#day one: vampire/'tis but a scratch

[spookytechza]

DAY ONE; WELCOME

On the first night of their weary journey, a group of travelers stumbled upon two forgotten cabins amid the desolate tundra. The wind howled like a tortured soul, urging them to seek refuge from the bitter cold. They huddled around a flickering fire, sharing whispered tales of dread—of restless spirits and shadows that crept.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the stillness, soft yet insistent. One traveler, heart pounding, approached the door. There stood a man, pale as the moon, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. With a voice smooth and cold, he requested entrance, claiming he sought shelter from the night.

Reluctantly, they opened the door, revealing dark stains marring his garments. Concern flickered in their eyes as they urged him to sit by the fire. “Are you hurt?” they asked, apprehension thick in the air. He smiled, a grin both alluring and malevolent. “This? 'Tis but a scratch,” he replied.

Now sit still, dear children. And be aware, you must not sleep. There are monsters nearby.

-Phil's Cabin

[impish-baby]

I'm so glad you're alright! Take all the time you need and take care of yourself! I would like to request a fic on a vampire couple and their kidnapped adopted kiddo who can regress into a very small headspace? Like about 0-5? Thank you for your time and do make sure to drink some water today, these days are kinda hot.

Vampire Dad Caregivers x recently turned! Reader Drabble - 🍼🦇

"Oh, I know, I know, little one.." Thoren, moving his fledgling to be cradled against his chest. Quiet echos go through the bond of hungry, hungry, hungry. How cute. But the most precious of all is the occasional love, love, sire.

You had been such a fierce thing at first, clawling and scratching at anything you could reach. Just a misguided child not knowing what's good for them, you're sure to thank both your fathers for taking you under their wings after you've come to your senses a little more. He's certain of that.

Thoren knows that won't be for a long while though, you're nothing more than a fresh babe born into a new world.

"Here.." Your fangs are still coming in, he bites his own wrist before holding it up to your mouth for you to drink from. "There, darling, papa will make sure your belly is full so you can grow up to be a big scary vampire like him." A chuckle, "well, maybe not that scary, I don't think something as cute as you could even frighten a mouse."

It really is adorable watching you eat, if only you wouldn't yank his hair.

"Now, sweetheart.." Thoren grunts, gently trying to pry your hand away from the lock threatening to be pulled from his head. "That's not nice, is it? We don't pull Papa's hair, it hurts." His mother wasn't lying when she said babies can have a ridiculous amount of strength when they want to, your hand has a death grip on him.

"My love, would you fancy a bit of help?"

Rune's lithe figure rises from a shadow dancing along the wall, gracefully coming over to the bed. "You should be wiser than having your hair down around that little devil."

"Don't scold me." Thoren sighs with relief when his partner manages to get his hair free and ties it back for him. Thank the gods. "I thought I'd be safe for one feeding."

"Right.." Rune giggles, stealing you out of the other vampire's arms. "Pup, you have to bully your Papa while I'm here so I can laugh at him! Come on, we're partners in crime, aren't we?" He presses a plethora of kisses across your cheeks, a wide grin splitting his face as you squeal at the sudden affection. "Come on, we can play a little before it's naptime."

(A/N: I hope this was ok, anon!! It's actually freezing where I live- (at least it feels that way.. most of the year it's 110+ here) but thank you for the reminder, I do need to drink more water! ^^)

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: But I'm So Sweet and Tasty [Yandere Vampire!L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: But I'm So Sweet and Tasty [Yandere Vampire!L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You've been kidnapped by a vampire with a penchant for sweets.

For Horrorfest request: I read your L x vampire fic a while ago and started thinking about the reverse. So maybe vampire L gets discovered, and instead of killing them to protect his identity, he decides to keep them like livestock? His own personal regenerating blood bag <3

Word count: 970ish

notes: vampire au, yandere, kidnapped reader, descriptions of blood drinking

“Is this really necessary?” You ask, pouting, tugging down the strawberry-frosting pink frills of a dress that barely reaches your mid-thigh. It’s a frilly, sweet pink number, with lace on the collar and a bounce to the skirt; certainly not the type of clothing you would have worn before all this. 

It is, however, the type of clothing you see in the magazines that L doesn’t bother hiding in his office. Magazines with idols wearing impractical things that are designed to bounce and jump and make their fans long for just a glimpse of something more. 

Yet it was the only thing to wear in your wardrobe when you woke up earlier; gone were your comfortable sweatshirts and trousers, gone were your warm pajamas, gone were the occasional dresses you liked to wear, sensible things with long skirts.

You’d had to practically beg L for each of them, and he never added anything to your wardrobe without a lengthy bargaining process, but your hard work was undone. 

In their place was this frothy, sweet little dress that barely kept you warm and made you look like–well.

Like a piece of cake. 

He puts the finishing touch on your hair, a matching ribbon that he deftly ties with his fingers, and pats your head for behaving so well. There was a time when you might have snarled at him through the entire process, though you were never stupid enough to fight him, even back when you would still cry and scream and rage at being stuck here.

Now, though. Now you behave, because it’s easier this way. And frankly, after so many evenings being fed on by the vampire beside you, you just don’t have the energy anymore.

Your reflection in the mirror shows no one but yourself, but when you turn your head, he is there–a small smile on his face.

“It’s very cute on you.” His voice dips a bit when he says it, and you know he’ll want to feed soon. Something about his moods when he deems you to be cute; he gets weirder, if such a thing were possible. He also gets hungry–and that never ends well for you. 

You’re staring in the mirror at your solitary reflection when he lifts your arm, giving your wrist a sniff. It never fails to make you dizzy, this contrast–the weight and pressure of him as he holds you and moves you, and the lack of him in the mirror. Like your body is on puppet strings, being yanked around by some awful thing above you.

Maybe it was, in a way. Maybe that thought is what makes you tense, now, makes you want to jerk away and run down the carpeted halls and scratch at the front door as if it wasn’t locked twenty times over. 

Maybe you couldn’t take another night of being his living blood bag, or another day of lounging about, tired and alone, snacking on the sweets he left you to eat in the kitchen. They made you taste better, he said, and you had no reason to think he was lying.

Maybe it shows on your face, in the way your muscles seize, all of this–

Maybe that’s why he gives you a gentle tug, and pulls you away from the mirror, so you can’t look anymore. So you can’t think about it.

It works, awfully enough. He smiles when he sees you shake yourself out of it, when you look at him, and not the things he does to you in the mirror.

“I bet you taste just as cute,” he murmurs, lifting your wrist again, and licking the skin there. 

You shudder.

“Things can’t taste cute,” you correct, wondering if he’ll give you a warning, or if he’ll take that first bite on impulse. It’s a 50/50, with L; he might give you a more accurate percentage, if you asked. But you won’t.

He hums. “Scientifically speaking, no. But visual perception does have a significant impact on how our brain perceives the taste of foods. For instance, something green will be perceived as being fresh and nutritious. But something pink and light…” His voice trails off, and his lips latch onto your wrist. “I can bring you the studies to read after this,” he says, voice muffled against your skin.

“No thanks,” you say, just as he takes a bite into the sensitive skin of your wrist. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, clenching your fist tight. It never gets easier. It never stops hurting. 

The sensation of his fangs sinking into your skin doesn’t change; the sharp points of them like carving knives, opening up your veins so that he can get the best flow of blood. 

“Worst part is over,” he murmurs, liquid against his mouth. If you looked down–you won’t, not again–you would see his front teeth all covered in blood.

Instead, you look everywhere else in the room. At the white walls, which he’s let you decorate. At your bed, with its checkered comforter. At your stack of books, that you’ll read tomorrow, when you’re too exhausted from blood loss to get out of bed. 

The bite is the worst part, you suppose. The part that hurts the most. After a while, the pain will dull down to an ache, and by the next morning there will only be bruises and the faintest memory of pain. 

Wooziness swoops down over your head as he begins to feed in earnest, and your stomach turns at both the feeling and the sound of it. Slurping and a soft squelch as he almost gums the wound at your wrist. 

Yes, it is the bite that hurts the most–but the slurping and satisfied hums afterward are just as sickening. 

[dragoneye01]

Meet Me in the Woods (Remmick x Reader ) Smut

Summary: Can Remmick convince you to join him in eternity?

Word Count: 1,497

You found the note tucked into your mailbox, a crumpled up piece of paper with chicken scratch handwriting. 

‘Meet me in the woods.’ 

That’s all it said. You groaned at how vague that was, how idiotic it was. The woods were all around you, everywhere you looked. You hated even more that you knew exactly where he wanted to meet because that’s where you always met each other. Under the big oak tree, across from the stream that ran through the woods surrounding your home. Living by yourself in a run down shack, well, you preferred it that way. You didn’t have to worry about men, women, anyone.

Gripping the note tightly in your hand, you tied your shoes and made your way out to that big oak tree. The sun was setting and by the time you got there, it had fallen behind the horizon. You pulled yourself up to the lowest hanging branch, one that could easily hold your weight. It was your favorite spot, so peaceful, with so many memories coming to mind. 

“What are you wearing?” You heard his voice before you saw him, and your eyes rolled at the question. 

“What? You mean my work clothes?” You wore a pair of beaten up trousers kept up by suspenders. “I’m not going to put on a little lace anytime you want to see me.”

“I don’t recall ever asking specifically for lace. That was your idea.” Remmick came out of the shadows, red eyes aglow in the dying light. 

“Why’d you want to see me?” 

“Can’t I just want to see you? Can’t I just take you in?” He tilted his head. 

“Hmm… no. You want something.” 

Remmick sighed so loudly you thought a bird flew off from its hiding place. “It’s less of me wanting something and more me wanting to give you something.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t want your eternity. I don’t want to live and watch my friends die.” You snapped. 

“You don’t have any friends.” Remmick said dryly. 

“Well, what if I do some day, huh?” 

“We could be family. You could join us.” Remmick walked closer now that the dark was taking over. He stood right in front of you, his head at your knees. You could easily kick him in the face or chest, but you held out. 

“Family, huh? Or do you mean another follower?” Your voice was clipped. Remmick leaned his forehead on his knees, letting his hands hold your calves. 

“Baby, you know I’d never do that to ya. What can I do? How can I convince you to come with me? I want you.” He whined, almost pathetically. 

You thought for a moment, looking down at the vampire in front of you. Sighing, you let your hands run through his disheveled hair. Your nails gently scraped his scalp and went to cup his face, lifting it off your knees so you could look at his eyes. 

“Why? Remmick, you could have anyone you could ever want. Why me?” You asked, hopping down from the branch and practically falling into him. Remmick was quiet for a minute. Did he have the words to describe this to you? How you made him feel like he was alive? How he loved when you pulled his hair whenever he licked you to completion? How you weren’t afraid of him? Your independent self, your strong hands, your worker’s mentality. He’d fucked plenty of preacher’s children, plenty dainty debutants. You stood your ground. You wore trousers and suspenders to work outside. You were the salt of the earth. 

Remmick was chest to chest with you and he slowly reached for your neck. You stayed still, trusting in him. You saw something glint in his hand and then he was putting that gold chain around your throat. The one he always wore. The one that you’d yank on to bring him closer. 

“Why? Because you’re the closest I’ve ever felt to home.” His voice took on that familiar Irish lilt and you were melting in his arms. 

“Will it hurt?” You whispered. 

“Only for a little bit. I’ll be gentle.” You saw how sharp his teeth were, how vicious, yet you trusted his words. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, taking his hands in your own. Letting out a breath, you kissed him. 

“Do it.” You assented, knowing that if it didn’t get done now, you’d chicken out. Remmick kissed you hard, his hand cupping your cheek, and you felt the dragon of his fangs over your lips, then down to your neck. 

The bite was probably the most pain you’d ever felt in your life. The way blood left your body and Remmick drank from you like a dying man. Your body shuddered, a crying gasp stuck in your throat. He caught you when your knees buckled and you would’ve fallen. You tried to grip his arms, but you felt weak. Your head felt light and suddenly, the pain turned to numbness. You couldn’t form words, just let Remmick hold you. 

“R-rem… I…” You could barely speak around the blood in your throat. 

“Shh… you’ll feel better soon. Just rest your head on my shoulder. I’ll hold you.” He said, slowly lowering you both under the oak tree. You wanted to say something, but you were cold and everything was getting darker and darker until… nothing was left. 

Remmick sat there, holding you in his lap, cradling you against his chest. Your body was still. Your heart had stopped. He held you so tightly he thought you might break. For a split second he was afraid that this would be the one time it didn’t work. That you wouldn’t come back. 

“Baby, are you there?” He whispered, running his bloody hands over your hair. Silence. 

“Come back to me. Come back to me.” Remmick chanted like a spell, waiting. A twitch. Your hand twitched. He waited, and suddenly your eyes were opening. They were glossy and there was a shine to them. 

“Hey, baby.” You said, eyes shining. Remmick sat you up, looking over your body. Your button up was soiled with all the blood that fell, and he started to unbutton it. He slowly pulled your suspenders from your shoulders, and untucked the shirt from your pants. Before he could say anything about getting you cleaned up, you pounced on him. 

His back hit the grass and you were on top of him, the shirt hanging loosely from your form. Nothing underneath other than the gold chain you now wore around your neck. Your lips crushed his, tasting, devouring him. Remmick’s hands gripped your hips to steady himself, kissing back just as fervently. His tongue ran over your new teeth, and loved the way you bit his lip. Your hands were running down his chest, then stopping at his belt. 

“Let me fuck you.” You sloppily pulled away, giving him a wet kiss on his cheek. “Let me show you how much I love you.” 

“How can I say no when you ask so sweetly?” Remmick chuckled, unbuckling his pants. You quickly stood up, undoing your own pants and sliding them off your legs. Remmick grabbed you by the backs of your knees and you fell forward, lips crashing back into him. You sat on his lap, kissing him harshly, loving how he looked with bruised lips. He hugged your body against yours and when he entered you your head fell back. Remmick took this opportunity to kiss and suck on your neck, lapping up some of the blood. It made him feel feral. 

You rocked your hips, then bounced them experimentally. Remmick moaned, feeling your death grip on his shoulders. 

“God, fuck me.” You gasped, feeling his length inside you. The way it moved and worked, how Remmick bucked his hips to meet yours. 

“I’ll do one better.” Remmick growled, one hand cupping your chest and the other firmly planted on your ass. 

“S-shit, this feels so good. Fuck me harder, baby.” You practically begged. Remmick let go of your chest and put both hands on your hips, slapping your body against his own. 

“Fuck, you know me so well.” Remmick rested his head in the crook of your neck as you bounced on him. “I fucking love you.” 

“Fucking love you.” You moaned, body jerking as you came on top of him. A ragged sigh left your lips, but Remmick wasn’t done. He kept bucking into your sensitive cunt, milking himself dry. With a loud groan, he came, falling back on the grass. Your chest was heaving when you removed yourself from him, falling to his side. Remmick was quick to pull your leg over his hip, turning just a bit to give you a sloppy kiss. 

“I’m never letting you go.” He whispered against your lips. 

“Keep me. Fuck me. Love me.” You said, eyes aglow in the moonlight. Remmick loved that, he loved you. He felt… at home.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Stack's Lesson" Teaser...

Stack's Lesson by Uzumaki Rebellion

Characters: Elias "Stack" Moore, Ruby Evers (Teenaged Black OC), and Mary.

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Death, The Usual Vampire Shit, and Angst. Post-Sinners movie.

Summary: Fourteen-year-old Ruby Evers's parents haven't come home from Club Juke. Left to fend for herself and her two younger siblings, she investigates what happened to them and the other missing sharecroppers who partied the night before. As dusk looms, Ruby discovers two dangerous predators hidden inside her family's chicken coop.

Author's Note: Ruby is the young girl Smoke met at the beginning of Sinners.

"Black leaves on the Mississippi river

Black leaves in the Mississippi fire

Black leaves in the Mississippi choir

Black leaves on the Mississippi land

And we've got God and cotton

We've got sons and daughters

We've got grit and glory

We've got mama's stories

We've got strength like towers

We've got hope and power"

Kirby – "Black Leaves"

Mama didn't come home.

Poppa neither.

Fourteen-year-old Ruby Evers waited by the bedroom window early Sunday morning, as her younger brother and sister slept near her feet, piled onto one old mattress on the floor. She scratched her leg, irritating a spider bite that appeared fiery red on her tawny skin.

The window faced the path her parents would take to get home from the old sawmill. Poppa carried mama off in their horse and cart looking so handsome. He even wore his tan church vest and matching bow tie. Mama fixed her hair up, uncovering it from the pale blue and white gingham cloth she usually tied her thick braids up with. She took the braids down and added some purple pansies to look fancy for the night. They were so nervous when Ruby came home with her aunt from town and she told them about Smoke Moore paying her cash money to watch his liquor truck. He ended up giving her five whole dollars for doing a good job. She would always remember his lesson about knowing her worth in the world.

Word spread about the men who tried to thief them in broad daylight, but their concern soon shifted with excitement once they heard a new juke was opening that same day. They still had cotton quotas to fill, but the temptation to hear good music from the preacher's son was too delicious to pass up. Tongues also wagged about Pastor Moore's notorious cousins sweeping into town with money to buy the old sawmill outright from an old peckerwood like Hogwood. They wanted to see the transformation of the place themselves.

Glancing at her siblings, she wondered what to fix for them if mama didn't come home.

John-John, her nine-year-old middle brother, mumbled in his sleep. Her seven-year-old baby sister, Mae, stirred under a threadbare blanket. Ruby left the window and padded barefoot into their kitchen area where she piled wood into the iron stove. She struck a match and lit some kindling to boil water for grits. There were a few leftover biscuits from their supper the day before, but they'd gone hard. They would eat them anyway along with some day old boiled eggs, and then do their chores until their parents returned.

Worry poked at Ruby's belly. Her parents had never been gone overnight before together. She wandered over to their sleeping room to check the bed again. It hadn't been slept in all night.

Mae ambled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and looking around.

"Where's Mama and Poppa?"

"I dunno. Go put on your clothes and get John-John up."

"I'm already up," John-John said, pulling on his overalls.

Ruby rubbed on his puffy hair and tugged on her sister's two braids.

"Y'all go feed the chickens, and I'll clean up in here. When the grits are ready, I'll call ya."

The children nodded and scampered out the front door. Ruby dressed quickly, made up their bedding, swept the floors clean, and checked on the water. She stirred in the grits and set out plates on the kitchen table. Once the cooked grains were at the right consistency, she whipped a spoon with butter through them, and then pulled the pot off the fire.

"Ruby! Ruby! Midnight is running around out here by hisself!" John-John hollered.

Ruby wiped her hands on her dress and dashed outside.

Midnight, their coal black gelding, ran in an agitated circle near their small tenement garden.

"Whoa, Midnight…easy boy," Ruby said, raising her hands to get him to calm down.

Where was the cart and their parents?

Midnight had broken his harness away from the cart. Maybe the wheels hit a rock, and the cart fell over, injuring her parents. Ruby led the horse to his enclosure and closed the gate tight. She ran down the path the horse would've come from and didn't see the cart or anyone else in the distance. Hoofing it back to their home, she gestured to her siblings.

"Come on in here and eat," Ruby said.

"Where's Mama and Poppa? How come they not here with Midnight?" Mae asked.

Ruby hustled them into the house and scooped the grits on their plates with the biscuits and unshelled eggs.

"Eat," she said.

She ate with them, trying to look at ease, but her heart rate elevated and tension strained her shoulders. After the children cleaned their plates of every single grit and biscuit crumb, she herded the younger ones over to Miss Emmie's home. The elderly woman often cared for younger children while the teens and adults worked the fields.

Miss Emmie stood at her clothesline. She beat rugs of dust early before the temperature rose.

"Miss Emmie, can you watch John-John and Mae today?" she asked, holding up one dollar of the money she earned from Smoke.

"Where you get that money from?"

Miss Emmie took the dollar and turned it over in her hand, making sure it was actually cash and not plantation scrip.

"I earned it. They ate breakfast already. I'll be back later today. Can you feed them again before I get back?"

"Where you goin'?"

"Mama and Poppa didn't come back last night. Midnight came back without the cart. I think somethin' happened to 'em."

"They went to that juke?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Emmie sucked the teeth she still had left in her mouth.

"Maybe I should go get Ben to go look for you."

"That's alright Miss Emmie, I can do it myself. No need to bother Ben on his day off."

"You shouldn't be around no juke joint."

"Yes ma'am, but I'm worried."

"Oh, Lord. Ben!"

Emmie shouted toward her ramshackle cabin. A six foot tall scrawny man with a lazy eye trudged outside.

"Momma?"

"Ben…carry Ruby over to that old sawmill. She's looking for her parents. You can pick up a pound of rice and a pound of pinto beans for me on the way there. Get six chicken tamales for our lunch later. And some penny candy for John-John and Mae. I'm gonna watch them while you help Ruby look for Alice and Roy. Can you remember all that?"

She handed him the dollar Ruby gave her.

"I'll remember."

Ben spit into the dirt and pocketed the money in his trousers. He tucked in his faded shirt and headed back into the house.

"Lemme get my shoes on," he called out to them.

"John-John…Mae…y'all go on inside," Emmie said.

Ruby hugged her brother and sister.

"Be good and I'll be back as soon as I can."

The children nodded and headed indoors.

Ben stepped back out and pulled a straw hat over his head.

"C'mon, Ruby," he said.

She followed him around the side and watched him hitch an old mule to a wagon. He helped her climb onto the front seat and he joined her, holding the reins. He whistled, and the mule began pulling them on their way.

Ben didn't talk, and Ruby didn't engage in any type of conversation. Her mind cleaved onto anything her parents might have said that may have indicated not coming home before they departed. There was no mention of giving other folks a ride or stopping off anywhere. If Poppa was too drunk to guide the cart himself, Mama would've left him behind and come home alone to check on them. The pit of her stomach ached.

In town, Ben pulled up to the Chow's Grocery store on the colored side and tied his mule. Ruby jumped down and sat on a small bench in front of the store to wait. She noticed Lisa Chow pacing the front of an unopened business. Lisa's face appeared blotchy and pink, streaked with tears. Roughly a dozen Chinese adults surrounded her, their expressions fretful. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying hysterically.

"I don't know where they are!" Lisa shrieked. "They didn't come home from that juke joint!"

Ruby's heart lurched in her chest. Another set of missing parents who went to the juke. The pain in Ruby's belly nearly bowled her over as she started breaking into a profuse sweat. Something bad happened.

Ben called over another man they both knew who worked on a riverboat. Calvin was a fisherman and knew everyone in town.

"Cal, what's goin' on?" Ben asked.

Calvin scratched his shaggy head and sighed.

"I don't quite know. I was supposed to drop off a new load of catfish, but the Chows ain't showed up to pay me. I've been waiting out here since eight. Lisa out here sayin' they never came home last night."

"Did you go to the juke?"

"For about an hour after they opened, and then I left early. Had to get up and check my traps at five this morning."

A cloud of dust kicked up in the street as the town sheriff sped off past them. Several other vehicles followed him.

"Something is up," Ben said. "C'mon Ruby, let's get over to that juke."

He helped her up into the wagon again, and they followed the dust of the sheriff's car.

His mouth ached.

Moving his jaw a bit, Stack licked the inside of his gums, searching for residual blood. He didn't like the taste of it hours later, nor did he delight in the pieces of flesh caught between his teeth where he ripped apart Annie's throat.

He opened his eyes.

Annie.

She had been the key he needed to get his twin to join the hive. Smoke chose to kill her instead.

Yet spared him.

He rolled over in the dense straw that covered him and Mary.

The woman who turned him into a lost soul slumbered in a deep, trance-like state, looking like a corpse in need of a casket. Blood smeared the lower half of her face. She didn't seem to mind the traces of slaughter they committed against innocent people. Her rabid mouth had been gluttonous, as if a bloodlust frenzy was second nature to her. He looked at her closely. She slept like a sated baby.

Stack's eyes longed to close. His body floated just under lucidness. He fought it as an internal alarm system kicked in. Two things he became aware of: the warmth of humans and the scent of their blood.

A young boy and girl had stepped into the chicken coop, their chatter bringing his consciousness to the surface. Mary stayed asleep.

Chickens clucked, and the children tossed feed all over the floor, some of it striking the thick straw covering Stack and Mary. Luckily, a large tree kept the coop shaded from the sun piercing through the wood slats. Stack kept still and listened. The young ones ran out quickly, and he heard the fearful neighing of a horse. After that. Silence.

"Are they gone?"

Mary opened her eyes. The sickly paleness of her skin covered in blood told him how his life would be from now on.

Still hiding in the shadows with her.

Always killing.

Never satisfied. Never truly free.

The rest soon come....!!!

[girlkisser13]

dating jeremy gilbert would include

• jeremy gilbert is the kind of boy who would give you his whole heart even if it was already cracked down the middle.

• but let’s be real— jeremy’s whole heart is held together with duct tape and grief.

• when you first get together, he’d try to convince himself that you’re just another person fate is going to rip away from him.

• but the more time passes, the more terrified he gets— not because he thinks you’re going to leave, but because he knows he’d never survive losing you.

• you’d catch him staring at you sometimes with this haunted look in his eyes, like he’s already mourning you— and when you ask him what’s wrong, he’d just shake his head and kiss your forehead, whispering, "nothing… just making sure you’re real."

• jeremy is such a golden retriever boyfriend— soft-hearted, loyal to a fault, and always looking at you like you’re the best thing to ever happen to him. even when you’re just sitting there doing nothing, he can’t help but smile at you like a lovesick puppy.

• golden retriever boyfriends who will burn the world down for you >>>

• he’d bring you coffee exactly how you like it without asking, every single morning. even if he’s barely slept or dealing with his own issues, making sure you’re okay is always his top priority.

• when you’re having a bad day, he’d show up with one of his old flannels and wrap it around your shoulders without a word— because he knows that sometimes comfort isn’t about fixing things, it’s just about being there.

• he'd always let you wear his hoodies without even asking— honestly, he prefers seeing you in them. they're a little big on you, and he melts every time you show up in one with sleepy eyes and messy hair.

• he’d totally make you mixed cds with handwritten tracklists like songs that remind me of you.

• he is 100% a forehead kisser. anytime you’re worried or tired, he’ll press a soft kiss to your forehead and just linger there for a second, like he’s trying to pour all his love into that one little gesture.

• jeremy is incredibly protective in that quiet, subtle way— not overbearing, but always making sure you’re safe. walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, standing just a little bit closer to you in crowded rooms, slipping his hand into yours when he senses you’re anxious.

• he would never try to keep you out of the supernatural mess— he knows better than anyone that pretending something isn’t dangerous won’t stop it from killing the people you love.

• instead, he’d train with you— teaching you how to shoot a crossbow, how to use vervain, how to spot a vampire before they spot you.

• but even if you’re capable of handling yourself, he’d still put himself between you and danger without even thinking about it.

• he’d pull you behind him in a heartbeat if something supernatural walked into the grill— one arm out like a human shield, eyes flicking toward the exits, mind already calculating how to get you out alive.

• if you ever got hurt— even a scratch— jeremy would blame himself completely. he’d sit by your bedside all night, fingers wrapped tightly around your hand, murmuring apologies into your hair even after you’ve told him a hundred times it isn’t his fault.

• he ALWAYS walk you home— even if you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself. when you tease him about it, he’d just shrug and say, "i’d rather be safe than sorry."

• he leaving his hoodies at your place on purpose just so you’d have something that smells like him when he’s not around.

• he would absolutely tuck your hair behind your ear during conversations without even thinking about it.

• he keeps one of your hair ties on his wrist at all times— partly because he likes having a little piece of you with him, partly because he knows you’ll always forget to bring one

• you become his favorite thing to draw without even realizing it. he’d sketch you in moments when you weren’t paying attention— curled up in bed, laughing at something on your phone, biting your lip while you’re reading.

• one day you’d find a whole notebook filled with little drawings of you— some half-finished, some perfect— and he’d get all flustered trying to explain it. but the truth is, drawing you is his way of keeping you with him, even when you’re not there.

• he memorizes all your little habits without even realizing it— how you like your coffee, which book you always reach for when you’re sad, the exact song that always makes you smile.

• he pretends not to notice when you fall asleep on the couch during movie nights— but the second your head hits his shoulder, he’s pulling a blanket over you and tucking you closer like you’re the most precious thing in the whole damn world.

• jeremy’s love language is physical touch— full stop. he probably doesn’t even realize how touch-starved he is until you’re in his life, giving him all this soft, gentle affection he never thought he deserved.

• he always has to be touching you somehow— pinkies linked under the table, his hand resting on your thigh while he’s driving, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back while you’re curled up on the couch together.

• he likes to take you on midnight drives down empty roads, one hand on the steering wheel and the other laced tightly with yours, just needing to feel you close.

• jeremy is the type of boyfriend who wants to build a whole little life with you.

• you could be brushing your teeth together in the morning, both half-asleep, and he’d just lean over out of nowhere to kiss your temple because he can’t believe he gets to have this with you— something soft and normal in a town that steals every good thing away.

• he tries so hard not to let his darkness touch you— but there would be nights where he’d wake up gasping for air, hands shaking as he reaches for you in the dark.

• and you’d always be there— brushing his hair out of his face, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, whispering, "i’m here. i’m not leaving."

• jeremy wouldn’t just love you— he’d worship you in this quiet, aching way that would absolutely ruin any other person for you. <33

[skeltnwrites]

Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue. 

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too. 

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.” 

“Stevie. It’s just water.” 

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself. 

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished. 

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway. 

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day. 

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.  

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight. 

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn. 

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve. 

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does. 

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA. 

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.  

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him. 

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.” 

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.” 

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you. 

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.” 

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?” 

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.” 

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!” 

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.” 

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?” 

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!” 

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you. 

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door. 

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.” 

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles. 

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red. 

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t. 

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week. 

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently. 

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache. 

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills. 

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?” 

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure. 

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends. 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!” 

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game. 

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure. 

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire. 

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin. 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.” 

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!” 

“Steve!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along. 

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks. 

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–” 

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.” 

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.” 

Steve stares, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.” 

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!” 

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.” 

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer. 

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again. 

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you. 

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.” 

“Wasn’t my idea.” 

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead. 

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is. 

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive. 

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out. 

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now. 

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?” 

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.” 

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.” 

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you. 

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows. 

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet. 

You knock and put on your best film school student face. 

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?” 

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say. 

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.” 

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost. 

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?” 

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance. 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.” 

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons. 

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!” 

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table. 

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism? 

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten. 

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?” 

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.” 

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability. 

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously. 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.” 

“Thanks!” 

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster. 

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse. 

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?” 

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.” 

“What!” 

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe. 

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?” 

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place. 

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’. 

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen. 

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask. 

“It was your crazy idea, honey.” 

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.” 

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?” 

“I can put it in a shot glass?” 

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades. 

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite. 

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?” 

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either. 

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages. 

“I can’t do this,” he decides. 

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.” 

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?” 

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!” 

“I can count you down?” 

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.” 

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient. 

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.” 

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong. 

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after. 

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings. 

“What? How was it?” 

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass. 

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask. 

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?” 

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.” 

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers. 

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils. 

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?” 

“Or it might be a myth?” 

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?” 

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up. 

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him. 

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.  

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety. 

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk. 

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone. 

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are. 

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.” 

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots. 

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.” 

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content. 

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve. 

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.” 

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper. 

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even. 

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway. 

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed. 

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he? 

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years. 

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence. 

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it. 

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right? 

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor? 

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve. 

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert. 

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?” 

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.” 

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.” 

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug. 

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back. 

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard. 

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber. 

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.  

“I almost took your head off with that bat.” 

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” 

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand. 

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?” 

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember. 

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?” 

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy. 

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now. 

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either. 

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him. 

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.” 

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.” 

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.” 

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.” 

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” 

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful. 

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.” 

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them. 

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.” 

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it. 

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed. 

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too. 

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall. 

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

[pittsick]

GOTH TASHI HEADCANONS.

cw: +18. mdni. degrading-adjacent teasing. orgasm denial. strap-on sex. marking. mirror sex. sensory play. light bondage. possessive behavior. aftercare. religious & occult imagery. power imbalance. power play. clothing kink.

pairing: goth!tashi x gn!partner

taglist: @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @destinedtobegigi @imperishablereverie @lovefaist @shahabaqsa0310 @prismozo @jesuistrestriste @grimsonandclover @nozhdyved @yardofbrunettes @hangels @sweetheartfaist @lacelottie

🕷️ ── She works at a vintage record store tucked between a tarot shop and a dilapidated art cinema. She alphabetizes everything by vibe, not by artist. You learned this the hard way when you tried to find The Cure under "C."

🕷️ ── She never wears the same makeup twice. One day it’s smeared black eyeliner and red wine lips like she crawled out of a Bauhaus music video. The next, she’s wearing ghost-white foundation, hand-drawn crucifixes beneath her eyes, and metallic shadow that makes her look celestial and unholy all at once.

🕷️ ── She has a sex drawer full of lace gloves, harnesses, scented oils, and a velvet blindfold. Everything smells like roses and sandalwood. She ties your wrists and murmurs poetry while she rides you, slow and torturous.

🕷️ ── Her bedroom is a gothic dreamscape. Heavy black velvet curtains. Candles of every size melted onto plates. A wrought iron bed covered in torn black lace and wine-red sheets. Dead roses in glass bottles. Posters of The Craft, Interview with the Vampire, and Nosferatu. One corner is reserved for a little shrine to Mercury retrograde.

🕷️ ── Tashi leaves marks intentionally. Long, red scratch trails down your back. Lipstick kisses on your throat. A bite on your inner thigh that lingers for days. She wants you to flinch when someone else touches you there.

🕷️ ── She uses her strap like a spell. She takes her time—soft at first, almost reverent. Then she pins your hips, fucks you deep and slow while her nails dig into your chest, telling you how sweet you look falling apart.

🕷️ ── She reads with religious intensity. Her favorites: Anne Rice, Clive Barker, Sylvia Plath, Baudelaire, and anything with erotic vampires or tragic women. She underlines passages in red ink and folds corners like wounds. You once found a pressed flower between pages of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

🕷️ ── Dates with her mean sneaking into cemeteries at night, slow dancing to Dead Can Dance under the moon, or reading erotic vampire fiction aloud while sharing a clove cigarette.

🕷️ ── She’s secretly soft about animals—especially black cats, rats, and moths. If you bring her a rescued crow with a bent wing, she’ll cry and name it after a Romantic poet.

🕷️ ── Corset play is essential. She’ll have you lace her in slowly, kissing your knuckles as you tighten it, then sit on your lap and make you come in your jeans without taking a single layer off.

🕷️ ── Her wardrobe is an exquisite graveyard of lace, leather, and velvet. Think floor-length skirts, crushed velvet slips worn over torn fishnets, corsets laced with silver ribbon, Victorian blouses with puffed sleeves, and thrifted black wedding veils. She layers textures like a spell — every outfit a soft form of armor.

🕷️ ── She is obsessed with symbolism. Wears crosses and rosaries as fashion. Draws pentagrams in her notebooks. Keeps bones in jars on her bookshelf. Her apartment has tarot cards pinned to the wall and antique mirrors that she insists are "not haunted, just misunderstood."

🕷️ ── Her aftercare is as intense as the sex. She kisses every mark she left. Cleans you up gently with warm water and a silk cloth. Wraps you in her oversized lace robe and reads you poetry while you come down.

🕷️ ── She treats friendships like blood pacts. If she lets you in, you’re in. She’ll walk you home at 2 a.m., hex your ex without being asked, and stare down anyone who looks at you wrong in a bar. Her loyalty is unshakable, but earned.

🕷️ ── She doesn’t party—she haunts. At clubs, she’s the one in the corner booth, dressed like a Victorian widow, sipping absinthe and watching everything with lidded eyes. She never dances unless the song is slow and sacrilegious.

🕷️ ── Tashi has control even when she’s bottoming. She’ll straddle you, lip between her teeth, rocking her hips just enough to make you lose your mind—and if you speed up or touch her without permission, she stops. Smiles. “Again,” she says. “And I’ll leave you like this all night.”

🕷️ ── She gets off on your desperation. She loves holding eye contact while you're begging for her touch—just watching, perfectly still, lips parted, letting you squirm while she decides if you’ve earned it.

🕷️ ── Journals constantly but never lets anyone read it. Leather-bound notebooks, covered in sigils and dried flowers. Some pages are poems. Others are just names, underlined. No one knows what that means.

🕷️ ── She gives orders in a calm, unshakable tone. “Hands behind your back.” “Stay open for me.” “Don’t come until I say.” She never raises her voice—she doesn’t need to. There’s so much gravity in her control, you obey without thinking.

🕷️ ── Overstimulating you once you’re already a mess. The moment you come undone on her strap, she doesn’t stop—she holds your hips down, fucking you through the trembling, grinning when your moans turn to whimpers. “You don’t get to stop until I do.”

🕷️ ── She likes leaving black lipstick kisses stains on your body. Not just for the aesthetic—though she does take a photo sometimes. But she loves the mess of it, the intimacy. She’ll kiss down your chest, your thighs, your stomach. You end up looking like a canvas she painted just to prove you’re hers.

🕷️ ── She brings you weird little gifts. A pressed flower in a book about death. A mix CD labeled “for when it hurts sweetly.” A Victorian ring she found at the flea market. She never explains why—just hands it to you with that unreadable look in her eyes.

🕷️ ── Tashi doesn’t say “I love you” often—she shows it in rituals. Lighting a candle before you come over. Making you tea without asking how you like it. Brushing your hair after a bath. Curling up beside you with a book and no words because your presence is enough.

🕷️ ── She rides you slow while holding your jaw. Doesn’t let you close your eyes. Doesn’t let you touch her at first. Just rides you like worship—one hand braced on your chest, the other dragging across your throat, eyes locked on yours. She comes hard and quiet, then kisses your lips like a reward.

🕷️ ── She’ll do your makeup while straddling your lap. Black eyeliner, dark lipstick, fingers under your chin. She smirks when you fidget and whispers, “Hold still, angel. You’ll look divine when I’m done with you.” And you do—because everything she touches turns into art.

🕷️ ── Tashi believes love is a haunting. You don’t just love someone—you possess them, bleed into them, echo in their absence. So when she holds you at night, skin to skin, her breath at your throat, she’s not just cuddling you. She’s imprinting.

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[lilacgaby]

return to main menu?

- bakugo katsuki

"what are we?" "...nothing. right?"

convienence. a means to end. that's all this was for both of you right? when katsuki is fed up with the crazed fangirls who just won't leave him alone, he works out a deal with you. it was just coincidence he had a huge crush on you.

to kiss or kill.. a vampire?

you've been a vampire for as long as you can remember. you were going through your day, or night, routine as normal when a noise startles you. a man, katsuki bakugo to be exactly, was standing at your door. though, he can't seem to rember whether he's supposed to kill or kiss you...

I've changed, won't you see?

summary: katsuki ruined your life when you were small, giving you a life altering injury, though getting nothing more than a pat on the back. throughout his successes he can't get you out of his mind, so he sets out to make amends with you.

running out of time, to make you love me.

THE PRINCE'S BALL was to be had on his 18th birthday. the week before, you realize the feelings you have harbored over the years for him. little did you know you were both fighting against the time restraint placed on him.

die for you.

after an attempt on your life, the royal family turns to promising young blood, hoping to find someone to protect you. katsuki was chosen and ended up dedicating himself to you in a way even he never predicted.

excuses, excuses

katsuki had left you, overwhelmed by the situation you two were now tied to. now, when he finally reaches his dreams, he realizes victory doesn't taste as sweet without you.

my first, my last, my everything.

summary: katsuki left that life behind for you. but when the life you two built from scratch together was threatened, what else could he do but go back?

my last, my everything.

ride or die

you'd been partnered up with the hotheaded speed racer, katsuki. who knew he'd end up more interested in you then the races he'd win?

crayons and connections

after a harsh relationship he really didn't want another try at romance for a while. at least, not until he hired you. he thought he loved the way you cared for his kids, but you both knew it was something more.

*truth bomb! (f,h)

in which a lovesick girl is hit by a truth telling quirk that lasts 7 days.

*serenity (f)

in which a longtime fanboy meets his anime crush in his world.

entranced (f)

through all stages of his life, katsuki was entranced with you.

save me

katsuki has always saved you, his princess.

saved.

awakened

you've been asleep all this time, who knew a barbarian would be the one to awaken you?

death is inevitable, but why you?

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

fairy tale.

summary: katsuki's life had been flipped onto its head, who knew some pixie dust was all he needed?

iced out.

"he'll need an ice pack when i'm done with him."

fantasy au's:

dragonking!bkg 2

dragonking!bkg x tinkerbell!reader

barbarian!bakugo 2 3 4

prohero! au:

prohero!bkg 2 3 4

interview but he's down bad 2

preschool!teacher reader

kidnapped!reader

domestic au:

4:25 a.m

family errand running

interview with his daughter

6:21 a.m

mini you.

girldad!katsuki

nanny!reader

random drabbles:

mini me

katsuki thinks it's cute how you adopt his habits, calling you his mini-me.

he's a scaredy-cat.

is he proposing or...?

childhoodfriends

shy!reader

back kissing him</3

nerd!bakugo

physical touch

muscle-kisses

boyfriend!bakugo

only shy to him

racer!katsuki

comfort

the one who got away..

hypotheticals

drawing him

drawing on his hands

makeup on him

-todoroki shoto

*marry me! (f)

in which a royal prince and a witch get married to dethrone the king.

death is inevitable, but why you?

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

random drabbles:

is he proposing or...?

-tamaki amajiki

random drabbles:

shy!reader 2

sfw alphabet

timeskip!tamaki

period comfort

-kirishima eijiro

lucky me.

you always seemed to attract bad luck, yet you think your life might be turning around as you reconnect with light itself.

random drabbles:

is he proposing or...?

-midoriya izuku

death is inevitable, but why you?

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

random drabbles:

is he proposing or..?

-denki kaminari

random drabbles:

is he proposing or...?

-neito monoma

random drabbles:

shy!reader

-hitoshi shinsou

i'll love you, even from afar.

random drabbles:

period comfort

-touya todoroki (dabi)

better 4 u

summary: touya didn't deserve you, he knew there was someone out there better for you.

[meangirls-imagines]

Hi!!! I’m just wondering about any kinks reader might have in the poly!plasticsverse, and you know maybe any kinks the girls might have too

Poly!Plasticverse Kinks (18+):

Gretchen is a PILLOW PRINCESS

Has a praise kink AND a degradation kink

LOVES to be eaten out

Crazy for nipple play (she can cum just from that)

Loves to be choked (chokes herself sometimes)

Loves, loves, LOVES, dry humping

Loves being spanked (floggers, hands, etc.)

SHE HAS A PAIN KINK

HAND. KINK. (She gets caught staring at Y/N's hands while they play guitar and 9 times out of 10 leads to her getting plowed)

She loves being overstimulated

Gretchen is a squirter

Once in a blue moon, she will top one of the girls or Y/N (double-ended dildo)

Karen has a massive toy collection

COSTUMES!!

She loves to be gagged

She loves being tied up

She goes full shibari sometimes

LOVES SENDING NUDES TO HER GIRLS

Sends them spontaneously

Karen is into butt plugs and things of that nature

She misbehaves one day and Regina makes her wear a butt plug to school. Y/N makes her wear a bluetooth vibrator too.

MAJOR service submissive

She likes to clean the house, wash the dishes, gets punished when she doesn't do her tasks

BRATTY AS FUCK (Runs her mouth a little too much for her sake)

Knows her tits look great so she wears things that accentuate them.

Likes getting marked by her girls, likes wearing hickeys like they are accessories.

Karen is ticklish (sometimes its foreplay for her)

Regina George has a major breeding kink

Loves getting her hair pulled

Her neck is her weakness (kissing, nibbling, licking, etc.)

Regina gets WET (like dripping down her thighs wet)

Likes being bitten

She scratches down her girls backs

Likes to leave marks on her girls

Financial Domme

Def has an OnlyFans

MAJOR LEATHER KINK (leather, latex, PVC girly)

Sadist™️

Only lets Y/N top her (only lets Y/N fuck her ass)

Calls Y/N "daddy", makes Gretchen and Karen call her "Mommy"

Loves high/drunk/crossfaded sex (If Regina smokes, Y/N knows they are fucking)

Major exhibitionist (has a "places to fuck" fucket list)

The class she shares with Y/N is after lunch and on the days Y/N skips lunch to go smoke with Aaron and Shane, when they’re in class, all Regina has to do is whisper the word daddy in Y/N’s ear and she’s getting fingered while learning about the French Revolution

HAS A PINK STRAP

The council (@yungpoetfics) and I have decided Cady is babygirl and that is her kink.

Top-leaning switch

Sadist and Masochist

Very into suspension

Foot fetish

(Has chatted to Shane about celebrities feet)

Blood kink (loves period sex) (allegedly a vampire)

Knife kink

Bondage

Very into edging her girl

CNC

Wax kink

BODY PAINTING

Janis fucks her girl in the art room (has used a paintbrush as a makeshift dildo)

Collars/chokers

Girly is a GIVER (iykyk)

Y/N has topped her (multiple times)

Breath play

Loves Regina's boobs (the boobs that made her a gay boob girly)

Has read the kamasutra front to back

100% a switch (emotional bottom physical top)

Likes unusual positions

Super flexible

Firm believer of "sit on my face, don't hover. even if i die, SIT"

Proud member of the Mile High club (on a no fly list)

Shower sex enthusiast

Somnophiliac

Lactation kink

Dry Humping

Thigh Riding

SIZE KINK (2/3 of the plastics are taller than her and she's taller than, Gretchen, Janis, and Cady)

Likes being blindfolded

SEX ON THE BEACH

Fucking in crowds (fucked Regina at a Paramore concert)

Loves being called Daddy

HAS PEGGED SHANE

Wears a packer

BOTTOM!Y/N HCS BELOW

Whimpers if overwhelmed

Her sensitive spots are her back (scratches, massages, etc.) and her thighs

Brat

Likes being forced to submit (puts up a hell of a fight)

Thinks veins are hot (she likes fucking her girl after gym when she can see veins popping and her girl is sweaty and breathless)

Likes being choked

Likes being slapped (yes on the face)

"Hit me harder" "Show me no mercy"

Later regrets those sentences

VOYEUR (watches Regina fuck Gretchen and Karen and rubs one out)

Likes giving Shane head (He's rough) (SHE SWALLOWS)

Has had a threesome with Aaron and Shane (and a foursome including Cady in that group)

Note: @yungpoetfics and I got very VERY carried away with Y/N. Just know, the smut you guys will get from the poly!plasticsverse/y/n's harem is going to be HOT

[wholoveseggs]

I also have another one!! I’d love to see like Rebekahs friend(the reader) and Elijah’s love story. Like how they met(maybe in the Victorian age or Viking) and just them through the eras! If that is something you would be interested in doing! Like no problems just a cute little thing about their story through the time 💕💕 as always no pressure 💕

Worth the wait

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

You and Elijah are childhood friends, dipping in and out of each others lives for the past one thousand years. You hope that one day you will have a chance to be together and find the love you've always longed for.

♡♡ Thanks for the requests @ashloring & @loving-and-dreaming I got these requests back to back and I thought they were perfect combined together. Sorry it took so long, I really wanted to do this story justice... hopefully it is... ♡♡

7.1k words - Warnings: smut, angst, reminiscing, playful sex, Elijah being very silly and sappy.

You were always fated to love him from afar. From the first moment you ever laid eyes on Elijah — you knew deep down that you would love him as long as you lived. What you didn't know was how long that would be.

You grew up together in a quaint viking village, learning to hunt and forage. He pushed you around, pulled your braids and teased you. You gave back as much as you got, biting and scratching until you were both on the ground tousling around in a full blown battle to prove who was the winner.

The nature of your play fighting changed when you became teenagers, arms still grabbing, but now holding a little bit longer, hands lingering, brushing one anothers faces. Eyes meeting, always with a blush and hasty awkward parting.

When his mother caught you laying on his bed together, fully clothed with a few shy pecks here and there, she sent you away. From that point on, you barely spoke, too embarrassed and flustered to communicate.

You grew up and grew apart, watching him and his family from afar. There was always a darkness over the Mikaelson household, a lingering sense of unease that kept everyone in the village back.

Still the sight of him was enough to brighten your day. Even though you stayed far away from him and his family, Elijah often found you sitting near him, the two of you were simply drawn to each other.

Life was perfect and peaceful until one night, screams echoed in the darkness, sending you from the safety of your bed. It was coming from his home, so you quickly grabbed the only weapon you could find and ran towards the sound.

What you found was beyond anything you could imagine, death and magic combined as the family mutated into a monster to rival the ones of mythological tales.

Esther spotted you and forced you to your knees, laying beside Elijah's body as she began her spell. Once you were tied by mystical cords you didn't understand, she muttered the same incantations she had spoken over each of her children.

That was your last night as a human, the last night you were alive.

Life as an original vampire was unexpected, it came with anger, lust, bloodlust, and unmatched supernatural strength that took adjusting.

Luckily you weren't entirely alone, you had the Mikaelson siblings, teaching each other, being patient, especially Elijah. Together you mastered every nuance in becoming the strongest predator there was.

While you may have been turned against your will, you quickly accepted this new existence. The freedom that came with an endless future proved rewarding with each sunrise.

But soon the prospect of an endless future turned into a curse and you learned the only true enemy of an original was time itself.

Eternity felt hollow as you watched every friend you made grow old and die while you were forced to continue on. Leaving you, haunted and depressed with no escape in sight.

And the only group of people who understood your plight suffered from their own problems. You spent your first five hundred years with them, moving around from country to country before you needed to take a long break from them.

You hoped that Elijah would always keep his heart, stay gentle and kind, but that was impossible. He matured into someone cunning and ruthless, his humanity slowly slipping away, tainted by the brutalities of this life.

The constant bickering, hateful arguments and petty jealousy between them drove you away. After those years you decided to live independently, only visiting the Mikaelson's every couple centuries, trying your best to keep hold of your humanity, while feeling lost in the ever flowing sea of time.

You sat out front a quiet little cafe, sipping on a espresso and browsing your phone. Modern technology was still such a trip to you, just one change after another in an impossible to keep up with world. Everyday some new gadget popped up.

You remembered a time when it took weeks to travel from one place to another. For a letter to make its way took months. And now you could press a button on the piece of glass in your hand and have a face to face conversation with someone on the other side of the world.

It was fascinating, these human inventions that filled their mundane lives. You envied how enraptured they were in their invented distractions. Not everything changed, humans were still so desperate for a simple illusion to fill the boredom of the days drudgery.

But today wasn't an ordinary day for you, today you had a date. Or at least, you wanted it to be a date, Elijah probably saw it as just meeting up with an old friend.

He sat down across from you, handsome as ever, elegant and charming, just as you remembered. Dressed in a black suit, the perfect mix of old fashioned and contemporary.

But when he smiled at you, all your trepidation melted away. It was the same familiar smile you fell in love with, holding that bright twinkle in his eyes and showing off those dimples.

"It's been a while," he said with a faint smile.

"Just a little," you smirked playfully.

He always had the same mannerisms, crossing his legs and holding his body with poise. However in the centuries you spent around him, you learned all his tells. The way he always touched his face when uncomfortable, his tendency to play with his hands.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning back in his seat as he ordered a cup of coffee.

He politely thanked the waitress that delivered it, before taking a sip, his dark eyes set intensely on yours.

"Me, oh I've been..." you let your voice trail off for a moment, swallowing the memories that threatened to steal your poise.

But Elijah knew what you were thinking, not having seen one another for so long, the memories of the last time you saw eachother tried to force their way back to the front of your mind.

It was the 1950s, and you ran into him in New York of all places. It was the first time you thought you actually had a real chance with him, but he was plagued by his missing siblings, his rage at his brother turned him into a man you barely recognized.

Watching him torture people for information, murdering innocent bystanders didn't seem out of the ordinary anymore, this new Elijah was beyond ruthless. He was a man devoted only to killing his enemies.

Today he seemed far different, poised and kind. The Elijah you fell in love with as a girl had somehow resurfaced and seemed quite eager to make your acquaintance. Or perhaps you just wanted to see him as the man you have always loved, a possibility of a future with him you always dreamed of.

"I guess we haven't really kept in touch," you murmured softly. "I've been off doing my thing and I've missed you more than words could say. Though... you obviously haven't missed me, being so busy playing king of the vampires," you teased him.

"Well someone has to keep the order," he said with a smirk.

"And you think you're the best man for the job?" you raised your brows.

His gaze met yours, he couldn't help the nostalgia that built up in him. Seeing you staring at him, reminded of the times when he first fell in love with you. He had both just turned thirteen and it was like he was seeing you for the first time, dancing around the fire with ribbons in your hair. All the times he would look at you, getting flustered, only to see you looking back at him with the same unspoken feeling between you.

"Well it's either me or Niklaus," Elijah answered as he took a drink.

"Fair enough," you laughed softly and sighed.

Elijah loved that laugh, the way it made your eyes light up. His heart melted, seeing you looking so beautiful. He never stood a chance, you could have your pick of any man, ones who would worship the ground you walked on, ones that could give you a happy life.

"I trust the family is doing well?" you asked with an even gaze.

He nodded. "I have a niece now, Hope. She's brought light back into my family," he smiled slightly.

You loved seeing him this way, happy and hopeful, exactly the way it should be.

"I can't believe it, Niklaus a father. Angels weep," you jested with a laugh.

"Well sometimes you have to set aside your misgivings and make room for surprises," he smirked.

"Spoken like a true mediator," you replied, toasting him with your mug.

You talked for what seemed like forever, catching up on lost time, simply taking in one another's presence. His gaze lingered on you, admiring your confidence. You've always had that glow, drawing everyone in with your easy nature.

"Now tell me, how was your time in Paris?" Elijah asked curiously.

"Has Elijah Mikaelson been keeping tabs on me?" You teased him and laughed.

"I've managed to keep track of a few things," he smirked.

"Nothing you didn't already know, I've spent the past few decades indulging in one thing or another," you answered honestly. "Wine, art, food, sex…”

"How do I fall into those categories?" he chuckled, cocking his head to the side.

"Hmmm, I want to say art but I don't want to feed your ego, so wine it is," you grinned.

"Not sex?" he questioned with a grin.

You shrugged and sipped on your drink, trying to conceal the hot blush spreading over your skin.

"I wouldn't know, now, would I?" you teased him.

It was meant to be a question, that's what you intended, however it came out as an admission and you winced slightly, embarrassed that your nerves were starting to take over.

Elijah loved flirting with you, it felt different than with anyone else, there was something about it, like he was doing it for the first time, all nerves and awkwardness. He saw the flush and pink in your cheeks, the same sweet little blush from a thousand years ago, he knew you felt the same way.

"Would you like to?" he asks curiously.

"Please, Elijah..." you laughed off his question.

You shuffled in your seat nervously. Not believing that Elijah had actually seen the potential for romance. He was just teasing, friendly banter between old friends.

"How's your dating life?" You asked, steering the conversation away from the uncomfortableness you were feeling.

"You're asking me out?" he smirked.

"Fuck off," you chuckled playfully. "I was only going to ask if you are still pinning after Katherine," you teased.

"Now who's keeping tabs?" He countered with a smile.

"Do you blame me? C'mon, give me all the delicious gossip."

"Well.. I finally found her. We had lots of sex, then I dumped her," he quipped.

"Oh my, Elijah, a heartbreaker," you smirked.

"Yes, that's me. Now you, I've always wondered who you were with?" Elijah brought the attention back to you, waiting for an explanation.

You rolled your eyes and relaxed into the chair. "Men, women, witches, werewolves…” you joked.

"Not sex, I meant love. Did you meet anyone that holds your heart?" He clarified, fiddling with his hands under the table, both excited and nervous to hear what you had to say.

You got a little flustered and swallowed, shrugging it off as nothing. There was no one. You certainly met some contenders over the years, but no one came close to the man that sat across from you.

"Love is exhausting," you replied casually. "Much like everything in this life, it's all the same. At the end of the day, you're left feeling empty."

He listened. He understood what you mean, eternity can feel so empty. But he felt an optimism when he was around you, no longer did he feel chained to life, to time.

"I don't agree," he murmured softly, "I think you just haven't found it yet."

"Elijah, c'mon," you laughed a bit and shook your head.

It seemed as though every date you had in the last ten centuries paled in comparison. When you were with him it just felt different, it wasn't lust, or an insatiable need to be around him. It was peace, it was comfort, he felt like home and it was special.

"No, really," he paused and smiled softly. "C'mon, lets go for a walk, I'll show you," he stood up, reaching his hand towards you.

You stood, and began walking, chatting about old times. He reminded you of the day you spent together in 1599 where you saw Shakespeare's Julius Caesar at the Globe theater, both of you sitting up in the rafters with the best view there was.

One thing led to another and the two of you ended up chasing one another all around the city, drinking far too much rum and dramatically reenacting the stabbing in a fit of giggles.

You reminded him of the time in the 1650s in Spain where you witnessed a beautiful redhead attempt to flirt with him by twirling her fan and covering half her face. It just resulted in the both of you mocking her mercilessly, a small giggle escaped your lips when you remembered his laughter.

"She was so in love with you, but could barely hold a conversation with you, what was her name? The one with all the freckles," you chuckled.

"Ugh... not Silvia. I haven't thought about her in a very long time. Fortunately she went and married some merchant banker and left me alone," he chucked, guiding you towards a nearby garden.

You walked down a tree-shaded path, crossing a bridge over a trickling creek, and past the playground where children giggled as they played. Elijah led you towards a gazebo, passing by an elderly couple enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon.

"I thought you were going to show me how to find love?" you teased, elbowing him playfully.

He chuckled and put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against him.

"Look at them over there, two people growing old together," he said softly, nodding towards the couple."That's a beautiful story right there, it goes from meeting, to dating, to falling in love, to having a marriage full of ups and downs. Every difficult time, every disagreement, every moment of compassion and reassurance is enough to have them stay together." He looked at you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You listened closely, hanging on every word, studying his expression. Looking up at him as the sunlight came shining through the leafy branches of the trees.

"I bet if we asked them they would tell us the secret to it all," you said quietly, looking back over at the little old couple.

They were wrapped up in their own world, swaying ever so slightly to the soft music playing nearby. Their love for one another so bright.

Elijah stood and walked over to them, sitting down on the bench next to him. You paused for a moment and then followed him, moving to the empty spot beside him.

"Excuse me," Elijah spoke in a voice hushed and sincere. "We just wanted to know," he continued, gently compelling them to answer, "what is the secret of love?"

"Well, I guess, patience," the woman answered sweetly.

The man slowly blinked, his head cocking to the side as he answered, "trust, communication, passion..."

"What is your favorite memory together?" You asked politely, leaning forward.

They looked at one another and burst into hearty, genuine laughter.

"Doing dishes, long drives, waking up to breakfast in bed, cuddling under a blanket in the winter, or just a hug after a bad day..." she answered wistfully.

"All the quiet moments in-between, like coming home after a hard day of work and changing into our comfy clothes," he paused and grabbed her hand, "putting on a movie and just ordering in. We can lay there in one another's arms, always together in that bubble of comfort."

You smiled softly. There's something about the simplicity of it, and the sheer joy in doing those things with the one you love. The ordinary and everyday.

Elijah glanced over at you with a smile, then thanked the couple.

"Thank you, you've been wonderful," Elijah finished kindly.

"I hope you and your lady are just as happy as we are," the man said, turning to kiss his wife lovingly on the cheek.

"I'm sure of it," Elijah stood up and began walking away, holding his hand out for you.

You stood up and intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze as you mouthed a thank you towards the elderly man.

"Does that answer your question? Love just happens and it's imperfectly wonderful," Elijah said simply.

"Have you ever found a love like that?" you asked curiously.

He paused and a thoughtful expression fell over his face, wondering where to begin. He placed his hand over yours, stroking the back of your knuckles as he looked deep into your eyes, confessing a feeling he's hidden all this time.

"Only once, when I was too young to understand what I had," he admitted softly. "We were only children then."

Your heart began to beat faster, hearing him say it out loud made your breath hitch in your throat.

"And what about now?" You asked in a near whisper, afraid of what he would say, but unable to live without the answer.

He grinned and suddenly scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder, just like when you would play flight as children.

You squealed and laughed out in delight.

"What are you doing?" You giggled loudly, slapping his back, but he simply ignored you.

"Reminiscing," he answered swiftly.

"This is hardly reminiscing," you teased.

"To me it is, with you in my arms, laughing," he added cheekily.

You were incredibly flustered, but you didn't want this to stop. It was silly, and unexpected and made you think about all the times you two were together as children. It made you feel as you always did with him, free, alive, all nerves and blushing and awkward touches.

So you just rested your chin against him and giggled loudly as you watched the ground pass by underneath you.

"Where are you taking me?" you questioned softly.

He smiled and didn't answer, biting his lip as he tightened his grip on you.

It didn't take long for you to spot the bridge you walked over, carrying you out onto the sidewalk outside the gardens.

He pulled you up and set you back on your feet, both of you giggling breathlessly, your hands on his chest, his hands on your waist.

The two of you stood there for a moment, eyes scanning one another's face, catching your breaths and gazing longingly. His gaze focused on your lips, while yours focused on his eyes, the fondness in them made your cheeks heat up.

His grip tightened around you, your hands fisting in his shirt as he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

You swore you could have floated away that moment. His hands cradled your face as you pulled him closer. Your lips parting for him as he deepened the kiss.

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment. "Can we talk about that for a minute?" you said, your gaze fell away, finding it hard to meet his eyes, your heart felt like it would burst from the surges of love that came pouring out.

He shook his head and kissed you again, brushing his nose against yours, a smile across his lips.

"Lets not speak... lets keep kissing," he whispered with a soft laugh.

You smiled and closed your eyes, tilting your head back, enjoying the feel of him loving you after such a long time. The feel of his body against yours.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and just taking a moment to enjoy your company. The feeling of your breath against his skin.

"So... let's talk," he smirked against your lips and traced his fingers down the side of your face.

He felt you nod. "Mmm, in bed," you murmured and stole another kiss.

"Okay," he nodded and swiftly scooped you into his arms.

"Nice place," you commented lightly as your eyes scanned over the art and furniture in the compound. "I can see you were in charge of the decor," you said cheekily.

He laughed. "Naturally, darling," he replied. "Klaus is always out for blood and I had to ensure it wasn't on every wall."

Elijah led you down a hallway to a lavish bedroom, opening the door and ushering you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He held you close, his hand on your waist, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear and pulling you in for a kiss.

"Do you remember the last time we were in bed together?" He asked softly.

"You brought me into your home under false pretenses, you said you were going to show me a dagger your father had," you replied, recalling the time you were teenagers, kissing in his bed, all nerves and eagerness.

"I really did want to show you that dagger, my intentions were innocent that evening," he protested lightly. "But then you laid down on my bed, making yourself at home, and there you were, wearing such a sweet little dress with such tantalizing seams all over."

"I can't believe you remember the dress I was wearing," you said, placing your hands on his chest and toying with the buttons of his shirt.

He chuckled. "I remember everything about that day," he smiled, "it was my first kiss, how could I not memorize every detail?"

"What else do you remember?" You asked softly, looking into his eyes.

"I remember laying down beside you, I was so nervous," he admitted softly. "We laid on our backs for a while, just chatting. Your hand brushed against mine and I wrapped my fingers with yours, scared you would push me away," he looked away, lost in the memory, smiling softly.

"I was so sure that you would, but you didn't and we grew quiet, all nerves, side by side." He looked back at you, a twinkle in his eye.

"We could hear the sounds of the village outside as it prepared for the feast. We laid there like that, my heart racing, thumb tracing your palm. I turned to face you, you wore this little shy smile. And there I was, frozen by the way you looked."

"Your hair was braided and those perfect lips were slightly parted," he cupped your cheek, grazing his thumb over your bottom lip. "I was terrified to mess it all up."

You were speechless, all you could do was smile and laugh softly. He began to guide you back towards his bed, still talking as he undressed you slowly, "But we laid there just staring, and gazing into each other's eyes. Slowly I leaned closer, so close we were breathing each other in, just sharing a breath, trying not to spook one another."

"And then, before I knew it, your lips found mine and all of my nervousness melted away. Slow, soft kisses, that little braid tickling my neck and the taste of the berries you had earlier still sweet on your lips."

You blushed at the memory, his words making you tear up, you couldn't believe he remembered.

"Your hands were shaking against my chest, so I lifted them to my lips," he stopped talking for a moment, reenacting the memory by kissing your hands once more.

"Then your mother walked in," you commented, smiling at his gesture.

He smirked against your skin. "Well, before she did," he began, he spoke softly as he slowly unzipped the back of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. "I was... learning the taste of your lips," he continued slowly. "They still taste the same, lovely and sweet,"

His eyes scanned over you, taking in the sight of the most beautiful woman in the world, right there in his room, standing there in nothing but a lacy black bra and underwear.

You smiled and tugged on the buttons of his shirt, eagerly undoing them and pushing his shirt off of his shoulders as you began kissing along his jaw.

"It feels like yesterday," you whispered, moaning against his lips as his hands went to your waist, his fingertips dancing over your skin.

The sensation tickled and made you giggle, trying to pull his hands away but that just sent a whole new wave of laughter bubbling out of you as he pulled you against him with a grin.

The two of you stumbled backwards to the edge of the bed, kissing deeply and continuing to undress each other as you fell onto the mattress in a fit of laughter.

He pinned you down, but you pushed him off, the two of you beginning to wrestle for the upper hand. You giggled and squealed as he tickled you mercilessly, kissing along your neck and biting playfully, all while his fingers danced and caressed over your stomach.

"Elijah, STOP! Hahaha," you pleaded, squirming beneath him. "Stop stop," you laughed.

"What's wrong, my little love," he asked playfully, grabbing your wrists in his hand and pinning them above your head.

You kissed him quickly, grinning when he released you, "Let me breathe!" you said with a laugh.

He smiled warmly, glancing down at your smiling lips. "You make me feel like a teenager again," he admitted softly, then began tickling your sides again, catching you off guard.

You squealed, squirming in his grip and playfully struggling to break free. You could feel his erection brushing against you, his hips pressing between your thighs as he continued to attack you.

"Eli!” You gasped, wriggling your body under him, wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping him over onto his back.

He was laughing along with you, his breathing heavy as he settled beneath you, grinning up at you. “I surrender, you have bested me,” he said, looking up at you in awe.

You smiled and sat back on his lap, "oh don't give me that cheeky grin," you replied, wrinkling your nose at him.

His hands fell to your thighs, squeezing them as he smiled. You rocked your hips slowly, grinding yourself on his cock. He moaned softly, his mouth hung open as he watched the way you moved above him. Your lace panties rubbing over the rough material of his pants.

"I've dreamed of this for centuries," he confessed in a whisper. "You on my lap, your hands on me, the beauty of your body..."

Your eyes glanced down as he spoke, admiring his abs and the V-shaped muscles running down below his waistband. You made eye contact and started to slowly unhook your bra, letting it fall to the ground before tossing it to the floor.

He groaned softly, admiring the softness of your breasts and the perk of your nipples. You caught him staring and smiled, taking his hands into yours and placing them on you, urging him to touch you.

He sat up, capturing a nipple between his lips, leaving a trail of kisses along your breasts, cupping and massaging them in his hands. He kissed up your chest to your neck and found your lips again, kissing you slowly and passionately. He broke the kiss, glancing into your eyes with a look of raw, aching love.

"You know what would have happened if my mother didn't walk in?" He murmured, keeping his voice low and hushed, nearly a whisper.

You simply shook your head.

"I would've put my head between these thighs," he continued, squeezing them in his strong hands. "I would've made you giggle and squirm until you surrendered to my lips," he grabbed your hips and rocked you along his length, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You would've gotten me pregnant," you chuckled, thinking back to how naive and innocent the two of you were, no idea of the consequences of what you had been attempting.

He smiled and grabbed your face gently, "then I would have made you my wife," he grinned and leaned forward, whispering against your lips, "and we would have grown old together, watching our little ones run through the village... a full happy life," he kissed you again.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I always dreamed of waking up to your beautiful face every morning," he said softly. “Perhaps if time and circumstances treated us kindly…”

You felt a little sad at his words, imagining the perfect little life you could have had together. "I would have liked that," you said slowly, gazing into his kind eyes.

You held a gaze with him for a moment before kissing him again, reaching down to his pants, unbuttoning them with slow, careful movements. He watched as you tugged them down and off of his legs and then lowered down to kiss him again, rubbing your core against his length.

He pulled your panties to the side, tracing his fingers over your clit, rubbing it with slow and loving circles.

You broke the kiss, your forehead pressed against his, your eyes shut tightly as he pleasured you, massaging your clit with expertise. "‘lijah...," you let out a little moan. "Where did you learn that?"

He grinned, biting his lip as he watched the pleasure on your face. "I've been practicing with all these other women, waiting to have a chance with you." He replied.

You opened your eyes, an expression of faux hurt painted across your face. "Are you trying to say I was your last resort?"

He grabbed the back of your neck with a playful smirk, "you are my only choice, my love," he guided you back to his lips and kissed you deeply, his free hand cupping your ass, tugging you against him.

"Only choice," you repeated between kisses, grinding on his fingers as he pleased you.

"I love you, it was only ever you," he declared, his eyes scanning your face with intensity.

You smiled and stole another kiss from him. "Then, prove it," you whispered against his lips.

He grinned and pulled his hand away, suddenly ticking your sides again and making you laugh and whimper out playfully as he flipped you over onto your back.

You were laughing uncontrollably, grinning as you kissed him back while he tickled you. You gasped for air and submitted beneath him as he kissed and nipped his way down your body.

Finally, he made his way to your core, hooking a finger under the lace and pulling your panties down. He tossed them to the floor and dove in, draping your thighs over his shoulders, burying his mouth into you.

You gasped, laughing as you fell back onto the mattress, rocking your hips against him. He grinned up at you as he swiped his tongue over your clit.

"Allll these women, practice, and nothing to show for it," you sighed as you teased him, breathy and laced with laughter.

He looked up, a flash of competitiveness crossing his face as he eased two fingers inside you and nipped at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your teasing was replaced with mewls and moans as you ran your fingers through his hair and rode his tongue, soft curses and whispered pleas were all you managed to get out.

He closed his eyes and took his time, one hand around your thigh, stroking circles over your skin, while his tongue and fingers worked in union. He couldn't believe he had you, right here, and he intended to make you feel every bit of love he had to offer.

He smirked against your heat as you tightened your grip on his hair, pulling him closer, grinding your hips against his mouth. He has dreamed of this moment for one thousand years, but the real thing was so much better than he had ever imagined.

You trembled and squeezed your legs around him, moaning and gasping as you were pulled closer to your climax. He urged you on as you fucked his mouth, whimpering softly, your free hand bunched up the bed sheets.

The stimulation was too much as he hummed and sucked your clit, your body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. Your thighs gripped his head like a vice and your body stiffened as you cried out his name, digging your heels into the bed to try and ride it out on his mouth.

You tugged his head away, panting and trying to regain control of your body, your head still spinning.

You gasped and laughed, covering your face.

He smirked, as he wiped his mouth on your thigh.

You smiled down at him, "okay…maybe one thousand years was enough time to gain some skill," you chuckled, pulling him close for a kiss.

His hands trailed over your breasts, slowly kneading them and rolling your nipples between his fingers. You mewled softly against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He kissed your forehead, your nose and along your jaw, sucking a hickey into the side of your neck, watching it instantly heal. He could do this forever, tasting your skin and listening to the perfect little sounds you made.

You pushed gently on his chest, urging him to lay down, which he did happily, holding your hand as he laid on his back.

You peppered kisses down his neck to his chest, biting at his firm chest muscles and kissing down his toned abs, making your way to his erection.

"I've learned some skills as well," you teased, pressing kisses up the side of his length, placing a final kiss to the tip.

He groaned softly, smiling down at you, "oh really? I'd love to see that," he whispered encouragingly.

You opened your mouth slowly and lowered down, taking him all the way into your mouth. He moaned softly, tilting his head back and biting his lip as his fingers tangled in your hair.

You swirled your tongue around him, using the tips of your fingers to stroke the base, glancing up to watch the way his body reacted to your movements.

His lips were parted, his eyes shut. As his breathing grew ragged he smiled softly, letting his head fall back against the pillows as you pleasured him.

You hummed, bobbing up and down along his shaft, savoring the sweet sounds that left his throat.

He began to tug on your hair, taking handfuls as you quickened the pace, licking and sucking enthusiastically, slurping as you sucked on the tip.

You released his cock with a pop, stroking and pumping him in your hand, using your spit to keep it slick. You traced your thumb over the head, tapping him against your tongue.

He moaned softly, gripping the headboard with his free hand, slowly bucking his hips.

You took him in again, one final time, swirling your tongue, bobbing and sucking, pushing him all the way down your throat.

He let out a long, sexy groan as he reached his peak. "Yes, darling, yes... just like that...I'm-" he grunted, before spilling over your tongue with a deep, guttural moan.

You swallowed, licking and sucking him, milking him completely before pulling off. He stared down at you, his face was clenched and contorted, an expression of pure pleasure painted across his features. Then he sat up slowly pulling you against him in a messy kiss.

"How was that?" You asked softly against his lips.

He grinned against your mouth and kissed you again, cradling your face. "I don't think there are words that could describe...," he took a moment to catch his breath before continuing, his eyes lidded, still high on his climax. "How much I love you," he whispered against your lips.

"I bet you say that to every girl that has given you good head," you teased.

He furrowed his brow, watching your little grin. "Do you think I use that word lightly?... I love you, only you...," he pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes.

You ran your fingers through his hair, studying his features as you smiled.

"I love you too, Elijah," you whispered, pressing a slow, caring kiss to his lips.

You found yourself suddenly overwhelmed with love, with the memory of all the lost time you had missed with him. Tears formed in your eyes as you kissed him, causing him to break the kiss.

He studied your expression with worry. "What's the matter?" He asked softly.

"I don't want to miss another day," you replied, brushing away your tears, a goofy smile across your face.

He smiled at you with a chuckle. "Well, darling, we just have one thousand years of catching up to do," he said softly, wiping away your tears. "Not to mention all the other days to come after,"

You let out a little laugh as he pulled you into his arms, his strong hands roaming over your curves as he flipped you back underneath him.

"I can't wait," you said breathlessly, pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

Elijah smiled against your lips and kept one hand at your waist as he dragged the tip of his cock over your pussy, drenched from the pleasure and anticipation. He eased in slowly, sinking inside your warm center and muffling a groan against your neck. You let out a soft sigh, feeling so complete now that you were finally connected.

He lifted his head and gazed into your eyes, placing a hand against your cheek as he started to thrust slowly. He was quiet as he rolled his hips, his gaze flickering between watching his cock slowly sliding in and out of you, covered in your wetness, and you, biting your lip, your eyes squeezed shut as he filled you.

You moaned at his size, already sensitive from your last orgasm, the stretch felt amazing, your nails digging into his firm muscles. His large hands were clutched around your hips, steadying you as he fucked you in a slow, gentle pace.

"Listen to you," he grinned, "making such beautiful sounds for me," he praised, nipping at your ear.

His words went straight to your core as your breathing grew raspy, squeezing his cock so tightly that you pushed him out of you, moaning quietly.

"Mmm," he bit his lip, tapping his cock against your clit and then ran it back and forth over your wetness, admiring the view before guiding his cock back into you. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked softly, dropping a kiss to your forehead.

You shook your head, your eyes still shut. "No, you are just...very well-endowed, that's all," you giggled..

He rocked inside you for a moment, his hands gripping your hips. "Should I stop?" He whispered.

"Don't you dare stop, you owe me one thousand years of this," you cupped his cheek, pulling his face to yours, pressing your lips together.

"Who am I to deny you?" He kissed you slowly, his tongue danced with yours as he found his rhythm again, thrusting deep, his hands holding your thighs open.

He bit your lip and gazed at you, still not totally believing the vision of beauty beneath him.

The pure sexual lust that had built up between you paired with the overflowing love you felt for each other, made everything more intense. Your orgasms building, the clench around his length, the grip of your hands on his muscles. It felt like time had stopped for you both, existing only in the carnal moment you were sharing.

He moaned as you tightened around him, pushing your knees up to your waist to deepen his thrust. He trailed one hand down your soft skin and ran a thumb over your swollen clit, rubbing it in slow, tender circles.

You gasped and whimpered out his name, you were so sensitive and yet were so close to tumbling over again, "please, don't stop," you whispered urgently, a pleading look in your eyes.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and continued rubbing your clit, rolling his hips, giving you long, passionate strokes.

"That's it, that's it," he whispered through grunts. "Just like that, my darling," he breathed, lowering down to kiss you.

The love you made was passionate and sweet, soft and timid. It felt like it was all meant to be, pure, passionate love, made only for each other.

He used all his willpower to hold back his own, wanting to feel you release around him. Your body slowly stiffened, squeezing around his length, making him moan deeply. He didn't stop moving, encouraging you with gentle words in your ear and kisses to your cheek.

He couldn't hold on any longer, feeling you twitch, your mouth hung open in a silent moan as you reached your peak. A quiet, guttural groan rumbled deep in his chest as he spilled his warm cum inside you.

He pressed his forehead to yours as he breathed heavily, whispering sweet praises and confessions as you both held one another, sharing small and gentle kisses.

He rolled on to his side, bringing you with him, keeping you connected and moving your thigh over his hip to bury himself deeper. Neither of you wanted to let go of the feeling of being joined.

He snaked one arm behind your back to draw you even closer, and reached the other up to brush your hair out of your face. He kissed you deeply and ran his fingertips over your soft skin, moving them up and down your back as you looked into one another's eyes.

"That was..." you sighed happily.

"Yeah..." He smiled softly and let his eyes wander over your features, as if trying to sear it into his brain.

"I can't believe we waited so long to do this," you whispered, stroking your hands up and down his arms.

"Our days of waiting are over," he smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you again. His mouth on yours, swallowing your little moans, his fingers stroking your sides, both of you completely consumed by the other.

The room was dimly lit, candle flames casting a warm glow around you. Time finally gave you a break, let you have this moment you both were longing for all these years.

He loved you. You loved him, and now you were finally together. After one thousand years, it was well worth the wait.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[spookytechza]

The fire sparked as logs burned and toppled. The chimney was unusually hard to light, considering how dry the wood had been. The story told was more than enough to coax the flames higher, it seemed.

Ah, it is important to find joy in the small, peaceful moments in life with those we hold dear. Pettiness can only to be expected towards those that pray on your downfall.

We are delighted such great storytellers have found shelter under our roof and are willing to share their words with us! We are ever so lucky. Thank you for your story, rust-painted-fingers!

Day 1 ... Vampire

"You don't have to do this y'know?"

Techno glanced up from his shackled wrists.

"Thought you'd have left by now," he said, even though they both knew Phil would never. Never has, and it wouldn't change now. It was to check in, even Techno had his doubts. Still his heart may be, it didn't stop the doubt from clouding his judgement.

Phil let out a chuckle, relaxing into a slouch at the ritual. "You know I would never miss a bonfire."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Techno laughed.

A smirk, "What? It's the only time I get to see such a spectacle. Can't exactly participate in the solstices."

Techno knocked his head against the rock behind him, letting the banter flow between them. Nothing important was discussed, both more than aware of potential listeners, but the inane conversation helped ease nerves. Time was running out, dawn slipping further away from the slit that can hardly be called a window.

If there's one thing Techno hated more about the whole event, however, it's how long it takes to build the damn pyre. Phil wasn't exaggerating in how excessive the structures are built, sometimes woodsman go out of their way to chop even more trees, as if the stockpile everyone contributed was a lousy amount.

It seems burning a monster is the only time townsfolk gather around to work together. A strange way to bond, but wholesome in the right light. If only it didn't take an eternity and a half.

Footsteps thudded above their heads, ending their chatter and signaling the commencement of the charade.

With a head nod, Phil disappeared into the shadows, leaving a lone Techno for the villagers to see.

Some villagers were rough and dragged Techno by the chain to gain some control. It annoyed him the most, because they only got more aggresive if he used any of his strength. Some cases they opened wounds, going so far as to handicap him, which was worse as the rate for flesh to mend took too much effort for Techno to put up a fight.

Thankfully, it seemed this village held a modicum of respect still — that or they feared him, but either were welcomed if it meant they let Techno walk on his own feet.

The sun was but a smear of orange, townspeople holding torches as he walked past them.

They must have made an impression on this town, their faces remorseful and regretful, as if they were doing some divine sacrifice and it hurt them.

Techno inwardly snorted, wondering where Phil was and his thoughts about the mood. It's not like anyone's forcing them to burn Techno alive, no one was killed and honestly, he was doing them a favor by warding off less pleasant monsters. Really, it would've been better for Phil and Techno to have left silently once the jig was up instead of letting them believe they could kill him, but he was still salty about the distrust.

Maybe setting up their potential demise in the future was cruel, but Techno's entitled to his one evil act every once in a while. Plus, it wasn't like all towns became pyromaniacs, some were a bit nicer about it.

Techno let them tie him up and chant their prayers, and wondered where they would go next. Spring was melting the slow, and he didn't really want to deal with the storms, so maybe they'd give south a visit.

As the townspeople gathered closer, Techno locked eyes with Phil. He foregone a disguise and let his hood cloak his stature, but Techno could recognize those eyes anywhere.

Maybe he also wanted to give him a show. It wasn't harming anyone.

And with that, they shared a smile as the flames went up. A flick of the wrist and Techno looked at the pyre as a stray ghoul howled at the night sky.

"Where to next?" he asked idly, knowing they wouldn't leave until the last embers gave out and the town dispersed.

"Hmmm, kinda wanted to visit this one musuem that opened up north. Heard it gives an informational tour of all the ways to kill us."

Techno cackled, fangs flashing firelight bright.

[gingerteafairy]

hey queen will u ever write for james brennan or columbus? (if you've ever watched zombieland) i'm a bigger sucker for jesse eisenberg ugh <nerd boys3

that's funny 'cuz i wrote TWO FICS ages ago and forgot to post them. It's really bad, so don't expect anything well-written. It's just me crushing super hard on jesse eisenberg <333

columbus x vamp!reader

summary: Expert in zombies, down bad for vampires. In defense, zombies can't make out like the bat girls, and that makes them the most dangerous creatures on earth.

tags n warnings: suggestive, language, canon typical violence, teasing. word count: 1.5k

Columbus found himself in the worst possible situation. And, as usual, he kept one rule in mind: kill zombies, not vampires—especially not one this beautiful.

He saw you days ago, running from zombies and immediately rushed to save you. Shooting all the disgusting creatures that crawled at your feet. You looked absolutely terrified, your screams echoing through the buildings, but the moment you spotted him, you leapt into his arms like he was some kind of hero, clinging to him tightly.

You were so charming, so calm—too shy for the stereotype. You almost fooled him, like a clueless little duckling, if not for the one undeniable detail that no vampire could ever hide: the hunger for blood. And, of course, it had to show the moment he’d managed to scratch himself.

"I'm so glad you're here. Zombies scare the shit out of me." You sighed, pulling back to look at his flushed face. "You're my hero, Mr..."

"Columbus." He answered shyly, raising his eyes to meet yours. "I'm glad you're safe. Now I need to go to..."

"Can you stay with me?" You pleaded, an adorable pout that made even Columbus himself melt like a ice cream.

What wasn't really difficult. He literally trusted every girl with sparkling eyes and a pretty face.

Still, Columbus had seen enough games and websites to know all the repetitive vampire rules. But instead of overcomplicating things, he went with the most basic method that worked on every creature: a bullet right in the heart.

You dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, and for a split second, he actually felt bad seeing you so weak. Well, it was either him or you.

He gripped the wooden stake in his hand, waiting for you to wake up. Occasionally, his eyes drifted to how strangely beautiful you looked, tied to the iron chair. Your hair cascaded over your face like a wild mountain waterfall.

No. Now was not the time for that.

Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on the stake and took a cautious step closer. The bullet caused a ugly hole on your pretty shirt. Still unmoving. He let out a breath of relief. Another step. Nothing. Good. Just to be sure, he prodded your knee with the tip of the stake.

Not even the slightest flinch.

"Oh, thank God she's—"

“Boo.”

Columbus screamed, stumbling back as the stake slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

You burst into laughter, tossing your head back. “Oh my God, you should've seen your face. It was hilarious.”

“Stop that! That’s not funny.” He tried to sound tough, pointing a shaky finger at you. “You’re… You’re evil.”

“And you’re the best man in the world, Columbus.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to toss your hair back. “You shot my heart, honey. Not exactly in a position to judge.”

“You… Yeah, okay, fair point. Sorry. My bad.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… but you were about to attack me first.”

“Yes, but I didn’t.”

“…Huh. You didn’t.” He frowned, tilting his head. “Wait. Did you just admit you were gonna attack me?”

“Of course, darlin.” You grinned mischievously, shrugging. “You’re the sweetest guy. Traveled with me and didn’t even lay a finger on me. The best blood is always from the untouched, you know what i mean.”

“Untouched? That’s a lie and—” He started, but the argument died in his throat as realization sank in. Damn it. You had a point.

"No, I can't. You're..." Your laughter grew louder, victorious. You feet kicking on the air like a kid in a candy shop. "Wait, I'll stop. Just a sec."

“And you,” he scrambled for a comeback, jabbing a finger toward you, “you’re, like, super old. Bet you’ve done everything already.”

"Old?" You snapped. "Are you really calling me old? And... What do you mean about I did everything? Are you calling me a..."

"A bitch. Yeah. And sit down your ass down. No, you're already sat. But shut the fuck up or I'll call the zombies here. I know you're scared of them. That's a thing you can't..."

“You really wanna piss me off?” You cut off, your expression turning dangerously unreadable. "I shouldn't have said that, cutesy."

Columbus stiffened, clutching the hem of his hoodie. “I-I’m not scared of you.” His voice wavered, more of a high-pitched squeak than a threat. A terrified little kitten.

“Oh? Not scared of me?” You arched an eyebrow, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Not at all.”

“Then pick up the stake.”

“T-The stake?” He stammered, his eyes darting to the weapon lying on the floor between his feet. Oh, crap.

“Yeah.” Your voice was syrupy-sweet, but your smile was sharp as a blade. “Go on. Look, I’ll help you.”

You gave the stake a small kick, nudging it closer to Columbus. He glanced from your face to the weapon, carefully weighing his options before even considering moving.

Yeah… this reeked of trouble.

But you were tied up.

Swallowing hard, he took a step forward. Then another. One foot after the other, like walking straight into a trap.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Losing patience, you stood up, grabbed the stake yourself, and shoved it against Columbus’s chest. "I thought you were braver."

“H-How did you—?!”

“Did you really think you could keep me tied up with those cheap ropes?” you mocked, thoroughly enjoying the terrified look on his face. “Next time, use zip ties. Vampires hate plastic.”

“Wait, does it… kill you?”

“No, we just hate everything that smells cheap or fabricated.” You laughed, lifting a hand toward him. He flinched. “Relax, I was just gonna pat your head.”

“Can I even trust you?” he asked, eyes wide with a glimmer of hope. It made something in your long-dead heart ache—he was just too damn cute.

“You’re so adorable,” you cooed, ruffling his curls with both hands. “Look at this—like a little puppy. So soft. So fluffy. Who's my good boy?”

“Stop that,” he grumbled, but Columbus had far too soft a heart to actually mean it. He practically melted under your touch. “You don’t seem like a vampire.”

“Huh? Why not?” You tilted your head, letting your hands wander down to squish his cheeks playfully.

“I dunno… you don’t smell dead or, like, rotten. You just seem really… cute.” He mused, watching as your fingers froze mid-squeeze and your expression shifted into something shy.

“Oh, you’re turning my own trick against me,” you teased, shaking off your flustered reaction as you cupped his face and squished his cheeks even harder, forcing his lips into a pout. “If I were alive, I’d be blushing so fucking hard for you right now.”

“Your hands are cold,” he mumbled, brows furrowed, which only made him look even cuter.

“Wow, you do have a really handsome face. Look at these shoulders... God, you could’ve been a model at my time." You murmured, leaning in. "Why did you remain untouched? You're majestic."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah..." You mumbled, squeezing his biceps. "I could fall for you, Columbus."

You could hear his heartbeat pick up, his pulse quickening beneath his skin. The sound made your mouth water.

“W-Wow, um. Is that—are you serious? I mean, I don’t even know if that’s possible, given your, uh, condition of being, you know, dead. But that’d be kinda cool. A vampire falling in love for me, I guess—”

You shut him up with a kiss. Columbus’s eyes flew open, darting around as if trying to process what the hell was happening before settling back on you.

Your lips weren’t as cold as he’d expected. In fact… they were nice. Soft. Like silk. That realization alone made him shut his eyes and—without even thinking—tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, just like he always imagined.

The warmth radiating from his body swallowed up your icy skin, sending shivers down your spine—an unfamiliar sensation, even after centuries. Without meaning to, you pulled him closer, craving more of that warmth.

“Columbus…" you called, pulling back just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah?"

"Are you hard?”

“What? Me? No,” he huffed, flustered, stepping back. But you yanked him right back in. “Oh, yeah? That’s your vampire magic, messing with my head—”

“God, I think I am falling for you,” you giggled, planting another soft kiss on his lips. “I can’t handle how cute you are.”

"If you fall for me, promise you won’t eat me?" he asked, his face twisting in embarrassment, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Why? Would you rather If I suck you out?" you murmured teasingly, tugging at the collar of his hoodie.

"Jesus Christ."

"You're so horny, Columbus. Is this the real you coming out? You coming for me?" You kept up the teasing, blinking at him with feigned innocence. “First you're hard, now you're wanting me sucking you like a milkshake? God, you're way more interesting than I thought.”

"You… you—just stop doing that to me." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to look at you, forcing himself to focus. Zombies. Blood. Stomach ache. Zombies. Bathroom. Zombies. Cream. Sucking. Milkshake. Pie.

"Oh? Am I messing with you?" you grinned, pushing him a little further.

"You are," he admitted with a pout—one so ridiculously cute that even you couldn’t resist easing up.

"Alright, I’ll stop," you relented, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I wouldn’t want to make my boyfriend mad."

"Boyfriend? Oh my God—" he whined, nearly toppling over when you pulled him into a crushing hug.

Columbus had just discovered yet another weakness to add to his ever-growing list. And without a doubt, he’d be making a note in his journal: Vampires are the most dangerous supernatural creatures out there.

Minus points for zombies.

[spruzu]

THROWING SOME SONIC HEADCANONS ON U

Sonic

-He always has a bruise or scratch on him somewhere even if he hasnt fought eggman in a few days. there. is. always. one.

-He's also COVERED in scars. Theyre either covered up by his fur/quills or theyve faded over the years.

-When sonic showers he uses a bottle that can be used for shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, moisturiser, mascara, ketchup, pepsi and a microwave.

-Sonic only really likes physical touch like hugging when he's seriously injured or in pain (example A. sonic prime and frontiers). Also he doesnt mind it when he's doing it to someone else.

-Sonic paces when he's worried, thinking or waiting for something. (Shadow does this too just less)

-Sonic fidgets in his sleep a LOT. He'll falls asleep on his back and wake up with his legs half off the bed and the duvet on the floor.

-Sonic cant cook so he gets tails to make him dinner (he knows how to make chilli dogs tho dw)

-Sonic used to hum tails to sleep when there was a storm

-This ties in with the one before it. SONIC IS A FANTASTIC SINGER. This man is angelic. Also no one can tell me Rouge can't sing coz she defo can.

-Sonic has a draw of all the stuff from his past adventures (chips bracelet, this upgrades from sa2, etc.)

-He smells like man deodorant (Lynx)

Shadow

-He takes notes on how to be a ''real mobian'' since he was brought up on the ARK he doesnt really know how to fit in so he'll stalk sonic and take in how he acts.

-Shadow and Rouge have ''girl nights'' where they stay up, do face masks, eat pizza and watch movies. Just a sleepover pretty much. (Omega is sometimes involved to)

-Shadow sleeps like a vampire

-Shadow and sonic spar often (3-4 days a week)

-And if sonic doesnt show up to the sparing session he'll go find him and make sure he's ok that they are still sparing

-His bedroom is lit up by lamps, no big light at all just lamps and the window.

-He's INSANELY good at cooking and baking. Gordon ramsey ahh hedgehog

-Can speak every language fluetly, this includes few ones that are dead (this is smt gerald gave him when he was in the 'creation' sage oin the ARK)

-He smells fucking fantastic 24/7. Lavendar, rlly nice perfume (probably Rouge's), deodarant, anything! This man smells great.

Knuckles

-He has a really low spice tolerance, one SPECK of spice and this dude is like sonic in tmosth.

-He gets bothered by Rouge trying to steal the master emerald at least once a week.

-Works out everyday, maxes out the machines and just goes at it like it's at the lowest setting.

-Sometimes he'll ask if sonic wants to spar for the fun of it if he's not on Angel island.

-FEMINIST! (He loves women)

-Denise he loves rouge but will just get flustered if she makes on single flirtation towards him.

-Has tubs of frosting and a spoon at nearly all times (WHAT IF HE GETS HUNGRY ITS A GOOD SNACK)

Tails

-Tails puts on cooking videos for background noise when he making/designing a new invention.

-Tails info dumps about planes and nerdy stuff to sonic and sonic just pretend s like he knows what tails is going on about because he knows it makes tails happy.

-Tails uses his tails for pillows sometimes.

-Getes his little hair ruffled by everyone (mainly sonic)

-Likes making gifts for people as a way to say thank you

Amy

-Amy plays dress up with cream.

-Herself and her room smells like roses/flowers in general.

-Loves watching mean girls with rouge.

-Doesnt look it but is STRONNGGGG. Your telling me that she would swing a punch and wouldnt send someone FLYING?? SHE CARRIES THAT MASSIVE HAMMER FOR VRYING OUT LOUD!!!

-Crystals.

Rouge

-LOVES to gossip

-Ayesha Erotica listener

-Does shadows makeup sometimes (Omega watches)

-Has a perfume collection that she lets shadow use to

-Has the most BEAUTIFUL dresses in her wardrobe for different occasions

-Loves to wear rings

there u go, have fun with those.

[astarionspointyears]

It’s been written a thousand times before, but here’s my take on Bite Night.

Hunger had always been the worst part of being a vampire spawn. Well, not the worst part, but certainly the most annoying. It was constant. An ever-present ache in his stomach that never let him forget what he was, even for a second. Astarion had become accustomed to it over the years. But that was when he was only luring targets back for Cazador and not fighting for his life every day. The hunger he felt now was something else entirely. It was a sharp, all-consuming feeling. Every instinct he had screamed at him to hunt, to kill, to feed. He could think of nothing else.

The day had been especially long and difficult. Starting with a long trek to the goblin camp in which they fought off group after group of redhats, and then killing that useless Priestess Gut. Astarion could feel himself slowing down, making mistakes. The squirrels and rabbits weren’t cutting it anymore, he needed something more.

Astarion’s eyes passed over the camp. The night was hot with almost no breeze. All was quiet around camp, his companions were sleeping. Even Scratch was sprawled out near the dying fire, his tail thumping softly against the ground every so often. He supposed he could try biting the dog, but that was risky. Scratch was liable to smell him coming and would alert the others, or otherwise attack him. Anyway, Astarion was sure his companions would not take kindly to him making a meal of their favourite pet. So who would it be, then?

It couldn’t be Karlach or Gale. He valued his life too much to even try for Lae’zel. That left Shadowheart, Wyll, and Tav. Any of them would do - blood was blood, after all. If he was being honest, Astarion quite liked Tav. Sure, she was a bit naive and just loved to play the hero, dragging them into quarrels they had no business with. It was both annoying and endearing. Tav was also the only one who genuinely made him laugh, the only one who sought him out for conversation. Astarion thought he could make her like him, if he tried hard enough. So should he risk biting her and breaking what little trust they had built? Astarion’s head said no, but his stomach said otherwise.

With another glance around to ensure everyone was still asleep, he crept over to Tav’s tent. The flaps were open to try to coax in a breeze. Tav was wearing only underwear and lying on top of her sleeping bag. Astarion could both hear and smell the blood rushing through her veins just below the surface of her skin. A pang of hunger hit him and he had to choke back a growl.

‘Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking beings,’ Cazador’s voice echoed in his head, and Astarion paused. He was pretty sure he was no longer under Cazador’s control. Whatever the tadpole did to him, Astarion couldn’t feel the invisible leash that had tied him to Cazador for so long. But did that mean he would never be again? What would happen to him if Cazador found out he’d broken a rule? What new torture would he have to endure? Astarion swallowed the fear that threatened to rise up in his chest. He’d worry about Cazador later. He was leagues away in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion would have to deal with the tadpole first.

Astarion turned his attention back to Tav, who was still sleeping peacefully. He leaned over her, his eyes focused on the pulse point in her neck. His lip curled up almost involuntarily to reveal his fangs. Another pang of hunger hit him like a lightning bolt, and he made his decision. He was going to do it, Cazador be damned. If Astarion had a heart, it would have been racing. He leaned in slowly, teeth bared and ready to strike.

Tav’s eyes flew open. A glint of steel in the moonlight, and a dagger was at Astarion’s throat. He staggered back, throwing his hands up in surrender. “No, no! It’s not what it looks like!”

“Yeah?” Tav sprang to her feet, holding the dagger out in front of her. “What the fuck is it, then? Are you robbing me, or trying to kill me?”

“Neither, I promise. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just need…well, blood.”

“What?”

Tav looked him up and down. Slowly, as if she was taking in every detail. When she got to his face, Astarion saw her eyes widen and she took a step back. “A vampire? You’re a fucking vampire?”

“A vampire spawn,” Astarion said, as if it made a difference.

“I can’t fucking believe it!”

Astarion looked around to check if anyone had heard, but all was quiet. “Keep your voice down,” he pleaded. “I’m not some monster. I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now, too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better.”

Tav’s eyes narrowed. “You’re asking to drink my blood?”

“Well, yes,” Astarion said. “Please.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Tav regarded him skeptically, her eyes searching his face for answers. Astarion could almost see her wrestling with herself as she took in what he’d said. Then, she lowered the dagger and tossed it to the side.

“I do. I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Astarion sighed in relief. He’d live to see another day. The relief was short lived, though. He was so hungry, and being so close to tasting her blood made him a little wild. It took a lot of restraint for Astarion not to lunge at Tav right then.

“Do you think you can trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just lie down, and try to relax,” Astarion said. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Gentle,” Tav said with a laugh. “You’re about to drink my blood.”

In fact, Astarion didn’t exactly know how to be gentle. Gentleness was not something he needed to think of when he was living on vermin. But he didn’t want Tav to struggle, lest his teeth miss their mark and kill her inadvertently.

“As gentle as I can,” Astarion amended. “I won’t make it hurt more than it needs to.”

Tav sat down and laid back on her bedroll. “Not a drop more than you need,” she warned. “Or I’ll ram a fucking stake in your chest.”

“Understood.”

Astarion knelt beside her. Tav lifted her chin to expose her neck. Once again, Astarion felt the excitement rise in his chest. Instinct took over as he brushed his teeth against Tav’s throat to feel for the artery. He found it, then instantly bit down. Blood gushed forcefully into his mouth and he couldn’t help but moan with satisfaction. Tav’s blood was sweet like ripe summer berries. Astarion’s whole body tingled and buzzed - he felt almost alive. Something in his brain purred with pleasure as the hunger slowly receded.

“Astarion,” Tav whispered. She tried to push him away, but Astarion wrapped a hand under her head and held her tighter. He couldn’t stop now. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin as Astarion gulped down more and more. It was satisfying, invigorating, intoxicating. He drank deeply, savoring the taste.

“Astarion!” Tav said, a little louder. She shoved him hard in the chest and managed to twist out of his grasp. Tav scrambled backwards and away from him, one hand gripping her throat.

“I - of - of course,” Astarion stammered, breathless. “That - that was amazing.”

Tav didn’t say anything. She only stared at him with eyes wide as dinner plates. A long, silent moment passed between them as they both struggled to catch their breath. Finally, Astarion realized how much he’d actually drank. It was probably a little further than he’d meant to go, but gods she was delicious.

“Are you all right?”

Tav nodded. “I - I think so.”

“I apologize, I was swept up in the moment,” Astarion said. “But it worked! I feel good. Strong. Happy!”

“Does it always feel like that?” Tav asked.

“Like…like what?”

Tav shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Never mind. I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Astarion heard the uncertainty in her voice. There was something she wasn’t saying, but he didn’t want to press her. “It shouldn’t take long, so many people need killing,” he said as he got to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

Tav nodded and Astarion turned to walk towards the tree line. He really did feel amazing. His mind felt clear for the first time in centuries, his body stronger than it ever had been. Was this what it was like, to feed on thinking beings? Was this truly how Cazador always felt? The thought made Astarion hate him even more.

Though perhaps it wasn’t all thinking beings. Perhaps it was Tav, specifically Tav, that made Astarion feel that buzz. Her blood tasted so exquisite, it was as if she was made just for him. It was difficult to imagine anyone else being so…satisfying. Could he convince her to let him do that again? Astarion thought he probably could, if he played his cards right.