for the sake of his kind-hearted empress, steadfastly resisting the temptations of power that had corrupted those before him. He held onto the belief that this was the key to securing her eternal presence by his side. Yet, he learned, to his heartbreak, that this very resolve would lead to the cruellest loss of all.

Genre: heavy angst

Trigger Warnings: major character death, violence, gore, lots of blood

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Capture that demon before she flees!"

Her hands trembled as she gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. Once healthy skin now bore a sickly pallor, brown eyes turned crimson, tears staining her cheeks red. Even her jet-black hair had transformed to snowy white. Confusion and fear gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the inexplicable transformation.

As guards roughly seized her arms, she pleaded, "No, please! I've done nothing wrong! I don't understand any of this!"

"Of course, you'd deny it, Your Imperial Majesty," sneered the Minister of Rites, one of many who had urged her husband, the emperor, to accept their daughters as concubines. "Little did you know, those potions you received from the royal healer for the past month were meant to reveal your true nature by shedding your human guise."

Horror pierced her heart as realisation dawned. The tonics meant to maintain her health had been a ruse. She had been poisoned, it explained the sudden and alarming changes in her body and health.

"You," she whispered, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her. "It was all you."

She was not naive; she understood the ministers' discontent with her influence over Baekhyun throughout his reign. Their persistent attempts to sway him, offering their daughters as concubines to bolster their own power and threaten her position, had not escaped her notice. Their frustration must have reached its zenith when her husband adamantly refused their advances, steadfast in his commitment to her as his one and only empress.

"Hm? I'm not sure I understand what you're implying," the man smirked, his deceptive tone belying his words. "We've long suspected there was more to you, Your Imperial Majesty. It appears you're indeed a demon, effortlessly manipulating the emperor. Surely a man of his stature would desire more than one woman by his side?"

Struggling against the guards' grasp, she retorted weakly, "You vile cowards. You'll rue the day my husband learns of this..."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing their sinister plot. They had bided their time, seizing the perfect opportunity amidst the chaos of war. With Baekhyun, the virtuous emperor she had wished him to be, leading the army, they saw their chance to poison her, framing her as a demon to eradicate her while he was away.

"Or perhaps we'll witness the rise of the ambitious emperor we've long awaited. He will finally be able to reach his full potential without you here obstructing his path," he sneered, gesturing towards the approaching healer with another bowl of poison. "Just comply and drink your tonic, Your Imperial Majesty. Your suffering will soon end, and our nation will thrive under the rule of a new emperor, liberated from your naive ideals."

As the sinister men tightened their grip, she sobbed in agony, the relentless headache from the past month resurfacing with a vengeance. Each touch felt like a dagger through her skull, each word a cruel reminder of her plight.

With an apologetic bow of his head, the healer cupped her jaw, his hands trembling as he forced the bowl of poison towards her lips. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. "This will be the last one, I promise."

She gagged as the bitter liquid slid down her throat, burning with each swallow. Crimson tears streamed down her white face as she choked on the vile concoction, feeling her strength wane with each passing moment. In that desperate moment, all she could do was pray for salvation from the nightmare consuming her.

As the healer finally released his hold, she felt despair engulf her. The bitter poison settled within her damaged insides, coursing through her veins like a silent killer, slowly consuming her from within.

"It is done, my lord. The empress will not survive through the night," the healer declared, his voice carrying a finality that chilled her to the bone.

The minister's grin widened with satisfaction. "Excellent. Arrange for someone to confirm her death by dawn. Let her enjoy her final moments in the comforts of her own chambers. His Imperial Majesty will surely be grateful we've rid him of his treacherous demon of a wife upon his return from war."

Laying limply in the centre of her grand chambers, the very space she had once despised before ascending to empress, memories flooded her mind. She recalled the scepticism that clouded her heart when she first found herself falling for the crown prince of the nation. After all, history had taught her that no happy endings awaited the women who loved emperors. But Baekhyun was different—he was loving, caring, and considerate, going to great lengths to prove his devotion to her.

He swore never to take concubines, to resist the allure of power, and to remain hers, and hers alone. Despite the admiration of the entire nation, he remained committed to prioritising her above all else, even if it meant drawing the ire of his ministers and officials. Their accusations of his partiality towards his empress over his nation only served to strengthen his resolve, his unwavering loyalty to her.

But now, as she lay weakened by poison, she realised the tragic irony of his goodness. It was his very commitment to righteousness that led him to the battlefield, refusing to let his men fight in his stead. And it was this decision that ultimately sealed their fate, leaving her to face the consequences of his noble intentions.

As the darkness closed in around her, she couldn't help but wonder how Baekhyun would react upon returning to find her lifeless form in this state. Would he succumb to the poisonous words of his ministers, believing their accusations that she had been a demon all along? Would he entertain the notion that she had bewitched him, clouding his judgement and leading him astray?

Or would he remain firm in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that this was nothing more than a cruel ploy to rid him of her for good? In the depths of her fading consciousness, she desperately clung to the hope that he would see through the lies, that his love for her would prevail over doubt.

On the brink of death, she yearned to trust in his endless devotion to her, to believe that he would never doubt the love they shared. It was a fragile hope, but in that moment, it was all she had to cling to as she slipped further into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable arrival of dawn and the fate it would eventually bring.

"Forgive me for not being strong enough, Baek," she whispered into the stillness of the chamber, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "Please don't blame yourself for any of this."

As the darkness threatened to swallow her entirely, she couldn't help but reflect on the warnings of history, the cautionary tales of women who loved emperors, only to meet tragic ends. Once again, it seemed, she had fallen victim to the same fate.

Her vision blurred with crimson tears as memories flooded her mind—moments shared with Baekhyun before he departed for battle, blissfully unaware that they would be their last. Each memory stung with bittersweet intensity, a painful reminder of what could have been, had fate been kinder.

As her life ebbed away, flashes of cherished moments with him flickered through her mind like scattered stars in the night sky.

Wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, doubts clouded her mind one morning, questioning her husband's resolve to remain faithful amidst the pressures of his position.

"Would you truly refuse to take any concubines, Baek?" she inquired, her voice laced with uncertainty. "You're aware that the ministers and officials desire it, and perhaps even the citizens of our nation. For all we know, the people might have grown weary of this same dull empress who has yet to bear you an heir."

He drew her close, pulling the silk sheets higher to shield her bare form from the chill seeping through the open windows. Pressing a tender kiss upon her head, he smiled reassuringly. "Never, my love. I do not care for their political machinations. I won't forsake my vow to you. You will remain my only wife, that is final. I did not ask to be emperor, the role was thrust upon me. Now that I am here, they should at least be grateful I am fulfilling my general duties."

She chuckled, nestling into the crook of his neck as he added, "Besides, if the ministers and officials are so displeased, they could just dismiss me. That would be even better; we could live in a quiet little village, just as we've always dreamed."

In another memory, standing before her reflection, plagued by insecurities instilled by the scheming ministers, his unwavering admiration melted her fears away.

"You look beautiful, my empress. You always do," he reassured, approaching from behind to envelop her in his arms.

"Not as beautiful as those young maidens, I fear. I am old," she confessed, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness after witnessing the ministers' attempts to seduce the emperor with their daughters.

Baekhyun gently turned her to face him. "If you're old, then I must be ancient," he teased. "I believe it's only fitting that I am with someone my age, and that's you, my empress. I have no interest in marrying children or anyone else for that matter; I am a taken man. Don't you dare compare yourself to anyone else again, you hear me? You're the most beautiful woman in my eyes, and that's all that matters."

In the final embrace before he departed for war, hearts heavy with the uncertainty of his return, they clung to each other.

"I will be back before you know it, my love. You'll wait for me, won't you?" her husband murmured against her neck, his arms tightening around her.

"Where else would I go, you idiot? Of course, I'll be waiting right here," she retorted, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

Amidst tears and laughter, he leaned in to kiss her deeply, pressing his lips against her soft ones over and over again to imprint the sensation into memory.

"I love you, my empress," Baekhyun whispered against her lips before pulling away, his eyes full of love and determination.

In the quiet of her chamber, she found solace in the fleeting recollections, clinging to them as the darkness threatened to consume her entirely. And as the crimson tears clouded her eyes once more, she resigned herself to the inevitable, silently bidding farewell to the life she once knew.

"I love you too, my emperor."

"I will not ask again, where is she?!" the emperor's voice thundered through the throne room as he stormed back into the palace, abandoning the battle upon learning the shocking revelation. According to the Minister of Rites in his letter, the empress had been discovered to be a demon all along, concealing her true nature under human skin to manipulate him and bend him to her will.

The eunuch panicked and fell to his knees. "Th-the empress is confined to her grand chambers, Your Imperial Majesty!"

Without uttering another word, Baekhyun stormed over immediately, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as fury overtook his being. Betrayal flooded his veins; he was seething with anger.

"You will regret lying to me," he growled under his breath, his vision zeroing in on the path towards her chambers, the place he frequented more than his own. "You will regret deceiving me."

Upon reaching the entrance of her chambers, he turned to the eunuch. "Gather all the ministers and officials who played a part in discovering the empress as what they claimed her to be in the throne room. I wish to speak with them soon."

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," the eunuch hurriedly replied before darting off to carry out his orders. Baekhyun steadied his breaths, his hand resting on the door as he prepared to face her once more. Under his breath, he vowed, "I swear, you will all regret it. How dare you accuse my wife of being what you are—demons."

I'm here now, my love.

Stepping into the familiar room, the emperor's heart raced with anxiety as he mulled over a perfect apology. He needed to express his deep remorse for not being there when she needed him the most, for failing to shield her from the treachery of those vultures. Reflecting on his actions, he realised he should have never left her behind. In his rush to leave for war, he had neglected to arrange proper protection for her. In hindsight, he understood that he should have never left her side in the first place.

Determined to make amends, he vowed to do better. He resolved to never again allow those ministers or officials the opportunity to torment her in his absence again. From now on, he would be her shield, her staunch protector, and her unending support.

But it might be too late for any of that.

His steps faltered, his breath caught in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he beheld the sight before his eyes. The sword in his hands slipped, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he sank to his knees in disbelief at the last thing he expected to see.

His shock deepened as he took in his wife's unrecognisable appearance. Crawling towards her limp form on the ground, he pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with anguish. The horror settled within him like a heavy weight as he tried to imagine what atrocities these monsters had dared inflict upon her while he was gone. His mind raced with images of torture and torment, each one more gruesome than the last.

"Oh god, what have they done to you?" he whispered, his heart fracturing into a million shards as he struggled to comprehend her pale skin, her white hair, and the blood-like tears staining her cheeks. With shaking hands, he gently cupped her cold cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face as if seeking reassurance that she was still there, still his beloved wife.

"Please wake up, my love. This isn't funny, stop scaring me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You promised to wait for me. You promised..." His words trailed off into a broken sob as he refused to accept anything but the truth, shaking his head in denial even as he searched desperately for a pulse, even when she remained unresponsive.

"No, no, no... this can't be real. It can't be," he murmured, his mind reeling with the unimaginable horror of what he had found.

Despair and regret enveloped him as he sobbed painfully, holding her lifeless body tightly against his chest. The realisation that she was truly gone, that her final moments were spent alone in the very room she despised just to be with him, weighed heavily on his heart. He grappled with the bitter truth that he had failed her, just as she had feared when she hesitated to be with him.

Gradually, his sorrow gave way to seething rage as he recalled the faces of the ministers and officials responsible for this atrocity. They had callously taken her life, foolishly believing he would be deceived by their feeble attempt to frame her. With trembling hands, he picked up a shard of the shattered bowl nearby and brought it to his nose, recognising the metallic scent of mercury.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

They had poisoned her with lethal doses of mercury, causing a myriad of symptoms—tremors, headaches, muscle weakness, kidney damage, and breathing difficulties. And the deliberate administration of such high doses to turn her hair white revealed their sinister intent from the outset.

Just how much had they fed her? It was evident they had intended to kill her from the start. Anguish and fury surged within him as he vowed to make them pay.

Gently caressing her cold cheek, he leaned in to kiss her unmoving lips, his own trembling against hers. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired. Perhaps if she hadn't been with him, she would have lived a better life—a normal life with a normal man. She wouldn't have to endure such a painful and cruel death.

It was all because of him.

Regret hung heavy in his heart, but dwelling on what could have been served no purpose.

"I'm so sorry, my wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Just hold on a bit longer, alright? I'll join you soon, but first, I'll make those bastards pay. Wait for me—I won't let you face this alone. Not again."

With resolve hardening in his heart, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it once more before lifting her lifeless form into his arms. Like a man burdened by death itself, he trudged towards the throne room where justice awaited. Kicking the doors open with a forceful thrust of his leg, he was met with a sea of horrified expressions from the ministers and officials. Clearly, they hadn't anticipated the emperor's dramatic entrance, cradling his beloved empress in his arms.

Ignoring their shocked gazes, he strode past them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the far end of the room. With careful tenderness, he laid his wife down upon the ornate seat, arranging her robes and ensuring her comfort as though she were merely sleeping. Pressing a solemn kiss upon her cold forehead, he turned to face the assembled council, their unease palpable in the air.

The guilty culprits remained frozen in their places, uncertain of what awaited them.

As the emperor's gaze swept over them, the ministers and officials for the first time felt a cold shiver of fear trickle down their spines. His expression was unreadable, his appearance wild and dishevelled compared to his usual polished demeanour. Specks of blood and dirt stained his robes and skin, his hair a tangled mess, half tied up in a disarray that mirrored the chaos within him.

Gone was the warm smile that often graced his features; instead, a slow, unsettling grin crept across his face.

"My dearest ministers and officials," he began, his voice low and laced with an eerie calmness. "Your message has been received loud and clear. I hope you're satisfied now that you've succeeded in eradicating the empress, as you so desperately desired. I've given it some thought, and perhaps... you were all right."

The Minister of Rites, attempting to feign nonchalance, cleared his throat. "A-about what, Your Imperial Majesty?" he stammered.

Baekhyun's eyes gleamed with a frightening intensity as he smirked, his demeanour bordering on madness. "About what this nation truly needs," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling edge.

"Not a good emperor, but a mad one."

Without giving the men before him time to register his words, all Baekhyun saw was red. In a split second, he unsheathed his sword and transformed into a bloodthirsty animal, cutting down anyone and everyone in his path. The Minister of Rites tried to flee but to no avail. He watched in complete horror as his colleagues dropped dead one by one, their blood splattering over the grand walls of the throne room, their screams echoing.

The emperor went on a rampage, leaving no man behind. The Minister of Rites, who had been behind the idea of poisoning the empress, smearing her name by labelling her a demon, and executing her, was now filled with regret. They had turned him into the mad king his empress had feared. Perhaps they had finally achieved their goal, but it wasn't what they were prepared for.

The minister collapsed to his knees before the emperor, realising that His Imperial Majesty had saved him for last. Trembling, he rubbed his hands together in a desperate plea. "P-please, everything I've done, it's for the betterment of our nation."

Baekhyun's humourless laughter echoed through the hall, sending shivers down the minister's spine. "You truly believe that, don't you? Of course, that includes subjecting my wife to all that torment. Yes, because that is exactly what the nation needs. Unfortunately for you, I am the emperor, and I determine what's best for the nation. And in this case, I think it's better off without traitors like you. See you on the other side," were the last words the minister heard before his head was severed from his neck, rolling off to join the others on the floor.

The emperor finally turned back, his eyes softening as they landed on his beloved's lifeless body. Making his way back towards her, he knelt down beside her, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her hand. Holding it to his cheek, he missed the warmth it once had.

"I'm coming now, my love," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'll be there with you soon."

"Yes, I understand His Imperial Majesty's orders not to enter, but it's been hours. Surely, any assembly would have concluded by now, wouldn't it?" With apprehension and curiosity, a senior court lady pushed open the doors to the once-bustling throne room, expecting to find His Imperial Majesty and his council of ministers. Instead, she was met with a horrifying sight—a scene of bloodshed and chaos spread across the grand hall.

Her piercing scream echoed through the silent room, jolting nearby palace staff into action. Rushing to the scene, they were met with a scene that chilled them to the bone. At the end of the room, amidst a sea of lifeless bodies, lay the empress on the throne, her appearance shocking all who beheld it. Beside her, her husband remained, his head cradled on her chest, their hands tightly clasped together. A gaping stab wound marred his chest—it seemed he had taken his own life before joining her in death.

Following that, the next prince in line promptly ascended the throne and found himself compelled to appoint an entirely new cabinet of ministers and officials. The entire nation descended into chaos, particularly since it was still embroiled in a war, with endless theories circulating about the events. While some speculated that the emperor succumbed to madness and killed his own council, others whispered of a conspiracy, suggesting that the ministers had orchestrated the demise of both the empress and the emperor.

Amidst this uncertainty, the new prince faced the daunting challenge of restoring order to the kingdom. With a heavy heart, he pledged to uncover the truth behind the tragic occurrences and ensure that justice was served to those responsible.

In the end, the truth of what truly occurred remained shrouded in mystery. All those involved had departed from the realm of the living. As centuries passed, that chapter in history became known as the Scarlet Requiem, a haunting tale that lingered in the collective memory of the kingdom. Despite countless efforts to unravel the enigma, the events surrounding the tragedy remained obscured by the sands of time, leaving future generations to ponder and speculate about the dark secrets of the past.

"What do you think really happened?" a woman asked her boyfriend as they studied a painting depicting the throne room scene in a museum dedicated to the events of the Scarlet Requiem.

He pondered for a moment before responding with a shrug. "It's hard to say. But judging by the way he's holding onto her, it seems he must have truly loved her. Let's hope they've found peace and happiness, whether in the afterlife or their next life."

She nodded in agreement, leaning into his comforting embrace. "Yeah, I hope so too."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, if I were him, I wouldn't have left her for war in the first place."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smack, though a smile danced on her lips. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I bet it's because the empress was described as beautiful as a celestial being."

He scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me how pretty she was. I'll stay only if you're my empress."

Unbeknownst to them, the couple had been contemplating their own past lives. Perhaps the emperor and empress had indeed found each other again in another existence.

Believe it or not, this has been on my mind for months ever since seeing those AI-generated photos of Baekhyun. I had an epiphany while looking at them again yesterday and just had to write this. It's my first EXO fic, and I hope it's decent hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Master Tag list:

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @green-agent @vantediary @tinyteezer |

@hollxe1 @pandabur666 @lilactangerine @oddracha @evidive

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[jinjeriffic]

DC x DP prompt/ficlet

Throwing my hat in the ring with this idea that has been doing the zoomies in my brain for days. The Tim/Danny Accidental Ghost Marriage to Fake Dating to Friends to Lovers AU:

Pariah Dark was a piece of shit. Before his imprisonment, mortals would sometimes manage to bargain with the Ghost King for scraps of power. One of the "standard" deals was to send PD a "Bride" to play with and feed on (because I HC he feeds on fear and pain) and what better way than a little mortal battery that couldn't get away from him? The deal was sealed with a cursed amulet. Now in one instance, the contract was never fulfilled (maybe the petitioner died before he could complete his half) and the amulet was lost. After Pariah was imprisoned and couldn't make deals anymore the knowledge of the rituals needed was gradually forgotten since they didn't work anymore...

Eventually the amulet gets dug up by archeologists (maybe in Egypt or Mesopotamia?) and ends up in a traveling exhibit in Gotham. A Rogue robs the place (Riddler? Two-Face? doesn't really matter). When the Bats show up to foil the robbery, during the fight with the goons a drop of Red Robin's blood gets on the amulet, there's a blinding flash of green light and the amulet is suddenly glued to him.

While everyone is dazed by the ghostly magic flashbang, Fright Knight pops out of a portal, yoinks Red Robin across his saddle and jumps back through the portal before anyone can stop him. Cue the Bats trying to frantically figure out what in the multi-dimensional occult hell happened and where RR went?!

Meanwhile, Danny is disturbed to receive a ghostly missive in his college dorm to tell him that his Mail Order Bride has been delivered to his Ghost Zone Palace and is awaiting him so they can consummate their Unholy Matrimony.

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

Danny: Wtf I have to study I don't have time to get MARRIED

Fright Knight: I'm sorry my liege, but according to the laws of ghosts, gods and magic you already ARE

Danny: Wtf. How did this happen?

RR: I would like to know that too

Danny: Oh shit, you're a superhero. Frighty, you can't just kidnap people! Especially not SUPERHEROES!

RR: While that's good to hear, I would really like to know about this supposed marriage..?

FK: I am not aware of the exact details, I was merely summoned to retrieve the Bride of the Ghost King. There used to be standard magical contracts for this, which went into effect when the Bride bled on the King's Token...

RR: Shit

Danny: Hold on, PARIAH got married? Multiple times??

FK: ...but we can always consult the Royal Archivist, if we can dig him out from under the several thousand years worth of paperwork that piled up while there was no King actively ruling...

Danny: Oh ancients, am I gonna have to deal with that?? I have exams to prepare for, dude!

RR: ...the dead still have to do exams? And paperwork?? *horror*

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

Some time and explanations later...

Royal Archivist: It took some digging, but I believe I have found the contract in question. You are one Timothy Drake-Wayne, correct?

Tim: Fml

RA: Ahem. The contract was sealed with your mortal blood, as is standard procedure. Congratulations, you are officially King-Consort of the Infinite Realms! Until death do you part, and all that

Danny: Can I see that contract? ...This isn't in English

RA: Oh dear, looks like we will have to schedule your Royal Highness classes in reading cuneiform/hieroglyphics

Tim: Okay, does it say anywhere in that contract how to dissolve it? What's the procedure for a ghost divorce? Fright Knight mentioned the previous king being married multiple times

RA: Well usually, when Pariah tired of a consort he would simply devour their soul...

Danny: Ewwwww I am so not doing that

Tim: I concur. I can't imagine my soul would taste good anyway

Danny: That's what you took from that??

RA: ...but when you die and your soul passes into the Afterlife proper, the contract will be fulfilled. As long as you're not resurrected again.

Tim: Nuts, there goes that loophole

RA: Until then you are the Consort and duty-bound to fulfill his Royal Highness' every whim; ghostly, spiritual, carnal...

Danny: *sinks through the floor in embarrassment*

Tim: Can't he just... release me from the contract? Take the amulet off me or something?

RA: Not without obliterating your soul, no

Danny and Tim: Fuck

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

Some time later, while Danny is away consulting other ghosts on possible ways of dissolving the contract, they discover the nasty little clause that if Tim isn't in regular physical contact with Danny the amulet starts draining his life force. To prevent victims from escaping you see... Danny really really hates Pariah right now.

They eventually return to the mortal plane to explain to the Batfam what the hell is going on and that they're still trying to fix it. In the meantime, Danny can't miss any more classes (studying areospace engineering at MIT or sth) and Tim has to stick close to him because of the curse...

Alfred: Oh dear, looks like Master Timothy will have to go to college after all *unflappable British Smugness*

Bruce pulls a lot of strings to fast track Tim getting his high school diploma and let him attend classes with Danny (he's not officially enrolled yet, but Money, Dear Boy). They never know when Danny has to respond to a ghost emergency or Red Robin to a Bat emergency, so they stay pretty much joined at the hip in their civilian lives. Of course there's gonna be rumors. Why did the Wayne CEO suddenly drop everything to go to college? So they make up a story about Danny and Tim having been secret boyfriends for a while and Tim becoming so smitten that he moves with him to Boston...

Cue the fake dates, interviews with magazines, couple photoshoots to really sell the bit... and the two young men gradually becoming friends... and then "Feelings?? But what do I do?? He was forced into this?" etc.

[willczek-art]

NPMD Tarot - The Hierophant

Others from the series: The Devil, The Lovers, The Star, Strength, The World

Symbolism + some WIP/alternatives are under the cut C:

My intuition put Grace as the High Priestess, but from what I've read it's more about spirituality and intuition, while the Hierophant is all about strong traditional beliefs and ruling/leading, so it fits her way better! :D

Left side/Beginning has the dance cancellation sign, since that was her mission and Max was her first victim, while on the right/Ending is Jason and the Black Book, her mission and source of power has changed.

Halo= superiority, holy mission, Red as a sign of danger/death to come (which is why the light it's only on the boys)

She's sitting on what's supposed to be the bleachers C:

Doodles:

[batfam-my-beloved]

AU where Batman has a "no killing" rule but that only applies to Batman

Bruce understands that people have their own form of morality and justice. He's not going to fault a soldier for doing what they have to do to protect people. It's just that he personally would probably never go that far. Not that he can't, mind you, he's fucking Batman! Just that the mental and emotional toll would fuck him up so bad he'd be a danger to himself and society.

So when it comes to his murder happy children his rule for them is: "Wait until you're 18."

Bruce: "Dickie, I know Tony Zucco killed your parents and he deserves WAY worse than a punctured lung, two broken legs, a fractured skull, and a dislocated shoulder. But you're also 10 yrs old and the parenting books say that murder at such a young age is not good for a child's emotional development. So how bout we keep him locked up in jail, good and tight, and if you're still mad about it when you turn 18 then you can have at it. Sound good chum?"

Dick, pouting and kicking rocks: "I guess."

Tim "forever 17" Drake is just counting down the days until his 18th birthday because that mother fucker has a list. He doesn't mind waiting because he god damn knows there are worse things than death one can do to someone.

Damien has been killing since he could walk and hold up a sword, so when he comes to live with his father under the "no killing until 18" rule he is NOT happy about it. Until his brothers start poking fun at him.

Damien, pouting: "It isn't fair! Todd gets to go out and kill people!"

Bruce: "Jason is over 18 yrs."

Jason: "Yeah! And besides, its not my fault you're just uncreative in how you beat up bad guys!"

Damien: "What is that supposed to mean!"

Tim: "It means that there are worse things than death but you're just too dumb to know it."

Damien, furious: "Am not!"

Jason and Tim, teasing: "Are too!"

Damien: "AM NOT!"

Jason and Tim: "Are tooooo!"

Dick, tired: "Guys, stop making fun of him. He's just gunna take it as a challenge."

Damien, determined: "Well I accept this challenge! I'll provide my superiority as a vigilantly by taking out the enemy in non-lethal yet appropriately brutal ways of punishment! Just you watch!"

Bruce, weary yet appeased: "Well at least he's not gunna attempt murder for a while."

Jason didn't come with an automatic kill switch so Bruce didn't really have to worry about it. But then Jason died and Dick got to see first hand as to why Bruce had a no killing rule for himself. The insurmountable destruction, the overall apathy for the harm to others around him, the deep seated rage ready to just destroy everything he comes in contact with. Alfred tells Dick that they need to stop him because Bruce won't just stop at the Joker, he'll go after Jason's mother (in this au I'm making Sheila live for the extra angst factor)and whoever else he deems even remotely responsible for the death of his son. Bruce won't care if it starts wars and conflict across nations, he will NOT stop until he gets his revenge.

So they stop him, practically have to sedated Bruce with enough tranquilizers to put down an elephant 10x over. And then they lock the Joker up in the deepest underground pits of Arkham with a broken spine and enough security measures that it's very much impossible to brake him out least you're the Batman himself. Bruce isn't happy about it at first but Alfred and Dick are there with him through it all and it helps a lot.

When Jason comes back he still doesn't know about the "no killing until your 18" rule, nor does he know the reason WHY Batman doesn't kill. So he's still angry and does his whole thing as Red Hood but when he reveals himself to Batman as Jason Todd Bruce is just so happy to see him again. And Jason is confused cuz like: "I just killed a bunch of people, aren't you disappointed?"

And Bruce is like: "I am a bit mad that you hurt Tim but other than that you are technically over 18 yrs old now so I'm going to assume you understand the weight and responsibility that is put upon you when killing someone."

Jason, softly: "What...the fuck?"

Then Jason quickly snaps back into gear with his plan, demands Bruce to choose between killing the Joker or him and Bruce hits back with: "Oh, I'd like nothing more than to kill Joker but I promised Dick and Alfred I wouldn't after almost starting an international war that one time."

Jason, extremely frustrated that his plan isn't going how he wanted to: "What. The. Fuck!"

So Jason dips and tracks down Dick so he could explain what the hell was going on. And Dick does explain. He explains the absolute monster Bruce almost turned into when Jason was murdered and how Bruce would most definitely not stop at the Joker if given the chance.

Dick: "You don't understand Jay, it was bad! Like really, really bad! He was going to kill your mom!"

Jason, shocked: "The fuck?!"

Dick: "He still has her on a tracker! We found him just before he killed Joker, but he still managed to paralyze him from the neck down!"

Jason, slightly disturbed: "That was him!"

Dick: "He was beating Joker's ass with a crowbar! And even after we managed to sedated Bruce and pull him off the clown we still had to make sure that Joker was locked up good and tight underground because if Bruce even caught a glimpse of him in a photo he'd go into another spiral!"

Jason, horrified: "What....the fuuuuuck???"

[iamespecter]

Whats your tadc au? :3

Uh- that's too vague of a question, so I'll just list all five- ~~~~~~~~~~~

'The Suspenseful Digital Mystery' AU Status: hiatus

plot:

There are rumors amongst the less fortunate about a mysterious mansion inviting wealthy people, and urging them to bring a plus one for a sophisticated social gathering. There's a lot of weird rules: 1) DON'T say your real name. 2) wear the mask and outfit provided to you. 3) What happens in the mansion, STAYS in the mansion. They even say that by the time midnight strikes and you didn't venture outside the grounds by then, you disappear to god knows where. Thankfully, 6 people thought it's all just a dumb rumor.... right?

'An Unexpected "Reunion"!' AU Status: ongoing (I just have writer's block for Chapter 7-)

plot:

Pom- no. That's not her name anymore. Pauline Agbayani manages to find a way out of the tormenting existence known as 'The Amazing Digital Circus'. Attempting to return to normalcy in her life while figuring out how to find her circus friends, and bringing down the company that brought about her worst experiences in life, she meets an unexpected man with red hair, mismatched eyes, and that grating showman voice she knows all too well... Working a 9 to 5 job in a retail store? What the hell is happening??

'The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin' AU Status: VERY active

plot:

After the attempt of taking the infamous Puppetmaster's life goes awry due to a stalemate, Pomni, the Last Harlequin, finds herself in a strange position of helping him out a year later on his even stranger mission: Gathering the hearts of crazed Puppets. Things start to change between them when she suffers her first of many deaths, which unbeknownst to her, sets up a domino effect that leads to her discovering something about herself, the man she allies with, and a third party who seems hellbent on capturing her.

'Digital Nightmares' AU Status: semi-active

plot:

Picture this. You find a strange headset that compels you to wear it. Next thing you know, you're in an another world full of monsters, and now you're just as small as you feel. You run, you jump, you duck out of reach, and hide. Repeat. Thankfully, you're no longer alone, for you meet another fellow about the same size as you. Find a way out. Avoid traps and foes. And most of all... Don't give in to the call.

'Circustaker' AU status: under progress lmao

plot:

Pomni wants a harem of hot circus demon girls, so Pomni gets a harem of hot circus demon girls. This is a Helltaker x TADC AU born out of spite, due to the hate against Jesterdoll on ep 3. What better way to fight homophobia with, than making a big wlw polyamory group? :)

I genuinely had no idea what you meant by that question, so here's all five of my current TADC AUs, even the underdeveloped Circustaker one lmao