#(or else: vampire adjacent)

[hitlikehammers]

unforeseen complications 🩸 steve/kas!eddie

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling, though: the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover— “We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, kas!eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, as in: eddie angsts about his new vampiric tendencies while steve has none of it, true love, blood drinking (just a little), terrified eddie (that he did steve any possible damage), long-suffering steve (who knows it’s all completely fucking FINE and also they’re dumb in love forever)♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: "I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work." "Not to me. Not if it's you." —Euripides

Steve is groggy, his head’s a little fuzzy and unevenly weighted in that way he can already tell will make him dizzy when he opens his eyes and tries to lift it—so he doesn’t, not just yet—but normally he sleeps this part off. Normally the side effects aren’t as sharp as this is already shaping up to be, because his body keeps him blissful conked out long enough where it’s all a little more of a dull roar that he can ignore while he gets through the day and slides slow back to normal.

And it’s not like it gets this intense that often; it’s in extenuating circumstances. Sometimes one’s they create for themselves, sure, but usually it’s some world-threatening shitfuckery that pushes the limits this bad. Like…at least eight times out of ten.

At least.

So it’s weird that he’s waking up before he’s due to shake off the worst of it, when said worst-of-it is still clinging to his skin, his eyeballs, the linings of his veins.

He tries to make sense of what he can feel through the fog: weight, mostly. Something heavy that’s not just his own body rebelling against regaining consciousness too soon. There’s…something on top of him.

Heavy.

Shaking.

There’s a sound, maybe, like…breathing but that’s shaky too and—

Oh.

Oh no, it’s not just shaky.

The weight on top of him’s fucking crying, and trying real hard not to be found out for it.

Steve would goddamn know what that sounds like, specifically. From a whole-ass lifetime of experience in his godforsaken family.

And Steve knows what his own fucking boyfriendsounds like in distress, so—

“Eds,” Steve doesn’t even have to push to open his eyes and sit up too fast because there no dizziness, no nausea he can’t work through when Eddie in need is on the other side of it; “what’s wrong, what happened, I—”

The hand on his chest is firm but awkward, because Eddie is still splayed over his chest, doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving at all.

“Lay back down,” Eddie’s voice is muffled in Steve’s skin; “save your strength, you’re still,” and yeah…muffled, but too rough, cracked down the middle; “you’re…”

More than cracked, fuck. Shattering.

“What’s wrong?” Steve doesn’t try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this because…they’d pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because they’d skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. It’s not a foreign feeling.

And the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recover—

“We can’t keep doing this, Steve.”

—is also not unexpected. Pretty fucking routine now. Steve’s even practiced enough to swallow down the urge to sigh.

Because, considering that Eddie is skin-to-skin, blanketed on top of Steve under about seven blankets, more than Steve even knew they owned as he shudders through something suspiciously close to sobbing while the tone of the words screamheartbreak: Steve would have every right to be concerned when it sounded a whole hell of a lot like his boyfriend was trying to break up with him.

The first time was a fucking doozy, sure. Second time even, that sucked too.

Now though, with it being fairly fucking routine for…close to a year, now, especially after rough runs like last night?

Steve’s kinda learned to take it as the sign of affection he’s come to understand it stems from, deep in Eddie’s too-soft, too-tender chest, always having been ready to feel so fucking much—Steve wishes he’d known it sooner. Maybe they could have felt less alone, together.

Whatever. They’re here now.

Though it’d been a pretty free-and-clear couple of months—Eddie had only crumbled so far as to have shaken in a corner in Steve’s arms for close to probably five hours one of the three or so times they’d had to stretch too much time between regular feedings—because when Eddie came back, when he appeared in Steve’s living room dripping the black sludge the Upside Down seemed to specialize in best—trembling and stammering and…be-fanged.

And Steve had just looked at him, gaped a couple minutes—which he stands by being wholly fair and justified—and then did the only genuinely sane thing he could have done, given the givens.

He’d pushed Eddie toward the nearest fucking bathroom, under some hot water, and cleaned him the fuck up.

And didn’t think—yet—about how warm it made Steve: the sight of Eddie’s naked frame under the spray as it slowly siphoned off the goo.

Nope. Not the time.

He was sick, though, that was clear, but Steve…he can’t explain even now how he knew to be cautious in letting anyone in the Party know that they’re friend, this singular lost member of their family had somehow crawled back to the land of the living. Because yeah, it could have been the fact that Eddie was cool to the touch. Paler than he’d been before. Barely had a heartbeat but was definitely alive enough to insist he was pressed into Steve’s heat every night, in Steve’s bed; to keep shaking, to wretch more of the black slime up until it was just dry heaving, and…

There were plenty of reason to have caused the hesitance. But it wasn’t any of that.

It wasn’t even how, after Steve slit himself on an envelope, Eddie had scurried to his side, made to lunge then cowered back, cried like he was in pain before saying the first words Steve had gotten out of him yet:

Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Stevie, please—

And Steve wasn’t immune to what spending every fucking night wrapped up in another body. A definitely not unattractive body. A body belonging to a personality that Steve was getting pretty interested in getting to know better—literally and…intimately, y’know, Steve crossed the bridge of being totally shocked by that after he’d less-than-half-mourned Billy fucking Hargrove for the sake of his and and literally no other reason—but. Yeah.

He’d have given Eddie anything, at that points while he was hoarding and harboring him, safe as much as selfish in this house. He’d have—

What Eddie wanted was the blood from his papercut. And…well.

The fangs make…wel, they made a lot more sense all of a sudden.

Eddie fought it when Steve dragged him to the couch and offered his wrist because the guy was sucking kinda pitifully, like, way too desperate on Steve’s fingertip and not in a sexy way—and Steve would actually really like to reach the point of it being a sexy way someday, specifically with Eddie, he’d already stopped trying to deny that to himself—so he pulled his hand away, cupped Eddie’s cheek (warmer, more color in it), brushed by accident against his jugular (a real pulse, and racing, but overtaxed, like it needed…more to work with and yeah, if Steve hadn’t made up his mind already that would’ve done the job, flat out)—and when Eddie whimpered, Steve pushed his advantage of having a full blood supply, dragged Eddie into his lap, tore his own bloody strips from above the veins he could see under the heel of his palm straight down and Eddie gasped, cried out, tried to scramble away—

But Steve shoved his wrist to Eddie’s lips—knew it was maybe dirty pool but…he wasn’t stupid. If Eddie needed blood, he…he needed blood.

And Eddie was reluctant, at first, didn’t try to pull away once he realized that Steve had got him in a pretty solid hold from the waist down, and he just was not strong enough right now, not yet but he could be, if he’d just—

Steve hadn’t been worried, but if there’d been reservations, like, if Robin had had any idea he was doing this and voiced her innumerable concerns: if Steve have been worried, Eddie’s presence of mind to even think to resist, to look at Steve like he was in pain to avoid the blood waiting on offer, specifically for him, it’s all he would need.

But seeing that Steve hadn’t even thought to be worried, he ultimately caught Eddie’s frantic eyes, leaned in and brushed his lips to Eddie’s, tasted his own blood as he whispered:

It’s for you, I want you to have it so that you’re okay, and his hand had braced on Eddie’s chest where that heartbeat was struggling, but wild, and he didn’t even dare to blink until Eddie’s tongue lapped accidental at the blood steaming down.

And the rest is…history.

Eddie had tried to set his own limits, but Steve’s old hat at being the victim of the Upside Down’s bullshit, or Russian spy craft at that; he knows when the blood loss is actually a concern. He keeps his hand to eddie chest, makes his own call when that pulse is strong enough to ease his wrist away.

Steve hadn’t been a fucking lifeguard, after all. He does know some things.

And so that had been…that.

They’d told the others, eventually, but just that Eddie was back. It was enough to prove Steve’s fears in and of itself—they already suspected Vecna, Eddie as a sleeper agent or some shit, two guns trained on him in an instant: and that’s without the blood…thing.

So they keep that to themselves. It’s definitely a contributing factor to how they end up in dire enough straits that Steve’s laid up a little after just some casual bloodsucking until eddies heartbeat finds its strength of rhythm again.

It’s not a big deal. Steve’s had so many migraines worse than this ever is.

Except for when it gets to how Eddie reacts. How he falls apart for fear, for Steve.

That’s the worst pain Steve’s ever known, every goddamn time.

“You were cold,” Eddie’s voice shivers as he raps into Steve’s chest hair; “to me, you were cold to me.”

“You’d just fed, and you were hurting for it,” Steve reasons; it takes Eddie time to warm back up when they spread the feeding out too long. “You’re still not evened-out,” he reasons; Dustin would have a good science-y name for it, but they…they can’t risk it.

Steve won’t fucking risk it. Risk Eddie.

He cranes his neck, keeps his eyes closed to make sure he doesn’t aggravate the feeling of being off-balance, but he needs to press his lips to Eddie’s temple, test the heat.

“Close though,” Steve smiles into the skin, then kisses with intent. He…he loves that he can give this to Eddie. He doesn’t think Eddie gets that part, thinks Eddie only sees it as taking, rather than a gift for Steve in return just as strong.

“Steve,” Eddie moans, shakes his head as more a messy swirl of matted curls; “we can’t.”

Again: it stopped being convincing months ago; but Eddie does sound particularly distressed.

Steve brings a hand to run through that unruly hair, careful. Gentle.

“You weren’t moving,” Eddie finally whispers; “I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear,” and Steve knows his limits, knows that Eddie didn’t hear or see even with his enhanced senses now because he’d been frantic, and his own heartbeat and shot quick to pounding after being so weak—it always sets him off kilter for a second or two.

Steve cradles Eddie to his chest rig he re, so he can hear clear the heartbeat Steve knows is steady now, strong.

They’ve both evened out. They’re both okay.

“I can’t risk you,” Eddie breathes into the space where the beat hits hardest; “I can’t lose you.”

“So,” Steve nods, tucks Eddie under his chin a little tighter; “losing me by design instead is your solution,” he sucks his teeth, hums as if he’s actually consider such fucking nonsense:

“Yeah, cool, makes sense.”

He thinks the sarcasm drips just the right amount.

“Stevie,” Eddie whines, like it hurts, and Steve never wants that. But he might…need for it to, a little at least, to get the point across.

“We’ve been through this, Eds,” Steve breathes low; “I’m not actually looking to kick the fucking bucket here,” he knows Eddie won’t appreciate the levity but he can’t help it, pressed the curve of his lips to eddies scalp. “I’m much more interested in making sure you’re not ell enough and strong enough and safe enough,” and he reaches, then, to lift Eddie chin, to turn him, to look, to see:

“To stay with me.”

And like clockwork, Eddie’s eyes widen, darken, narrow and Eddie scrambles up, takes Steve’s face in both his open palms:

“Always,” he hisses; “nothing could make me want to be anywhere else, not ever.”

And Steve knows it. Knows he means it

“But Steve—”

And because Steve knows? He’s happy to cut this the fuck off at the stem, nip it in the bud, press a the same fingertip eddies sucked the blood from so many nights ago, that first time that started the rest of Steve’s whole goddamn life—

Steve’s more than happy to press that fingertip to Eddie’s lips, to shut him the fuck yo when he needs it.

“I grew up not knowing what love was,” Steve says simply, and eddies eyes flash red—only when he’s incensed do they do that, and Steve not-so-secretly finds it hot as fuck. “Except for knowing that what I got wasn’t it,” he shrugs; “or else, not the kind it was supposed to be. Benign neglect,” he flinches a little as other, harsher memories buck their heads and he knows he has to say something because Eddie sees him, Eddie will draw it out himself otherwise and…

“Until the times it wasn’t,” Steve murmurs and, well.

At least he gets another sexy-as-fuck flash of crimson in those eyes he adores.

“But I knew what I did have wasn’t right,” Steve’s quick to press on; “so even though I kinda started from zero on the learning curve, it wasn’t,” he bites his lip and it’s not even weird anymore, to revisit the journey even if it started less-than-happily.

Because Steve knows the ending. And how it’s not even an ending at all.

“I knew I was looking for something that sat at the opposite end of the spectrum from what I did know. What I had been taught,” and he grabs for eddies hands and gathers them under his chin to rest on, to just…look his fill of this impossible man he’s fallen for, that he’s more than happily given his life to all the ways he knows how.

“And once I unlearned the bad shit, and started finding the real deal?”

He waits for Eddie’s eyes to glitter just so, waits for his head to tilts just the tiniest bit before he leans up:

“Love is this,” Steve breathes against Eddie’s lips with real fucking meaning:

“Love is exactly this.”

“Nearly fucking dying because your freak-ass boyfriend has to drink your goddamn blood and—” Eddie tries to deflect but is pretty fucking shirt with it. Not least because there are tears running down his cheek. Not least because Steve knows now. What love is.

He’d just spoken on the truth.

“Not even close to fucking dying at all,” Steve reminds him with a playful eye roll and a squeeze of his hand; “save maybe how much it killed me when I thought I’d lost you before we had a chance,” and honestly: Steve hates thinking about how all of this was almost never know, never had, never felt.

Yeah: that fucking kills him, just to think.

“So add that into the love-column,” Steve grins a little, imagining the upgraded version of a ‘YOU RULE’ board; “this is love because you’re breathing,” and Steve kisses the little divot above Eddie’s top lip; “you’re safe,” and then he kisses, nibble Eddie’s neck;“your heart beats when there’s enough blood for it to move around,” and Steve’s not strong enough to resist nipping at the heady pulse between Eddie’s collarbones.

“You’re as alive as anything or anyone in every way that could ever count,” Steve breathes; “you’re here. With me.”

Then he leans back again, looks Eddie in the eyes:

“You care enough—”

“Love.”

Eddie’s tone is this sharp, unquestionable thing. It’s thrilling every time it comes out.

All the more, said around that one word.

“I love,” Eddie’s hands hold closer, more dear at the sides of Steve’s face again; “whether it’s enough or not, whether it ever could be, I fucking love you—”

“Then you love,” Steve picks back up, pecks Eddie’s lips because he can; “enough to check that I’m okay, when we do this, and it’s just a little more of a challenge than normal.”

Eddie looks like he’s about to choke on something.

“Challenge?”

Ah. About to choke on that word specifically; that tracks.

“I like a good challenge,” Steve reminds him, reaches to pinch his cheek, delights in how blood—Steve’s blood—rushes to the surface; “fills the gap from all the sports-playing.”

Eddie’s mouth moves around silent words for a few seconds and then:

“Normal?”

Steve doesn’t even try not to laugh. With glee, even. With wonder.

“Wild, ain’t it,” he asks, kinda fucking joyful; “who’d have ever thought Steve Harrington would find a love this big,” and he runs his hand over Eddie’s arm, shoulder to wrist; “this perfect, for everything he is, not what he’s gotta twist himself in knots to try and become,” and Steve’s voice gets lower, more earnest, more genuinely fucking grateful for…all of it.

For his Eddie.

“Who would have thought Steve Harrington would fall into a love that held his whole fucking heart in its hands,” he brings those hands to his chest, where they clutch automatic; “to do with what you would, to take as far as you liked,” and his voice goes low—they don’t know what’s been done to Eddie beyond the obvious, what life and death mean for him;

“To keep as long as you decided to want.”

Basically, Steve isn’t too concerned about the whats. He’s more concerned about Eddie having no shred of doubt, that Steve wants whatever it means, to be something they share. He wants whatever it means to mean the same for both of them, if it can. However it can.

Whatever it takes.

“Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, face ruddy, tear-strewn and mouth agape.

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, then breathes in, sharp and shaking; “and you deserve so much more than this.”

“Let me make the decision,” Steve says, sure in it. Maybe for the first time in his life, he has no doubts for anything involving what he feels for Eddie, and the truth of what Eddie feels for him.

“And since I made that decision fucking months ago already, I’ll save you the suspense,” he turns Eddie’s chin on the tip of a finger, one more time.

“There is no more than this.”

And Eddie blinks; blinks.

And then his strings are cut, and he collapses full into Steve again, this time gathering him in by every limb he can tangle, gasping and grasping and needing and desperate and kissing every inch of Steve he can reach.

“Fuck, I love you baby,” Eddie moans deep from the center in his chest: “forever.”

It’s a true thing. It’s a promise.

It’s an acknowledgement of what they don’t yet know, but can agree with all they are to share, together, equal.

For always.

“I know,” Steve tells him simply, pulse pumping only joy; “and I am always gonna know. I’m always gonna be here, to make sure you never forget.”

And Eddie’s face falls for half-a-second, before it steels with resolve, before his hands lace with Steve’s and smack them flat to Eddie’s heaving chest.

To Eddie’s pounding heart.

“Never forget here,” he vow sir; “it’s never a matter of not loving.”

And Eddie’s scared, still, in his eyes; Steve knows.

It almost means more, that he’s promising it all, nonetheless. With his whole goddamn heart.

“I know,” Steve reminds him the best way he knows; pressing closer, tighter to that beat.

“And I’m always gonna be right here.”

Eddie nods, closes his eyes and holds Steve one breath closer to that pumping blood:

“Right here.”

And that?

And that suits Steve more than fucking fine.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[true-bluesargent]

SEEING NOSFERATU TOMORROW YIPPEEEEE

[potentially-an-art-blog]

Finally drew our poly queen

[planetveensz]

RETRIBUTION — vi (arcane)

— you are pitfighter!vi’s newest devistating lesbian situationship. tw: fem!r, angst, sapphic longing, sapphic heartbreak, mentions of drinking/alcohol/being drunk, mentions of sex (mdni 18+), lowercase intended i'm a sadboy rn, wk 1.4k, art cred an: act two hurt me bad guys, had to take a breath and sit down to write out my feelings. please send any trauma response ideas or otherwise if you have them, i needa write this pain out fr. (i listened to vampire empire by big theif while writing this)

you’re jerked from sleep by a loud pounding behind your door.

blood turning to ice, a trickle of fear runs down your spine as your heartbeat picks up. the banging begins again, a loud rapping so violent you imagine the wood of your door bending from its force. you slide out of bed as quietly as you can; avoiding the weak, creaking spots on your floor.

you pick up the bat placed next to the threshold of your front door, fingers sliding up the handle as you inch towards the door knob. there are another three booming knocks that make you jump back with a small ‘eep!’ before gaining up the courage to rip the door open. other hand reaching to grip the bat handle, you raise it above your head, prepared to strike.

you don’t.

violet wobbles in your doorframe, a sly smile creeping on her lips when she sees your vicious state. “hey, sweetheart,” she croons, stumbling to the side and barely catching herself on the trim of your entryway.

great. she’s belligerent.

“vi,” you say her name like a statement, “what are you doing here?”

you met vi months ago, amidst the beginning of her winning streak in the pit. she spotted you on the dancefloor adjacent to the bar she frequented after her fights. she’d approached you with one thing in mind. the sex was amazing, passionate and fiery, it would have been perfect if she didn’t keep calling you by someone else's name.

“‘cmon, sweetie, don’ be like that,” she slurs, “i missed you.” you roll your eyes, but can’t help the fond smile that responds to her words. you'd kept seeing her after that first night despite every red flag, showing up at her matches just so that she could find you again. you cherished every drunken night with her.

you knew what you were doing was going to get you hurt in the end, but you supposed you just didn't care. and it wasn’t just the sex, there was something else about her that you couldn’t ignore.

among the moments of intense lust, you saw her for what she truly was. lonely. broken, sad. kind.

rubbing at your forehead, you sigh, then step aside so that she can make her way into your apartment. “i thought you said we couldn’t see each other anymore.” you tell her, manipulating your voice into a teasing lilt, but silently begging her to say what you wanted to hear. she slips past you and inside your home like she has dozens of times before.

“you know that was bullshit,” she laughs drunkenly, “i can’t stay away from you.” she says it matter-a-factly, like it is something well-known and studied. you scoff, disbelief sinking into your gut.

some nights when you ended up together, long after you first entangled, instead of sex, you would listen to her drunken rambling. while you attempted to feed her grilled cheese sandwiches and water to soak up the alcohol in her stomach, she would reveal things to you that stunned you into silence.

her father, her sister, mylo and claggor. silco, the lanes, her time in stillwater, she told you all of it. when her name — caitlyn’s name — first tumbled out of her mouth, you nearly vomited. that is what she had been calling you the first few times you hooked up. “caitlyn,” she’d whisper it into your collarbone, murmur it against your breast.

you couldn’t see her for a couple weeks after that revelation, avoiding the bar, the pit, wallowing in your self-pity. it didn’t last long. she’d shown up, much like this, begging for you to tell her what she’d done wrong. tears streaming down her cheeks as she sunk to her knees in front of you.

you just couldn’t abandon her after that night, no matter what she did. it didn’t matter anymore what she’d call you or what she wanted from you, the empathy you had for this suffering person overtook any self-preserving thoughts you had.

she was going to break your heart. you accepted it.

vi flops onto your beaten couch, laying her arms along the cushions and tipping her head back until she’s staring at your ceiling. the last time she was here it was more than three weeks ago, the longest you’d gone without her since you met her. she’d told you that she couldn’t see you any longer; your time with her was up.

you guessed it had something to do with how close you two had gotten, emotionally. not only were you discovering every way to make each other shiver in bed, you were also exploring each other's deepest thoughts and highest dreams.

your heart races in your chest as you settle yourself next to her on the couch. she lazily turns her head to set her eyes on you, the glimmering gray of her irises makes every emotion for her you’ve tried to dissolve come flooding back. “you’re so pretty,” she whispers.

you immediately feel sick, wondering if she’s having another hallucination of caitlyn. how had you gotten into this mess, fallen so deeply into the chasm that is violet’s grasp? you turn your head away from her, resting your cheek on your shoulder while you contemplate your next move.

she says your name, your name, with such clarity it shocks you. you whip your head back around to see her leaning forward, looking at you with a sobriety you haven’t seen from her before. then she kisses you.

you melt into it, allowing her to pull you against her, on top of her lap and into her arms. you sigh, it feels like coming home. she’s gentle with you, cradling and stroking your neck and arms. you sag into her.

her pouty lips are soft and warm, her tongue swipes along your bottom lip and a shudder runs down your back. when you open your mouth for her, it’s heaven.

it’s retribution.

you pull back, stumbling over your feet as you remove yourself from her lap. her chest is heaving, and you catch yourself watching her ab muscles clench with every breath. you scrub your forehead.

“this is wrong,” you say.

“what?” she scoffs a laugh, “baby—”

“this is wrong and you know it.” your voice cracks, the emotion you’ve been shoving down all these months finally coming back to suffocate you. “you’re in love with her.”

violet flinches.

“you’re in love with her, not me, and i—” a sob leaves your throat, “i’m falling in love with you and i can’t keep sacrificing myself for-for this.” you gesture between the two of you. “it’s not enough.”

“you—” vi starts, standing to meet you, “you—i can’t lose you, too.” you can see her own tears forming in her eyes. “please. i can’t.” the desperation in her voice is unparalleled, you've never heard her so emotional.

the dam breaks. you fall into her arms, wrapping yourself around her neck as you cry into each other’s shoulders. you both crumple to the floor, she is gripping you like you’re her salvation. neither of you say anything.

time passes and she falls asleep in your hold; you eventually heave her onto the couch. tucking her in with a spare pillow and blanket, you watch for a few silent moments as she peacefully breathes in her sleep.

a thought crosses your mind, maybe you could lay down next to her for the night, but you shake it away with surprising willpower. leaning above her, you press a longing kiss against her temple and squeeze your eyes shut. a murmur leaves her lips, it sounds a lot like your name.

when violet wakes her head is pounding in retaliation for how much she drank the previous night. a groan leaves her lips and her eyes flutter open as memories come streaming back to her. she gasps, sitting up too quickly. ignoring the way her stomach turns, she glances around your empty apartment.

she finds you sleeping in your room, curled up in bed, snoozing quietly. her heart clenches. she knows that you deserve better than what she's been giving you, she knows how much damage your heart has taken the last few months. she’s like a parasite, draining you of all the affection she needs and in return inflicting you with the illness that comes with caring for her.

but she can’t make herself stay away.

she knows why, too. she just doesn't have the strength to admit it.

instead, she leans above you, pressing a longing kiss against your temple and taking a shuddering breath. she pulls away and watches as a murmur leaves your lips, her name.

she wipes the crippling onslaught of tears off her cheeks as she approaches your front door. muffling the sounds of her cries with a tight hand over her mouth, she leaves, gently shutting the door behind her.

© planetveensz 2024

[musicallychaos]

Baz growing his hair out "because he's busy"

Baz wearing women's shirts because the floral patterns are better

Baz wearing old timey nightshirts to bed and saying it's because they feel posh, or it gives Simon easier access

But really he stands in the bathroom and spins around so they twirl

Baz says "I need to tell you something" and Simon has a whole panic attack

"Snow, you're fine. It's about me"

"I already know you're a vampire"

Baz can't look Simon in the eye when he says he's not sure he's a boy

But Simon turns around and says "okay, should I call you something else?"

And Baz has built this up so much that he just stares for a bit, because the plan was that this would go badly

But Simon holds his hand until he can sort out all his thoughts and they're okay

"Baz is fine."

"so are you nonbinary, then?"

"I don't fucking know!"

And that's absolutely okay with Simon, he loves Baz no matter what Baz is

Eventually, Baz puts he/they in his email signature

Simon keeps suggesting genders "what if vampire was your gender?"

"fuck off, Simon"

"gender identity: posh"

"I said fuck off, Simon!" But they're laughing

Simon understands because this is exactly how he feels about his sexuality

Baz is not a boy just like Simon is not straight

Honestly, it just expands Simon's list of acceptable compliments

Baz loses their shit when Simon calls them beautiful for the first time

He cries when Simon learns how to braid their hair.

Allegedly. They'll never admit to the tears

Vaguely genderqueer Baz and vaguely queer Simon agreeing that as long as it feels good the labels couldn't matter less

Genderqueer Baz existing, honestly

I headcanon Baz's gender as "boy adjacent" just like mine is "girl adjacent" and every time I think about it smile like a fool for like an hour

[bambisnc]

          . . swimming through the cherry sky

° ˖ ➴ “forget whatever you think you knew. vampires exist.”

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ suggestive? + 1.3k // unedited + roommate trope + blood drinking ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ vamki enthusiasts hi + alt vrs hidden somewhere in txt + [m.list]

you've had your suspicions for a while now. the irregular, conspicuous late nights. the stains that eerily resemble dried blood and something else you can’t quite name but feel in your bones. an instinct that something was odd.

but bless your heart, you just can't bring yourself to actually accuse your roommate, nishimura riki, of anything.

besides, what would you have even said, anyway? 

"hey, roommate! what a wonderful day it is today, huh? the weather sure is … happening! by the way, if i may ask, is there any chance that you might be a bloodthirsty, monstrous creature? just curious haha!"

yeah. that wouldn't work. obviously.

not that you had the ability to even stay in the same room as him long enough to put together a few coherent words. but merely the air around him was enough to have shivers running down your spine. and yet, the worst part of it all? 

he’s never actually tried anything to cause harm to you. never once warranted your fears. which only makes you feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

so you do the only thing you can do. watch from a distance; observe. bide your time and keep trying to piece things together while ensuring to stay as far away as you possibly can. which, considering you live together, is pretty much next to impossible.

and then, after months of feeling like the tension would just about eat you alive, something finally happens. 

it had been a relatively slow day. your roommate had kept to himself as usual, doing nothing out of the ordinary. nothing you could consider hard proof, that is. 

having decided on an early night for yourself, you were in bed, adorned with comfortable night clothes. that was when you’d heard it. 

a dull thump! 

followed up, as if on cue, by a low, guttural groan. the pain in the raspy noise was clear enough to make your stomach twist. against your better judgement, curse you for being soft-hearted, you leave the comfort the safety of your room and towards the adjacent hallway. the door in front of you was slightly ajar, ink like shadows spilling out.

and then you see him.

hunched over, collapsed by the edge of his bed, barely able to hold himself up. riki looks too pale – ashen, almost, like all the warmth has been drained from his body. his breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. he looks like he’s seconds from death’s door.

your entrance wasn’t as quiet as you’d meant for it to be however. he lifts his head, with a considerable amount of exertion, letting his gaze – dark, unreadable – meet yours. when he speaks, it’s hushed. completely unlike the usual confident drawl he uses otherwise. 

“it’s dangerous for you to be in here when i’m like this.”

“what-” you swallow down all the questions bubbling inside your throat. “... are you okay?..”

sure, this was probably the only opportunity you’d have with him this vulnerable but, you can’t bring yourself to take advantage of his weakened state. you venture a little closer to him, to properly be able to appraise his condition, despite your entire being begging you not to.

barely being able to hear his answer, you lean closer still to be able to pick up on the yet again hesitant, reluctant mumble, “i … haven’t fed in a while.”

your heart goes cold. you can all but feel the blood rushing into your ears as you struggle to process what riki just said. obviously, he doesn’t mean that in the literal sense. right?

but before you can even reach a conclusion, decide whether or not to let your flight instinct take control and rush out of here, call someone, anyone for help — with a fluid motion, you find your positions completely switched.

your back meets the hard edge of the bed with a jolt. he kneels in front of you now, towering. his frame eclipses yours, one arm braced on the bed, the other steadying himself on the floor. you can tell he isn’t even putting much effort, but he’s able to cage you in without even trying. no longer can you delude yourself into thinking you have any semblance of control over the situation. 

there’s no mistaking it. not with that look in his eyes, the pupils fast dilating – were they always tinged that slight shade of … red? there can be no more excuses, no more pretending that you’re just being paranoid. because this … 

… this is real.

“this isn’t happening. it can’t be.” you whisper, as if saying it out loud will manifest it into existence. as if it’ll wake you up from whatever bad fever dream this is.

he looks almost amused, for a second. lips twitching as if he finds your denial to be funny. 

and then he’s leaning in closer, closer until … something sharp grazes against your delicate neck. your breath hitches sharply at the sensation. 

“forget whatever you think you knew.” his voice is steadier than it was earlier. more certain, more sure of itself. “vampires exist.” ...

where riki’s lips ghost over your neck, his touch is featherlight but somehow still constricting. he tilts your head slightly, movements agonizingly slow exposing it even more to himself.

“can i?..” his voice is strained, as he grits out the words but you appreciate the warning. 

even if it might not be of any actual meaning, “do i have a choice?”

“not really, no. i’m sorry.” 

and then, a sharp, electric sting as his fangs pierce your skin.

the pain flashes for only a moment, though, before a haze-like dizziness takes its place. sinking into your bones, making your limbs go weaker than they felt before.

his free hand shifts from the floor – after he gains some semblance of his former strength, you assume – and he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers digging into the skin as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the living world. it’s a strange sensation, to say the least. the action is rhythmic, if nothing else. 

only when a soft, barely audible gasp escapes you does he pull away, fangs retracting. 

his tongue licks against the open wound in what you would only later discover was supposed to be a means to soothe. before you even realize it, you’re reaching for him, clutching onto his shirt, albeit rather weakly in some sort of attempt of grounding yourself.

you don’t know what to say about it. you don’t even know how to feel.

but what you do know is that he’s still looking at you. eyes dark, lips stained red with your blood, chest rising and falling like he’s just barely holding himself together. 

looking at him like this, it’s clear as day that he needs more. the struggle, the desperation, the way he seems to be at war with himself. 

so you do what any good roommate would do, the words leaving you before you can second guess your decision. you offer yourself to him. 

“take what you need.”

his expression flickers. hesitation, shock, relief, aching. “you don’t have to—” he sounds like he wants to refuse, like he knows he should refuse. 

but when you tilt your head back slightly, just enough for the previous mark to be visible, you practically hear his resolve crack.

riki presses in close again, with more an ease this time and as the alien sensation you’re growing more and more familiar to takes over, you exhale a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“you.. fuck.” his voice is muffled between slow, languid sucks – unhurried, this time. more deliberate. “you’re a terrible roommate.” 

you huff out as best as you can, in your (slightly lightheaded) condition “hah... why is that?”  a pause. his thumb swipes over the place his lips had been seconds earlier, as if reassuring himself of your pulse. “because this means i owe you.”

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[space-blue]

A complete guide to Blue Daddy's Girl (my) Arcane fics

Multi-chapter

Fathers and Daughters (My big hit)

Alternate AU set after S01E03, where Silco adopts both Vi and Powder. Large ensemble cast, multiple POVs, but mostly Vi.

100k words. Completed. Fanart chapters and art comms.

While the World Turns Around

Silco/Vander post betrayal reconciliation AU. Set before the show. POV Vander.

5.2k words. Completed. Entire chapter of gifted fanart at the end.

Our Love, That Flows Into the Sea is the same fic but from the POV of Silco. Unfinished WIP I don't plan on continuing.

The Shimmer Baron’s Family

Silco/Vander Regency AU. Estranged family, set during a ball at the Medarda estate.

10k words. Unfinished. No plans to finish it, stop asking lol or else make a serious request via my ko-fi.

A Stray

4.7k. Set in the "good verse". Silco and Vander adopt Viktor. One shot converted to WIP, has fanart.

Whatever I do, this is where we end

A dark Silco time loop, but told from the POV of Vander, who gets reset every time unknowingly. Strong themes of violence, suicide, despair and smut. Read the tags.

7.7k words. Completed. No fanart.

Science of the Soul

Ongoing WIP, Jayvik Avatar AU in which Zaunites are Na'vi and everyone from Piltover are humans. With art from me and others.

Cursed, by a brush of your hand

Silco/Vander soulmate AU where the soulmark is framed as a potential life ending curse. Aroace Silco, BFF with Renata Glasc. Basically an aroace perspective on soulmates.

7k words. Completed. No fanart.

What I wouldn’t do for you

Silco & Vander role swap. Silco adopts the kids and runs the Last Drop.

5.2k words. Completed. Open ending. No fanart.

The Darkin Child

Viktor, Singed and Silco are vampire-adjacent monsters, Vander is a werewolf. Married zaundads with Viktor returning to Zaun in hiding.

4.3k words. Unfinished, no plans to finish it.

The Centaur Breaker

Silly centaur AU with Silco as a rancher in a fantasy world (not a US Far West setting), rescuing captured centaurs. Vander, Sevika, Jinx & Vi as centaurs.

2.8k words. Unfinished. Only a single chapter and no plans to continue.

☆ Arcane Art Dump 

The home of all my Arcane fanarts worth saving.

One Shots

Those are sorted by kudos, from the most popular down to least.

Pretty Blue Puffs of Arcane Smoke

829 words. Silco and Powder discuss getting tattoos. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU.

Worries, and ways to dispel them & Explosions, and their fallout

5k words total. Silco x Reader two parter, written in the week before season 1's finale. 2nd person gender neutral reader without body description.

Lost Child

3.7k words. Pirate Silco is back in Zaun and trying to avoid Vander. He runs into a lost child called "Cait" at Bridgewaltz market.

The Monster Within & The Monster Without

1.3k words for Monster Within. Post-betrayal Silco recovers and cuts his hair. Based on a fanart by @/Wish. 1.6k words for Monster Without. Set at the same time, but Vander POV as he deals with emotional turmoil after attacking Silco (probably my favourite one shot to this day).

Adoption

1.8k words. Vander and Silco are still brothers. They discuss adopting the girls in this no-betrayal AU.

Beer And Bribery

2k words. Vi & Sevika. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. Vi asks Sevika for help picking a present for Silco. Written for the Arcane parenting week event.

Let Me Try

4.3k words. Newest on the list! Arcane season 2 finale fix it. Timebomb... Ekko walks away from the final battle in a daze after learning that Jinx is dead. She isn't, no matter what Vi may believe.

Not Dead Yet & A Friend In Need

3k words total. Jinx finds a dead body in Zaun, but Viktor isn’t quite dead yet. Jinx & Viktor, written prior to season 2 for Sicktember.

Without Questions

627 words. Written for a fanart that is currently down, but hopefully I'll fix it soon. Young Zaundads fluff. Vander doesn’t understand what Silco sees in him, but he’s not willing to question it.

Gun Nerds Of All Nations

3k words. Set in a similar AU to F&D but not actually. Powder & young Caitlyn bond at a fair's shooting competition. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

Memories of Sweetness

2k words. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. Silco discovers that a staple food of his youth, long thought to have disappeared from Zaun, is back on the streets. He has to share this with Powder and Vi, both born too late to have ever tried it.

No Favourite

1.2k words. Vander claims he doesn't have a favourite among his kids, but they don't see it that way. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

Hard Truths

3k words. Ren (Marcus' daughter) tries to find to meaning to her father’s death and ends up meeting Jinx in Zaun.

Blame

830 words. Jinx POV heavy angst. Jinx talks to Silco after his death, until Sevika comes to find her. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

A Lesson In Silence

3k words. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. Mek (now known as Gustove) takes Powder on a spying mission. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

Last Chance

1.3k words. Past Silco/Vander. Missing scene in the cannery, a private conversation between them. Generally bitter sweet and canon compliant.

Son of Zaun

2k words. One day, Silco's mother took him up-top, to see the sky, the sun, and the people who live above them all.

Sepia Smile

732 words. The photograph is faded, its sepia tones keeping the colour of the man's eyes a secret. Vi stares at it for a long time, perplexed. She doesn't understand what Vander saw in him. Written for the Arcane Parenting Week.

A Terrible Gamble

2.3k words. Jinx (and Silco whispering in her mind) set off to rescue Vander from Singed’s lab after the events of season 2.

On Your Head

2.5k words. Alternate retelling of Mel and the young princess' of her memories. In the Princess' POV.

Drunken Dreams

Comic fanart. Jinx brings a drunk Vi home.

Just a cough & Dramatics

685 words for Just a cough. The moment Silco wakes up with a sore throat, he knows he's in trouble with Vander. Written for Sictember. 1k words for Dramatics. Vander sickfic to match.

A Fresh Start

1.9k words. Second person POV where you are brought to a recovering Silco in secret, and give him a haircut and much needed comfort. Gen fic.

Eat You Alive

604 words. Dark!Vi kills Caitlyn as soon as they enter the Lanes.

Maintenance

1.6k words. Explicit. A smutty Mek/Marcus with power dynamics in Silco’s office.

A Haunting

754 words. Heavy angst Vander & Silco meet shortly after the betrayal.

A Touch of Memory

2.2k words. A self-indulgent Star Wars crossover set in the Old Republic with Sith Silco, Jinx and Sevika and Mandalorian Vander. Has links to fanart.

In the Jaws of the Fox

247 words. Mel/Jayce. Mel contemplates the man sprawled in her bed, sleeping insouciantly.

Who Saves The Boy Saviour?

1.3k words. Dark fic!! Jinx captures Ekko post season 1 finale and straps him to the chair Silco used on Vander. Timebomb.

Ragdoll

766 words. A look into young Silco and Vander's budding relationship. It's complicated. With art, made for the Zaundads Zine.

A New Tattoo

968 words. Set in the Fathers and Daughters AU. The story behind Mek’s tattoos.

Five Times Vi Got In Trouble

4.8k words. Vander & Grayson friendship fic done for a charity prize.

Bullseye

500 words. Mel Medarda/Grayson. Mel takes the sheriff with her to visit a progress day and asks her to show off in a shooting range.

My Ko-fi is open for tips, but I'm also open to discuss writing commissions. My DMs are open | Find me on Bsky

[vhagarys]

Sired (mini series)

aemond x reader, aegon x reader

PT. 1

summary: you are elated at the celebration that awaits on your eight and tenth name day. little do you know, you brothers have an unexpected surprise for you.

warnings: vampires, canon-typical incest (its the targaryens love), dub-con, smut, blood-drinking, manipulation?, all hail king daemon, siring?, probably more but I can’t think of any.. oops

MDNI

Ten and eight.

Your name day.

Twas a highly awaited day for you and your family both. While you were giddy with excitement for the festivities celebrating your womanhood, you’d little thought as to what exactly would await you.

See, what your family so carefully evaded from you was that the Targaryen dynasty were bestowed gifts in more ways than one. The blood of the dragon coursed through their veins, but so did something else.

A hunger.

On a Targaryen’s eight and tenth name day, the gift of immortality is bestowed upon them.

The dynasty has long reigned as the most feared and most powerful lineage in Westeros from this unique endowment.

Your naivety could almost be pitied as you fussed about the lacing of the scarlet gown you would don on your special day. Grinning like a cheshire cat, your older siblings watched you and your servants pick out jewels and embroidery to stitch onto the neckline.

“Why are we forbidden from speaking of the ritual? Shouldn’t we enlighten our dear sister on the events to ensue on the morrow?”, your sister Helaena frowns as she fiddles with her ring.

Aegon hummed, “I agree, dear sister. But, we mustn't worry her. Look at how excited she is to-”

“The ritual is a rite of passage. Tis a gift given only to us. That in itself is worth celebrating,” your older brother Aemond interrupted, closely following every small movement of his beautiful sister.

Aegon hummed once again, this time in agreement.

Both of your brother's eyes fixed upon your form. Your supple breasts now filled in the bodice of your gown, the soft flesh spilling over. Hips curved and full, your body was ripe and ready for child bearing, which of course did not go unnoticed by your brothers.

No, not when their hands tugged at their weeping cocks to the sound of your voice, to the soft touch of your skin against theirs, the sweet smell oozing from beneath your skin, pumping through your veins.

Aemond’s member twitched eagerly as you pulled the final layer of your gown over your head, leaving you in nothing but your small clothes. His eyes quickly averted to his brother, who chewed into his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

Sharp canines poked through his plump lips, Helaena lightly slapped Aegon’s arm and hissed under her breath.

“Control yourself, brother.” His eyes remained glued to you as you bent down to grab your afternoon camise, lavender eyes filling with red as a low growl emitted from his throat.

Just as he went to take a step towards you, the commanding voice of your mother broke through his thoughts.

“Aegon. Come with me.” The queen dowager walked towards them.

“Mother!” Your eyes lit up as your mother graced you with a loving smile.

“Hello, my love. Are you excited for the morrow?” Alicent sauntered towards you and lightly took your chin into her hands.

You beamed. “Very, is there anything I may help with?”

“No, sweet girl,” your mother kissed your forehead.

She turned on her heels, and you missed the look she shot towards your siblings as they quietly followed her out of the room, no words spoken.

That was odd.

They followed her into the adjacent room where she ushered them inside.

Alicent’s eyes were stern as she took a step towards Aegon.

The back of her hand graced the side of his cheek, snapping his head to the side as a pink handprint bloomed onto his pale skin.

“What were you thinking! Losing control of yourself like that in front of her!” She fumed.

Eyes cast down, he murmured, “I wasn’t thinking mother, please, forgive me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but scoff at him, his brother never exhibiting an ounce of self-restraint when it came to you.

Alicent’s eyes shot to her other son. “Keep him in line until the ritual, for the sake of our house. Please Aemond,” who only wordlessly nodded as the queen dowager stormed from the room.

Every fiber in his body wanted nothing but to give you another visit, the only thing stopping Aegon from forsaking his mother’s words was his sire bond.

During the ritual, one must first be bitten by another Targaryen to begin the transition. A sire bond between them is then formed, creating an innate urge within the newly turned to please the one who helped bring them into the world of immortality.

In tradition of their house, the father performs the siring ritual to each of his children. However, as King Viserys met his sudden end several moons past, Alicent performed in his place for each of her three oldest children.

Upon his death, your family named his brother, Daemon Targaryen, as the new king of Seven Kingdoms, your half-sister Rhaenyra his queen.

Them, along with other members of your family all gathered to celebrate the eve of your anticipated celebration.

You were sat next to one of your childhood friends, Sylvia, whilst the rest of your family chattered and indulged themselves.

“Are you nervous?” Sylvia turned to you as you stuffed another biscuit in your mouth.

You giggled. “And whatever is there to be nervous about? It will be a joyous occasion!”

You and your friend missed the quick glances from others at the table, unaware of their eavesdropping.

She leaned in closer, a look of worry within her features.

“I heard whispers in the wind that a sacrifice is required for the ceremony.”

Your heart spiked momentarily.

Just as you were about to question your friend further, a presence behind you pulled you fron your conversation.

“May I steal my sister for a moment?” Aemond offered his hand which you reluctantly took, your friend quick to avert the steely gaze of your brother.

Joyous music rang through the dining room as friends and family danced and laughed together. Aemond pulled you into the throes of people and wrapped his hand around the small of your waist.

He began to sway the both of you as the sour smell of anxiety invaded his nose.

“Brother, is there something regarding the ritual I am not yet aware of?”

He pulled you closer, inhaling the vanilla and cherries on your skin.

“Everything will be just fine, dear sister.” He rubbed small circles in the small of your back as the sweet tang of your blood broke through the sweetness of your perfume.

His breath hitched.

You looked up at him.

Something didn’t feel right.

There was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Pardon me, brother. I must refresh myself in the washroom,” you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying towards your friend, grabbing Sylvia’s hand before dragging her out of the room.

“Tell me what else you know,” your eyes frantically searched hers for answers after shutting the door behind the pair of you.

“I-I heard that the Targaryens possess a hunger inside of them. O-one of unholiness.”

Surely this was a jest?

You couldn’t shake the unease this warning brought upon you.

Your feet moved faster than your mind as you ran out and made a beeline towards your mother, desperate for some sort of explanation to ease your confusion.

Just as you were about to reach her, you were promptly swept off of your feet by your brother Aegon.

“There she is! The most important girl in the Seven Kingdoms!” You could smell the wine on his breath as he paraded you around the dance floor.

“Brother, please. Please set me down.” His eyes searched yours as an odd look of realization washed over his features.

Without explanation, he made quick work of whisking you out of the dining room and into the library across the hall.

The blood in your veins pumped loudly in your ears as he set you down.

“B-brother, please explain to me what is happening at the ceremony. I know there is something being withheld from me.”

He stopped abruptly in front of you, admiring how beautiful his dear sister looked in the light of the fire. A true Targaryen, he thought.

Perhaps it was the wine coursing through his veins, perhaps it was the desire to finally taste you that had the words tumbling from his lips.

“Have you ever wondered why our dear uncle, the king, has barely aged a day in decades?” He slowly circled behind you.

Vanillas and cherries. He inhaled you.

“I h-hadn’t thought of it, perhaps its-”

“Perhaps it’s because he is unlike a normal being. Perhaps none of us are,” he enjoyed watching the gears turning in your little head as his words filtered through your ears.

Poor, confused little girl, he smiled down at you.

He grasped the bottom of your chin and glazed over your soft features, your insatiably plump lips he so wished to devour.

All the while, you fiddled and picked at your nails beneath your skirts, a nasty habit you developed whenever you were anxious.

PIcking and picking, the unmistakeable scent of blood soon overtook his senses.

A low moan escaped him as he gently reached for your hand.

Trembling, you watched your brother inspect your bloodied nail bed.

“I am fine brother,” you tried to pull away but was effectively stopped as he brought your finger up to his lips and into his mouth.

You were so stunned by the queerness of his actions that you sat frozen in your seat.

Moaning louder, you were met with eyes filled with scarlet.

He looked other-worldly. You couldn’t seem to remove your eyes from your brother.

He smirked down at you as he released your fingers.

“You taste delicious, little zaldrīzes,” (dragon) his tone shot a shiver down your spine.

Cold fingers twirled through the strands of your hair. You couldn’t help but lean into it.

Aegon smiled at your pliancy. He was consumed by the urge to claim you, have you in every way imaginable.

And now he would take it.

Pushing your silver locks behind your ear, he absentmindedly traced circles into the skin of your neck.

“You’re just in time, brother,” Aegon finally acknowledged his brother who stood at the entrance of the door, observing the scene between the two of you.

As if hypnotized, your eyes remained locked on Aegons, your other brother taking his time as he waltzed over to the two of you.

“Well, what do we have here, hm?” His eyes immediately found purchase on your exposed neck, fidgeting in his place.

“Oh, I was just ensuring our dear sister was alright, it appears she cut herself. Look, brother.” He brought your fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly, delighted to see how uncomfortable his younger brother looked.

You finally turned your gaze to Aemond, snapped out of the trance you were previously in.

“Aemond, I-I don’t understand what’s happening.”

His usual stoic demeanor cracked as the urge to taste you swallowed him whole.

He took the seat on the other side of Aegon and grasped your injured appendage.

“Shh. It’s alright. Allow me”, he began to lick up the droplets sliding down your finger, groaning as he finally got to taste you.

He needed more. They both did.

Watching his brother, a wicked thought popped into his brain.

“Would you like to know how we taste, mandia aesi?” (dear sister) Aegon ran his fingers through your tangled locks.

Mindlessly, you nodded as you watched your brother lapping at your finger. Not even registering what is what your brother was asking of you.

Aemond’s eyes shot up to his brother, wordlessly disapproving of what he had in mind.

Ignoring him, he pricked his finger and slowly brought it up to your lips.

“Jikagon, sylutegon issa mandia,” (go ahead, taste me sister).

Before your conscience could stop you, you savored the queer, coppery taste of your brothers blood.

You knew not of the sorcery that possessed you. All you knew was you wanted more.

Something inside of you snapped.

You wrapped your other hand around his arm, effectively locking him in place as you sucked harder, drawing more blood from his wound.

The pair of them watched, transfixed as their sister indulged.

A light yank of your hair pulled you from him, your other brother offering a taste from him which you happily obliged.

After a few minutes went by, you released his hand and licked your lips.

“More please,” your brother’s eyes darkened, something primal finally overtook any ounce of self-restraint remaining at your glossy eyes and blood dribbling down your chin.

“Now, don’t be greedy, dear sister. Let us have another turn.”

Leaning back in your chair, your brothers crowded each side of you and littered your neck with small kisses.

Nosing along your vein, your brother Aemond murmured, “Ao sytilībagon naejot īlva, mandia.” (you belong to us now, sister) before piercing into your soft flesh.

You groaned loudly as you felt a slight sting on either side of your neck, soon followed by an intense pleasuring shooting through every nerve in your body.

Gripping the arms of the chairs, your eyes rolled to back of your head as you brother continued to drink from you, their lust for you sending them into a frenzy.

Your body buzzed from the intensity, teetering on the precipice of an unknown pleasure you felt soon claim you as you lost control of your senses, spiralling into a black abyss.

Soon, your brothers broke away from you, maroon staining the skin around their mouths as they gazed upon your lifeless body.

“Fuck,” Aegon murmured as he wiped off and tasted the remains of you on his lips.

Aemond sighed. He stirred in his breaches as he reveled in the euphoria of the moment.

“She is insatiable,” Aemond grabbed a napkin and cleaned himself.

“Hmm, I already wish to taste her again,” Aegon smiled devilishly at his brother.

“Mother will be furious,” Aemond noted, following a rivulet of blood running down the valley of your breasts.

“Tis little matter now.”

The minutes dragged on before the doors of the library swung open, revealing a furious Alicent along with Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Helaena.

Taking in the scene before them, Alicent stormed toward the three of you.

“What have you done!” She shouted, rushing towards you lying limp in the chair, inspecting the puncture wounds on your neck.

Before either could reply, a small whimper left you which directed everyone’s attention.

Slowly lifting your eyelids, once lavender orbs were now tainted with red.

authors note: already starting pt. 2 hehehe, let me know your thoughts!

#enjoy

- alie

[d3cay1ngst4tic]

— NOTHING TO HOLD ONTO BUT SHATTERED GLASS.

synopsis. if you thought your curiosity would ebb away once you saw the vampire with your own eyes, you were wrong. oh so wrong—

— for curiosity did kill the cat.

and so it is, killing you from the inside, his name engraved into your nerves and a sickly chanting in your mind going on and on for eternity.

contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader. vampire!satoru. fantasy. horror. grotesque imagery. there’s potentially disturbing imagery in this one during the end. <- is quite literally the horror genre who am i kidding. reader is sort of numb and longing. ah yes pining 101. satoru being a cryptic FREAK. immense background building i fear.

word count. 2.3k ish

★ jiah’s notes. please have faith in me that toru will get more interactions with reader in future chapters 🙏🏻 trust the process, yeah ?

series masterlist.

000 — your name suffocates my guts, please don’t stop staring.

the wood of the counter feels a little too smooth.

had it always been this barren? deprived of any aesill or two dumped onto its body, so much so that it’s forgotten what it felt like to have some weight over it. some sort of ground, some sort of need. that it was wanted. like those human hands caressing its skin, the bronze kissing its face, the gold slumbering sweetly on its nose hadn’t been a figment of its imagination.

or maybe, it’s just you sitting at it, chin resting on your knuckles and eyes unfocused.

no. it’s the table, surely. missing something that it’d taken for granted earlier.

(it’s you, something coos right back. you hate how right it is. you hate how it makes you want to look back over your shoulder even though you know just rusty spines of books will stare back.)

but it’s comical, really.

how you miss the weight of something on your shop’s counter while longing for the weight crushing your ribs to disappear.

what had been a dull ache is now a ravenous sting, sharp claws and bared teeth sinking into your bones every time you catch a glimpse of something blue.

blue, blue, blue.

(you’d never hated the colour more.)

blue is the book that rests on the table adjacent to yours, a poor mimicry of the weight that you want so much. blue is the smoke when you look outside the frosty windows, so wispy as it frolics about the streets, sneaking its way to places where it shouldn’t be. blue is the tint on the lone aurcel that lays abandoned in the deepest, darkest corner of the rickety drawer of one of the bookshelves, stained with something so irremovable that it doesn’t have a trace of its true worth anymore.

(blue is the mark over your heart which the vampire’s teeth had left behind.

so beautifully vile that you want it all over you.)

is this what it was like? what he felt, all the time?

to be the root of rotten rumours, to be nothing but something on the tip of a stranger’s tongue, something to repel gazes by simply taking in a breath, something so painfully morbid and dirty that you might just infect someone with a disease yet unknown just by staring.

(just a medium, nothing else.)

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve stared at the front door of the shop. once worried, eager eyes have now transformed into something much more defeated, something much more. . resigned.

and yet, you’re the whisper that moulds itself into the blue smoke in the deepest cracks of the street.

(and before you know it, you’re met with so many yous, yous which you hadn’t seen in the dreams drawn by the most delirious delusions.)

sometimes, you is the drawl on a middle aged man’s tongue, exaggerated and envious, horrified intrigue slicing through your veins and holding you still for speculation that you don’t remember giving consent to.

sometimes, you is the hushed whisper of an old dame— mind you, she’s a little sick in the head— piteous and patronising, woeful eyes so full of misery that you might just be buried six feet under by now.

sometimes, you is the panicked yell of a child, who refuses to look at anything remotely resembling a bright blue, trembling hands already clamping your vision shut, too scared to look at at fear, even if it was simply the sky outside.

you, you, you.

(suddenly, it’s all about you.)

you and the dazed look in your eyes, you in that rusty, abandoned bookshop of yours, you trapped in the web that you created yourself and you who wonders what went wrong.

(you, who’s still miraculously alive after seeing the vampire.)

some might deem you as a hero, something otherworldly— too divine to be touched by the rot, too pure to be tainted by something diabolical— while some cast you petrified stares and sharp glances, utterly, utterly convinced that you’re some dark message, a sign, a warning that doom shall take over the town.

(a god to one, while a beast to another.)

it’s almost laughable.

while one part of the town wants to fall to your feet and kiss your holy skin, the other part wants to burn you down for being connected to something as vile as the vampire.

and yet, both of them ponder over the same, impossible question—

(— how did you survive? the never ending blue? the piercing white? the sheer dread creeping around your nape like a silent predator?)

you don’t know, either.

you wish you knew. but at the same time, it’s better off that you don’t.

(it won’t be as fun then.)

so, here you are— neither in heaven, nor hell.

(just somewhere in between, with strings through your skin, swishing about this way and that; whatever fancies the people’s whims, just a miserable little marionette with empty eyes and an empty pocket.)

your eyes close and you inhale.

you’ve been doing that quite often now.

taking in air, simply feeling what it’s like to breathe. it doesn’t help that the air reeks of dusty words and atrocious accusations, but at least you’re breathing.

(or that’s what you try to tell yourself.)

breathe, the voice beneath your lungs says, breathe, you’re still human.

(or are you?)

your feet arise from their slumber and guide you with gentle, pitying whispers to the back of your shop, to your room.

right.

(the mirror.)

you’ve been watching the mirror a lot lately, too.

(you know you don’t look like a human anymore.)

your gaze is far too much like a void now. like pools of nothingness trying to take away every single hint of blues with frantic, desperate hands— grabbing onto it and cradling it against their chest like something too precious to share.

your lips are parched, and you’re only just aware of how dry your insides seem— as if a drought dressed in an expensive coat with crisp white hair has dried it all up— burning them to nothing but a crisp, leaving the taste of ashes on your tongue.

(what has he done to you?)

one name, just one name.

so unbelievably smooth on your dry mouth and so unbearingly blinding to your lost eyes—

satoru gojo.

maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t told you his name. you would’ve dismissed it all as a figment of your imagination. a distant fever dream, something quite unrelated to the real world, something that one can never think of happening.

(something that cannot be real.)

but it is. very real, infact. it burns itself through your teeth and kisses your eyes to make them water, it delves deep into your skin and fills your lungs with dust, it curls up in your mind and chews away at the little sanity you have left.

it could have been easier.

it would have been easier, if only he hadn’t slipped his name between your ribs, right over the damned little bloom whose roots sank a little deeper into the marrow of your body.

but then again, you aren’t any different.

you still do look for a glimpse of blue in every little thing, even if you despise it. even if the teeth sink deeper into your bones. you still do.

(because, oh, what will you be without it?)

earlier, it was just flimsy mortal declarations and hushed caution that kept the shadow of the vampire alive, even if not himself.

but now?

you’d seen him.

no grated voices, no prideful musings. pure and unadulterated, with snow on his hair and the sky in his eyes, you’d seen all of him— the vampire, the vampire who left nothing but aurcels and his name behind.

no one to intervene.

(just you and him and you and him and you and him.)

your soles cry out in protest when you put your worn out shoes back on again. a mumbled apology leaves your lips, but you’re not sure whom it is addressed to.

(you let it hang in the air for anyone to claim, anyway.)

“ah, you’re here,” your head snaps up and your heart lurches— what? it couldn’t be—

(your eyes meet the blue.)

bile rises to your throat, but it pushes itself back down, crawling its way back home down your throat.

this blue is of the oceans. it doesn’t shine blindingly bright— it’s somehow much softer, yet it pins you in place, a needle thrust through your chest.

(it doesn’t turn everything and everyone else in its wake blue, either.)

you clear your throat.

“sorry,” you rasp, and you internally wince at how raspy, how unused your voice sounds, “i. . . went to fetch some papers back there. is there something i can. . help you with?”

“certainly,” the man quips, eyes half covered by the hat he wears. the blue doesn’t consume you, it simply holds you steady, as if keeping a frightened animal from running away. “i’d like to purchase this book.”

you hear the counter sigh dreamily when finally, finally a weight dips on it, your eyes blankly watching as dusty fingers seem to wrap themselves around the rickety spine of the book, too frantic and wanting, too needing and eager.

“two hundred aesills,” you mutter.

(a snarky voice at the back of your mind along with satoru gojo mocks you for being envious of an inanimate little table.)

choosing to ignore it, no, forcing yourself to ignore it, you fish out the yellowing parchment from its drawers, opening it with more force than required— a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction settling into your guts when you hear the wood creak in protest.

(look at you, satoru gojo coos, and the snarky voice snickers, too, reduced to such a eager little heap of pure longing, all because i looked into your eyes and spared you my name.)

“your name?”

your hands shake a little, and you tighten your grip over the quill you’re holding, the rigid shaft digging into your skin somehow keeping you from falling into shambles.

“fyodor murphy,” he hums, “the book’s name is ‘come find me’.”

(a pause.)

“ah, i’ve already noted that down,” you say, peering at him over the the bridge of your nose without raising your head, “saw it earlier.”

“my mistake, i apologize,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach upto his eyes. “still, the book is simply such an enigma amongst its counterparts in the genre that it— goodness me, it simply cannot be spoken about enough.”

(something isn’t right.)

“oh?” you say, your gaze dipping back to the scrawl over the parchment instead, “you seem rather. . . passionate about it.”

it makes you uneasy, that sharp smile on the man’s face. like he knows something that you don’t.

(it isn’t the uneasy that satoru gojo makes you feel. this one doesn’t consume you whole, it just lingers about in the cracks within your bones, as if waiting for you to do something before pouncing.)

“i am,” he says, and his laugh echoes in the air, bouncing off the ancient bookshelves right back to your face, so overwhelming yet tame, “rostislava silva is an excellent author. i must say, i am quite an enthusiast about macabre mentions in literature in general, but her works are the thing that keeps me on my toes. ah, the joys of obsession and reading it in the most beautifully grotesque way possible.”

it feels a little off, how he rambles on.

like he’s pointing at the title again and again and again, hinting at something that you have no knowledge about.

(yet.)

“and then there’s of course the sheer naming of the—”

(come find me, come find me, come find me.)

“i beg your pardon,” you say, rising to your feet, a strained smile on your lips, “but that’d be two hundred aesills, please.”

(a pause.)

“why, of course,” you hate the way he doesn’t look even remotely offended at your light jab, “of course. my apologies.”

with the copper coins dumped at your counter and the damned book in his hand, the man dissolves with the blue mist outside your abode, never to be found again.

(but he still stays on in your head, slowly beginning to ease his way inside your wounds.)

come find me, someone whispers in your ear and you flinch. come find me.

come find me. come find me. come find me.

come—

find—

me.

(no.)

come find me, snickers the ocean blue.

you barely swallow the lump in your throat before you’re scrambling to your feet once more, eyes wild and lips parted as your trembling fingers take hold of the dusty cover of the book at the shelf behind you, only for the ragged papers to scream the words right back at you—

— come find me.

“no,” you rasp, voice barely audible whilst you shake like a leaf in a storm, legs feeling numb, “no, no, no, no—”

a different book. yes, a different book. it won’t have those words, won’t have that title, it won’t yell back at you—

“come find me,” the woman in the book says, inky eyes unseeing at the second paragraph of the page, and you drop it to the floor.

(no, no, no.)

“come find me,” sing the children’s rhymes, and you feel a sob tearing itself out of your throat.

(come find me, they sing, happy little voices somehow distorted into uglier, rotten versions of themselves by the dust settling over them.)

“come find me,” says the man in the journal, sharp eyes staring through your soul, and your heart thunders against your ribs, a frightened little rabbit trying to escape from its own burrow.

so, so blue that you feel the wispy mist start to sneak in through the cracks in the windowsill to your right.

“come find me,” you choke out, and your body barely makes a noise when everything goes black.

(or else i will, satoru gojo croons into your ear, softly kissing you and the flower in your bones good night.)

★ taglist. @deathofacupid / @descargueestoporgojosatoru . (comment to be added !)

@d3cay1ngst4tic on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works.

[bluejeanstrash]

vampires pt. 3 | pt. 2 | pt. 1

tags: 2.2k, vampire! seungcheol x human reader, 18+, mdni, dubcon, rough sex, toxic codependency, emotionally volatile seungcheol, degradation (verbal and physical)

weeks, maybe even a month had passed since you’d last seen seungcheol. you couldn’t tell — time didn’t really exist within the walls of the castle. though gone, his absence was everywhere. it was an absence that made your guilt grow day by day — the weight of which was now suffocating you. what if he’d found another? he hadn’t even called for you once.

the first time seungcheol had ‘called for you’, you thought he was going to kill you. vampires never met with humans alone. they would use the slaves in groups or out in public but seungcheol wanted to see you privately. maybe since he was the one who captured you and brought you here, he felt he had the right to have you all to himself.

since that night he would call for you occasionally, fucking you alone, and until he was satisfied. but that had all stopped. until today. you’d been summoned at midnight, your mind a complete mess throughout the day. you’re not sure why you feel so anxious — you haven’t even done anything wrong. 

when it came to these nights, seungcheol had three simple rules:

one, you would be freshly bathed. he wanted you to be washed off traces of anyone else — coming to him pure, untouched. 

two, your hair would be tied in a single braid — neat, out of your face.

and third, you would be dressed in a modest white nightgown with nothing underneath, giving him easy access to you.

he was very particular. he liked things pretty, even during his kills. he would bring his prey back to the castle, groom them, and then when they were perfect, he would ruin them. much like when a beautifully plated dish adds to its flavour.

the others were different — jeonghan preferred his prey to be scared, fear coursing through their veins tasted the best; joshua toyed with his food before he killed them, giving them hope they could escape before dragging them back; mingyu was impatient, devouring them too soon and regretting it after; and wonwoo was calm, until the bloodlust would hit him. his frenzied kills were a complete terror.

it’s midnight now as you stand infront of the door, frozen. you look down at the intricate door handle, running you fingers over the grooves to calm yourself down, and after taking a deep breath, you knock.

‘enter’ seungcheol’s voice makes your heart race. it’s been so long since you’ve heard it. you walk into the dimly lit room, the hue from the candles casting a warm glow over everything. as custom, you kneel in front of the fireplace, waiting with your head lowered. the room where you would meet was gorgeous albeit ostentatious. the ornate double doors opened to an opulently decorated room. to the right was a small longue area in front of a fireplace which was never lit; opposite it was a four-poster bed and adjacent to both was a writing desk, placed directly in front of the huge stained glass windows. 

as you wait, you can feel seungcheol’s eyes on you, studying you intently from head to toe. you can hear his nails scrape the wooden desk, continuing to stare like he’s trying to find something wrong with you. but you look perfect. still, seungcheol feels a simmering rage within him.

he’d been furious ever since that day. how could you choose someone else? you were first and foremost, his, and for you to pick wonwoo was an insult he couldn’t allow. he’d thought after all this time he would feel differently, but he doesn’t. it was a mistake calling you here.

‘leave’ he dismisses you coldly but to his surprise, and annoyance, you don’t move. it’s foolish to defy him but you need to do something.

‘don't make me repeat myself’

‘master-’ 

‘get. out.’

‘master, please, i’m sorry’ you don’t know what else to say. you flinch at the sound of his chair being pushed back savagely. his steps are heavy and heated as he walks over, standing in front of you.

‘look at me’ you look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, feeling your cunt quiver.

‘you’re sorry? what exactly are you sorry for?’ he questions, finding it incredulous that you have the nerve to disobey him. 

‘i’m s-sorry if i upset you’ seungcheol scoffs, circling behind you. he paces quietly, back and forth, as the seconds pass in complete silence, and then you feel a searing sting. hot liquid hits your skin, making you cry out in pain. ‘you think you, a human, have the power to upset me?’ his voice is dripping with disdain.

he holds the candle above you, letting the burning wax drip onto your supple skin, watching how it rolls down and hardens on contact.

‘master, t-that hurts’ you stutter. seungcheol didn’t get off on your pain, so why was he making you feel it? he suddenly snakes his hand around your throat, pulling you up ‘exactly. it hurts and you don’t have the power to do anything’

‘you don’t have any power’ he reminds you ‘you’re just a weak, pathetic human’ his grip tightens like a noose, fingers digging dangerously deep into your skin.

you gasp as he squeezes tight before releasing you. ‘so helpless’ he mutters, his heavy breath caressing the bare skin of your shoulder, and all of a sudden he lifts your dress up and bends you over. being this close to you after weeks apart, seungcheol can’t control himself. he unzips his pants, pulling out his throbbing cock, and enters you — your cunt that's already sopping wet for him.

it's embarrassing how easily he slips in, your arousal coating his cock instantly. he laughs ‘i haven't even touched you yet and you're dripping wet? pathetic’ despite his words, he loves it. he needs more.

‘stand up’ he orders, his hand back around your throat as he pulls you closer, your back arching off him. he pushes into you completely, your warm cunt gripping him tight and starts thrusting. seungcheol groans, his gaze suddenly fixated on your elongated neck — your skin is taut and tender — it’s perfect. you feel his fangs graze against your stretched neck before he bites, his sharp teeth puncturing your skin as two lines of blood trickle down your neck. you should be scared, you should. so why does it feel almost erotic?

seungcheol drinks from you, your blood seeping into the cracks of his hungry lips as his thrusts hit deeper, his cock throbbing inside you so rapidly. ‘fuck...i need more’ he breathes, teeth sinking in again. seungcheol has always been able control himself, never letting his bloodlust take over, but you taste so sweet, it takes all his will to pull away. he realises this is his privilege, only his, something no one else would be ever be allowed to do — drink from his prey for pleasure. 

though he’s taken from you, it feels like he’s injected something far deeper into your veins. you feel bound to him. his presence is heightened — how good he feels inside you; stretching you open, filling you up. you can’t help but want more.

‘master, can i touch myself? please, you’re making me feel so good’ you beg.

he allows; your fingers on your cunt immediately, stimulating your clit.

‘y-yes’ you whine, needy little sounds spilling out with it ‘yes master…use me’ suddenly, he stops thrusting, keeping his hard cock inside you and asks,

‘who do you want to fuck the most hmmn? whose cock do you crave in your slave cunt?’ seungcheol growls, bringing back the very question that upset him, but this time he excepts the right answer.

‘y-yours master, i want you the most. i love getting fucked by my master’s cock’ he lets out a gruff moan at your words, pulling out and turning you around to face him. 

there’s a flicker of uncontrolled lust in his eyes ‘what did you just say?’ you repeat your words to him but seungcheol’s stuck on just the two. my master — him belonging to you and you to him. he grabs you by the throat, squeezing lightly ‘what are you doing to me?’ he mutters, feeling painfully possessive of the idea. but then the memory of you spread open, pushing wonwoo’s cum inside you returns. you gasp as his grip tightens.

‘how did it feel, hmm? pushing wonwoo’s cum inside you? you didn’t look like you wanted to get fucked by me, you looked like a dirty fucking whore’ seungcheol’s eyes go dark. for the first time tonight you’re scared, desperate not to upset him further.

‘tell me’ 

‘i felt nothing master’ you lie ‘i imagined it was yours. i wanted your cum on my fingers…i only want your cum inside me’ seungcheol inhales sharply, high on your words. ‘take off your dress’ he commands as you pull it off quickly. he unbuttons his shirt, almost ripping it off and in a single breath grabs your waist and lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms draped around his neck. his cold skin is pressed to your warmth as he carries you across the room, pushing you up against the stained glass windows.

it’s much too intimate a position to be in with you but he doesn’t care; he wants you. he enters you slowly, filling you up with a deep sensual stroke. you whimper, feeling all of him inside you.

‘master..please fuck me’ and he does. seungcheol fucks you passionate, making sure every thrust touches your deepest parts, addicted to the soft mewls spilling out of you. he keeps his eyes locked on yours like he’s searching for something in them. you can see they’ve turned a deep crimson in the moonlight — the dreamy moonlight that’s hitting his pale, almost translucent skin so beautifully, his jet black hair and blood stained lips in striking contrast to it. you’re suddenly taken by his beauty, feeling overwhelmed. so you drop your gaze, unable to keep his.

‘no’ he commands ‘you will look at me while i fuck you’ he picks up the pace, thrusting harder.

‘you’re mine’ he breathes ‘you’re mine before anyone else’s. understood?’

he buries his face in your neck, his lips finding where he’d drank from earlier and starts sucking on that spot hungrily. your taste…he can’t stop craving it. as soon as he gets a little taste his thrusts turn animalistic, eyebrows pulled tight as he pounds into you, balls slapping against your cunt. you gasp, tilting your head back, giving him more access. ‘fuck’ his cock twitches inside you.

seeing you offer your body to him like this was intoxicating. ‘look at me’ he moans, his eyes back on yours. then for the very first time, he kisses you. his kisses are hard and messy, matching his thrusts. he pushes his tongue into your mouth, finding yours as your kisses deepen. you need him now and so you beg,

‘master, bury your seed inside me. p-please, i haven’t felt you in so long’ it’s sick honestly — your desperate words and the immediate effect they have on him. seungcheol’s pushed to the brink of orgasm, and for a split second, he feels himself losing all control. taking your life, draining you of your sweet nectar as he cums inside you would be euphoric beyond belief, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. instead, he says,

‘cum with me’ the words coming out of his mouth are unthinkable.

‘you’re going to cum with me’ it’s an order now, and you let yourself feel the pleasure that’s been building. his lips are back on yours, kissing you with untamed desire. ‘m-master, i’m going to cum’ you whine, clamping around his pulsating cock and feeling it take over you — it’s primal the way this pleasure feels. you press yourself against him and moan ‘master, make me yours’ 

‘f-fuck’ he curses, fucking you against the window so violently as he cums, shooting his seed inside you while you’re still consumed by your high. seungcheol groans and just keeps going, pushing all his cum deeper and deeper inside as if he’s trying to breed you.

‘thank you master..’ you breathe as his pace slackens, his final thrusts slow. there’s a stillness that sets in as his cock slips out of you, your legs unwrapping around him to find the floor. you’re suddenly aware of how eerily silent the castle is tonight. did anyone else hear? it feels too intimate a moment to share. or that's what you think. seungcheol steps away from you, a sudden coldness coming off him.

‘you may leave’ his words are firm.

the overwhelming high from the sex comes crashing down in an instant and those useless human emotions that wonwoo loves so much take over; you feel humiliated, you feel jilted, you feel used. and then you feel tears start to form, your vision blurring. you can't let him see you like this. you drop your gaze and start to walk away, your steps slow in hopes he’ll stop you. but why would he? only lovers stay the night, slaves are sent their way. 

seungcheol watches you get dressed, suppressing the urge to pull you back to him. he can’t be attached to a human, that isn’t how it works. humans are disposable, meant to fuck and feast on. he can’t. you turn around and bow, catching his eye for a second and quickly look away. the door creaks open as he watches you leave. you feel like a mess as the door shuts softly, and behind it, so does he. 

[panlight]

In Life and Death SMeyer wanted to show how everything would be the same with flipped genders, but we all know it wouldn't work like that. So, based on their flipped genders and kind of changed backstories (especially in Jessamine's case), which special abilities do you think the Cullens should have?

I think Carine still works with compassion or something compassion-adjacent (not a super power technically but you get the idea). And actually I wonder if people would be less critical of her actions vs Carlisle? That is, I don't really see people talking about consent and damnation when it comes to Sasha of the Denali creating her "daughters" (none of whom were on the verge of death so far as we know). Maybe there's some subconscious thing where a woman making vampire 'children' is more akin to birth (no one chose to be a vampire, but no one chose to be born either), whereas the power dynamics of a man making the choice for someone else, especially women, weirds people out? I don't know, maybe I'm way off base there, but I feel like there might be SOMETHING.

Carine's story is pretty much the same, just limited by what women were allowed to do in the medical field. There's also a bit of a "punish a man by hurting a woman" there in that the vampire who bit her explicitly did so to punish Pastor Cullen, but since I already sort of headcanoned that for Carlisle anyway, it didn't bother me much.

The difference was the Carine wasn't out doing the vampire hunting herself; likewise Jessamine had much less agency than Jasper, who actively chose to lie about his age to enlist. Jessamine was just kidnapped from her home. (And again, the dynamics of a male vampire breaking into someone's home and kidnapping her to turn her into a vampire just feels very different than three vampire women being approached by a man who thought they needed help. Yas Maria, slay Maria! Ew, gross Mariano!) So we have no evidence really Jessamine had the same power as Jasper as a human; she also had no military experience so she would have had a much steeper learning curve than Jasper in terms of learning how to fight, how to train, how to command. I've always thought that Jasper's power should have been mental anyway so let's make Jessamine's power mental instead. She can still sense and manipulate emotions but no more of that weird heartbeat and endorphin stuff (that doesn't seem like would apply to vampires anyway??), it's mental. Wouldn't work on Beau/Bella then I guess.

Royal can keep beauty, Eleanor can keep strength. I like how those upend expectations. And Eleanor's backstory stayed pretty much the same: being mauled by a bear. Good for her! I appreciate that SM still had them get married repeatedly; although I don't remember if it's still because Royal likes to do it. I hope so because again, it upends expectations (the man being wedding-obsessed) and it keeps them closer to their original characterizations.

Earnest's story is very different than Esme's (and again, I must ask, why not 'Ezra?' It's right there and just feels right! Even feels like the name of a kid who grew up on a farm). But again, I like upending expectations by having this sweet, loving house-husband while Carine is out there working. I do wonder, if we had seen more of Earnest, if SM would have made that Power of Heart more dad-like ("step into my office" "let's play catch" "You can tell your old man anything") than the just sort of bubble of love surrounding Esme but I don't know. It might also manifest differently because Earnest's child was older and was actively murdered by his wife. Esme only had her child for a few days and he died of natural causes. Those experiences are very different and might shape what form the Power to Love Passionately takes and how Earnest applies it to his family. He might be a bit more anxious? More protective? He knows his new children are basically indestructible but that helplessness he felt when he lost his human daughter might color how he reacts.

That leaves Archie and Edythe. You can't really change their powers too much because so much of the plot relies on them. And really I haven't changed much of the others either. I think the powers would be pretty similar because they are based on traits shared between the two versions of the characters, but how they used them, how they manifested, might be different because of their different lived experiences. Archie growing up as an eldest son rather than an eldest daughter (and does this mean his mother hires someone to kill his father and his mother and step-father lock him up? How deep does the gender swap go?) might change things like, perhaps he's more or less likely to tell people about his visions because of different societal expectations. Perhaps Edythe's latent ability to "read" people is seen as less impressive than Edward's, like, "oh she's a girl of course she has strong emotional intelligence" or whatever vs Edward being this sensitive piano prodigy was more of an outlier.

Life and Death is such an interesting experience because SM kept a lot of the dialogue word-for-word from Twilight. Earnest has almost all the same lines as Esme, etc. But she changed the backstories to fit gender expectations.

[chilli-pepz]

Autistic Perpetua headcannon time!!

• vampires are a special interest (along with bats and anything else vampire adjacent)

• he pretends to be a vampire when he's alone, he has the fangs and about ten different capes. He has dressed as a vampire every year for halloween without fail

• the colour purple is another of his special interests, most of what he owns is purple

• one of his stims is literally just tapping things with his clawed gloves because he likes the sound

• he does the deadpan autistic stare when he's interested. If he's really into what you're saying he'll stare straight into your soul and not say anything until you're done

• he freaks out about specific textures of clothing and has to especially request materials for all his outfits

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕣𝕖 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion/f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, smut, improper use of charm spell (sorta), vampiric charming, dub-con I guess?, PiV, fingering, blood drinking, creampie, breeding kink, waiter there's a tiny bit of plot in my porn

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: only a stupid rogue would try to rob a suspected Vampire Lord but here you are, doing exactly that. well, right until you get caught with your greedy fingers picking a lock. surprisingly enough, Lord Astarion is not mad when he finds a thief in his chambers. how (un)fortunate you are that he thinks you're beautiful. and his punishment might yet become a reward instead.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 4,257

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: Astarion breeding kink this, breeding kink that, well, here i am trying my own hand at it for the very first time ever. i don't know how good it is but i had fun writing it! this one shot started as something else, but well, here we are, being horny. enjoy! <3

p.s. in regards of "improper use of charm spell" tag - Astarion is using his vampiric charm on reader, she is completely under his control for most of the fic and thus i marked this as dubcon but she only truly consents towards the end of it. so if you're not into this type of thing click out.

You’re stupid, oh yes you are.

You suspected so even before you broke into the palace.

Like last night, when at the Blushing Mermaid your thieving buddies dared you to break into this grand home and steal an item two of them have been hired to steal. By whom? That never matters in your line of work. But you were drunk and too proud of your own skill in thievery. You boasted that you could do it the next night and so they dared you. You took their dare but when you woke up this morning you realized how badly this could end.

Breaking into the palace of a suspected Vampire Lord is something you never attempted nor have many others. But here you are now, attempting the stupidest heist of your life and only now you’re realizing just how stupid indeed you have been the night before and even more so tonight, for coming here, for breaking in and making it this far. Shit, you don’t even remember what consequences of failing this dare are anymore, you were too arrogant in your drunken haze and you might actually get killed.

So now you’re here, in a small, windowless, positively secret room, adjacent to Lord’s bedroom, your focus on the pedestal in front of you.

“A pretty little thing, aren’t you?” a smooth, almost silky voice comes from behind you and yet it feels like an assault.

You freeze, your fingers extended over a small metal chest that you were picking a lock of just a moment ago. You knew the risks coming here, or at least you hoped you did. And now it looks like you got caught in the act.

As you straighten your back and turn around you are met with crimson eyes, a toothy smirk and relaxed body language of a man who you came here to steal from. Astarion, the newest Lord of Baldur’s Gate, latest patriarch of Szarr palace, a charming man that you heard rumors about of being an actual vampire. Undesirable creatures tend to know of one another’s existence. Him – possibly a dangerous monster and you – a thief and a dagger for hire. For a moment you wonder what will happen if this confrontation comes to fighting. You doubt you could win. Even without confirmation of his possible immortality Lord Astarion has a certain aura about him that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You eye him slowly, carefully, examining smallest details. His demeanor doesn’t seem threatening but you see those fangs in his mouth and you know what they can do, you know the power he must possess. Yes, it’s no rumor after all, he is a vampire. And if the same rumors are correct – a very powerful one. He doesn’t need a dagger in his hand to be extremely dangerous and you’re not enough of a fool to pick a fight with a Vampire Lord unless you have to.

“Can I assume you’re not here to give me a key?” you raise an eyebrow at him. You’re not going to be intimidated by him.

You have one more trick up your sleeve if things go murderously bad, a ring of teleportation that you rarely use because it tends to trigger magical defenses but since Astarion already caught you there’s no reason to avoid using it if you can’t talk your way out of the situation. And you will try to talk your way out of it because you have too much pride to scuttle away like a spooked rat.

Vampire’s eyes slide down your body smoothly like a viper, then back up again. Another glance to the metal box behind you and then back to your eyes. He tilts his face to an angle, giving you a curious look.

“I could. But I do wonder what are you doing here. And more so, I am dying to hear how you got inside without being noticed, how have you made it this far as to end up in my personal chambers.” his tone is still smooth like velvet and it gives you chills.

“Let’s say I’m good at what I do.” you smirk at him, despite your unease and tension in your body you are not going to show even a sliver of it to him.

“Indeed you are.” Astarion now steps closer and you move to the side when he approaches the box, placing his long, nimble fingers on it. You recognize a hand of a man who has picked many such locks himself in the past and you wonder about his history for a moment before he looks at you again, his eyes always on yours, almost never leaving.

“Do you know what’s in there, darling?” vampire asks and you cross your arms on your chest, shifting your weight on the other foot. Your goal is also to appear non-threatening but your muscles are tight as a spring.

“I was hoping it’s the Amulet of Weeping.” you say straightforwardly. You see no reason to lie because unless Astarion keeps something more in the box he knows perfectly well what you were trying to get.

Vampire chuckles lightly and taps his fingertips on the lid of the box.

“Indeed. Do you know what it does, you precious little thief?” the smirk on his lips and his eyes, forever locked on yours, it’s almost all you can see.

Yet his question makes you lose your cool. You look at the metal box and clear your throat, stalling for time but then look back at him.

“Well, actually I don’t. You see-“ a sudden finger on your lips, silencing you. If he’s a vampire, why his touch is so warm? And how in the Nine Hells he’s so fast? You didn’t even see him move, it was like a flash, it happened in a blink of an eye.

Oh yes, he’s even more dangerous than the tales you’ve heard.

“Shh. Don’t speak.” Astarion’s voice is soothing, alluring.

What is this… Why you feel so relaxed, so… warm? Your alertness starts to blunt, your caution begins to turn into curiosity and are you flushing? Your face feels hot and this change you feel somehow does not feel strange or unwelcome. It’s like being embraced, it’s like being caressed, you belong.

And all you can see is the crimson of his eyes.

“There we go. I’m sure you’re feeling better. Don’t resist, my dear, just relax, I’m not going to harm you. Maybe I will even reward you for being so brave.” Astarion croons with a voice like silk.

“Reward?” you ask, feeling like you’re in a dream. A voice in the back of your head tells you you’re being charmed but that voice is quickly snuffed out. It’s gone like a whisp of smoke from a candle that just got blown out. One moment it’s there and then not even a memory of it lingers.

“Yes, a reward, darling. Wouldn’t you like to be rewarded?” vampire’s fingers now grip your chin softly, lifting your face to his, his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“What… kind of reward?” even your own voice sounds distant now but you couldn’t care less. Those eyes… Those red eyes that bore into yours… They are everything.

“Ah, now what kind of reward we will have to see for ourselves.” Astarion smirks but his fangs don’t bother you anymore, if anything they look attractive, lighting a fire in your belly. “Let’s go, I’ll let you pick your reward, you little thief.”

With that he moves his fingers from your chin and wraps his arm around your shoulders, now leading you out of this small room. You follow without question or hesitation, but glance back at the box just once, trying to remember what was so special about it and why did you even come here. No, you don’t remember. And it doesn’t matter, not anymore.

When you look in front of you the door opens and a view of a lavish bedroom greets you. A big, luxurious bed with bedposts and parted drapes, all in black or red or gold. Simple glance around the room reveals several paintings, some bookshelves and cabinets, closets and a table, some comfortable looking armchairs. The carpet even under your boots feels soft, you almost want to lay down on it. But Astarion’s arm around your shoulders makes you walk further, towards the bed, and you barely register the door behind you closing.

Why are you here? Oh yes, the reward. When Astarion stops you just in front of the bed, his arm leaves you and he turns you to him by your shoulders. When your eyes land on his you smile. He’s so beautiful, so handsome, he’s the prettiest being you have ever seen. He sees your smile, your glazed over eyes and smiles in return.

“Not afraid of me, are you?” he asks and you slowly shake your head. “Very good. I must say, you are very very pretty, darling. What’s your name?”

Your name… Your name? What’s your name?

Your face scrunches in confusion, your eyes scan his chest and noses of your boots as if the answer is written somewhere in his noble’s attire or in the leather of your shoes. You look up at him again and Vampire Lord chuckles.

“Well, that matters not. You will remember soon enough.” Astarion uses both hands to tuck strands of your hair behind your ears and you smile at him again. His touch is soft, warm and wanted. “But, to get back to my point, you are beautiful.” he leans closer to your face, his smile and his eyes become your whole world. “And I like to collect beautiful things.”

“Things?” you echo and something once more tugs at your mind but then disappears again. You’re perfectly in his control. Under his gaze you can’t resist him.

Astarion does not bother to reply, his gaze sweeps down your body, analyzing every piece of clothing you’re wearing, then his nimble fingers begin unclasping your leather armor, taking it off piece by piece, dropping one item after another to the side of his feet. At first you don’t realize what’s going on, you just watch his face but when vampire slips the straps of your bra off your shoulders you finally blink in confusion.

When you look down at yourself you see yourself half naked, your nipples perk up at the contrast between the air of the room and the warmth of your clothing that just got removed. You rise your eyes to Astarion and see his smile once more. You don’t recognize the gentle malice in his expression but even if you did you wouldn’t care, not until the fog is lifted from your mind.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” Vampire Lord whispers and his face is so close you can smell wine on his breath and… something else. Something metallic, coppery, you can’t put your finger on it.

Your face scrunches at the thought, your eyes move to his lips and his smile, you see the fangs.

Ah yes, that’s right, he’s a vampire.

Wait, what are you doing here?

You gasp, your thoughts get interrupted by Astarion pinching both your nipples at the same time. Again you feel the fire in your abdomen, you recognize it as desire and you look into his eyes, the crimson of them drowning you like a lake of blood. And you give in.

“I want something from you.” Vampire Lord’s whisper replaces your thoughts and you just stand there with your face flushed and your body reacting with a shiver because he’s still teasing your nipples. “Something you can give me with ease.” a pause, a moment passes, then you feel his palm press against the small of your back and push you towards him, against his chest. Your hands grasp his waist and your lips part. “Just give in, darling. And I promise you a night you’ll never forget.”

You see his grin and it would look dangerous to you if you weren’t completely in his control. Instead of fear you feel overwhelming lust and you close your eyes, turning your face up and inviting him for a kiss.

And Astarion does kiss you. His lips clash against yours in a hurry and passion. His tongue pushes past your lips, past your teeth, it tastes you and you taste him back. Yes, you recognize what it was that you smelled before – blood. You taste it on his lips, you taste it on his tongue and you don’t care. Your heart beats fast in your chest, your fingers now move to his clothing, trying to find clasps, buttons and laces. You manage to open his doublet, slip it off his shoulders. You don’t hear it falling to the floor, because only thing you’re hearing is your own heartbeat beating fast in your ears.

But then the kiss stops. You don’t know how long it lasted, a minute, an hour, a year? Still, you feel like it wasn’t enough, you don’t want it to stop and you barely open your eyes before you immediately try to kiss him again, eliciting a chuckle out of the Vampire Lord.

“How eager.” he comments but you don’t care. Your arms find his neck and you try to pull his head lower, to your level, your lips seek his with urgency, but with ease Astarion pushes you away. “Patience, my pet. I’ll reward you soon enough.”

You exhale in dizzy frustration but lower your hands, obeying. It’s easy to listen to him, you realize. What a pleasant feeling, you could do this forever.

“Stand still, darling.” Astarion’s voice reaches your ears and you return to the present.

You now watch him undo laces of your pants and slide them down your hips and thighs, together with your underwear, exposing you fully. You don’t know what shame is and you don’t remember how embarrassment feels like. You only know one thing – you want this man, you want him to take you and it’s hard not to start begging.

Astarion guides you while he takes off your pants and shoes, helping you step out of last bits of your clothing and when he raises again he puts one arm around your hips, leading you to the bed. It looks so soft, inviting. You want to spend forever in it with him. So when you feel vampire pat you on the ass, urging you to climb in, you do so without hesitation.

When you turn around and lay on your back, you have a moment to watch Astarion shed his own clothing in full. He takes his time, his eyes roaming up and down your nude body, his eyes would tell you of possessiveness and even a hint of cruelness if you could think straight, but right now you only see that he wants you. After he pulls his pants down and his eager erection is revealed, you swallow hardly. You want it in you, you want to taste it, you want to please him. You want to serve.

“Do you like what you see?” Astarion taunts and you nod without any shame, your lips part and you lick them, your gaze focused on his cock, so ready to make you his, maybe forever.

Vampire Lord kicks off his shoes at last, then removes his pants completely and after he straightens his back, you watch his hand grasp his shaft and give it a few slow strokes. After the third or fourth you notice precum glistening at the top of his cock.

“Ah…” is only thing you manage to say, your desire coiling and moving in you like a hungry snake. Your reaction makes Astarion chuckle and the sound of it forces yours eyes back on his once more.

He gets closer and climbs into bed slowly with a grace of a predator, his body moves on top of yours and you part your legs widely for him, welcoming him. You lean your head back, relaxing in the bed and Astarion once more sweeps your body with his gaze, stopping at your breasts.

“Touch yourself.” he commands and you immediately do so. Your hands raise, cup your breasts, your fingertips graze your nipples and then pinch them, roll them, tug at them gently while you do as instructed. You see how intensively Astarion is watching you, his smirk widens when you let out a soft moan, then another. You were ready for him already, this is just making it worse.

Finally he looks down, between your legs, and with one hand pressed against the bed for support with other he traces the inner side of your thigh up and then higher. When he touches your entrance, feels how wet you are for him, he exhales slowly. His fingers explore every inch of your sex, making you gasp and moan louder, then his thumb brushes against your clit, sending a shiver through your body.

“You’re so ready for me, pet.” Astarion’s voice is husky, it’s obvious he’s getting worked up too as his eyes dart between his own fingers exploring you and you playing with your nipples.

That dreamy feeling you’ve been feeling up until now lessens, maybe it’s because Astarion is less concentrated, maybe your own desire is making your mind begin to break free but you now realize that you’ve got seduced into this man’s bed. Yet you’re too aroused, too impassioned to stop here. And your body still screams to be taken, to be conquered and to be claimed.

And he’s just so beautiful. No, you’re not free from his charm and allure, not even close, and your mind focuses on his silver locks falling gracefully around his face, you see his eyes, now filled with lust and desire, examining every inch of your body. You feel his fingers making you moan with a practiced touch and you want more. So much more.

“Take me.” you hear yourself say with a gasp and your hips buck against his fingers as if your own body is out of your control, not only your thoughts.

Astarion now looks into your eyes and smiles.

“I’m going to do so much more, my dearest pet. I’m going to claim you, I’m going to fill your tight holes and then I’ll have you beg for more.” his words send a shiver down your body that pools between your thighs, his fingers tease your cunt and he immediately notices that you got even wetter, it makes him smirk. “I’ll make you mine, I’ll claim you, and I will keep filling you with my seed every night. And who knows, maybe you’ll give me an heir eventually.”

Silence falls while your face gets redder with his every word.

An heir? He wants you to do what? Yet his eyes are still your entire world and your body moves, your hips moving again, your cunt pressing against his fingers in need.

Yes, you will give him an heir. As long as you can be his.

Your hands leave your breasts and you put your palms on the back of his head, your fingers threading in his hair.

“Yes, I will.” you whisper and that reply rewards you with a passionate kiss.

Astarion’s fingers now leave your drenched seam and roughly pull your knee up, making you hook your leg around his waist. His chest presses against yours and you sigh against his lips.

And then he enters you. One swift thrust and he’s fully inside, stretching you almost to a point of uncomfortable fullness and you moan at that, your mouth remains open with the gasp but his lips are also parted, he’s enjoying the feeling of you around his cock. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and your fingers clench in his hair.

“Take me. Make me yours.” you whisper and a guttural growl escapes Astarion’s throat at your words. He doesn’t wait, he begins thrusting.

You close your eyes and moan, feeling his cock pierce you again and again. You’re so aroused his shaft is moving with satisfying ease, his hips snapping against you with increasing pace.

“Fuck, you’re going to look so beautiful with my cum dripping out of you.” Astarion grunts and lowers his head to your neck, kissing it first, then nibbling the skin with his teeth. His hand grips your thigh strongly, keeping it up.

Only response you can give him is your moans, loud and unashamed. You hold onto his neck and hair while he rocks himself against you, filling you deeply with his cock, his thrusts unrelenting. It feels like he’s been going at it for hours and every second is better than the last.

Your mind swims from sensations. His sweaty skin against yours, his shaft buried deep inside your cunt, his teeth on your neck, his fangs-

“Ouch!” you exclaim when he bites down, sinking his canines into your flesh, but when you react you hear a rumble of a laugh coming from him. Astarion lifts his head at you, his lips are painted in redness of your blood.

“Get used to it, my pet. You’re mine now.”

Vampire Lord bites you again and this time you just sigh. Somehow his first bite was painful, second one sends a shiver down your spine. Your fingers leave his hair, you place your palms on his back, feeling something there like scars, but you don’t know, you’re far away, consumed by your passion. It’s just his lithe body claiming yours, making you writhe and arch your back, making you moan.

Then Astarion slows, he moves his hips now lower, his pelvis brushes against yours, then an angle changes and he begins rubbing himself against your swollen clit, sending jolts down your spine. You open your eyes, more in surprise than anything and see Astarion’s smug smile.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” he lifts his head with a smug smile, confident because he knows he’s good at this and he’s correct. You whimper and nod eagerly, your face still flushed. “Good.”

Astarion’s thrusts ease into a steady pace. How his skin is rubbing against you is beginning to drive you crazy. You look at him, not able to control your moans that are growing louder by the second. What is he doing to you? You never felt pleasure like this before. You can’t stop, you don’t want to stop.

“Come for me.” you hear a whisper in your ear and then he looks at your face again, enjoying the view.

Everything up until this point felt like a dream, but not this.

You feel your orgasm with every inch of your body. You cry out and dig your nails into Astarion’s back, your body tenses and your cunt clenches around him, your sweaty form spasms and you feel yourself clinging to him.

“Good girl, very good girl.”

You are barely able to comprehend Astarion’s words, because the world melts around you, this moment is intense, most intense thing you experienced in your life. But Vampire Lord doesn’t stop thrusting. When your bliss begins to fade, when you come down from your high, you look at him again and Astarion leans away from you. He straightens his back as much as he can, his palms pressed on the bed by your sides and his now messy hair drapes over his eyes but you see him watching his cock plunge into you with increasing fervor.

“Watch me fill you, my pet.” vampire’s grunt is laced with strain as he keeps fucking you while you’re trying to recover from your orgasm. You’re out of breath but this is not over, not until he says it is.

And you listen, you look down, seeing your bodies connect with every pump of his hips and you grasp at the sheets. Something about this, the anticipation, the knowledge of what he’s about to do and the desire to be used by him, it’s making the edges of your world blurry.

Astarion is grunting now, his lips parted and he’s breathing heavily. Even his face is flushed, but then he moans loudly just before he clenches his teeth. His thrusts become erratic, his eyes locked on the motion of him thrusting into you, his groans are barely passing his teeth. You know he’s spending himself entirely inside of you and it’s a delicious thought. And then after few more pumps he stops, panting when his face relaxes. You keep your eyes where your bodies are still connected, your thighs are quivering, and Astarion glances up at you with a smirk.

He says nothing as he moves one hand and grips the base of his cock, slowly pulling out of you now. You mewl gently at that, the feeling of him leaving your body is an unwelcome one. But Astarion is not done yet. He kneels between your thighs and pats your inner thigh with his cock that is now losing its hardness. With a satisfied grin he lets go of it and presses a thumb to your fold, teasing it, watching his cum seep out of you. You blush heavily at that even though you can’t see what he’s seeing.

“Beautiful.” Vampire Lord comments more to himself than to you and remains still for a long moment, just appreciating the view. Then his eyes raise to your face. “Rest for a bit. When I said I’m going to fill your holes, I meant all of them.”

You nod eagerly despite your face burning.

You cannot wait.

[zooophagous]

do you know about silent hill? your shitty town dreams are very silent hill. glad they let you in the zoo

Lol yes my recurring dreams are usually very Silent Hill adjacent. There have even been a couple notable examples of being chased by monsters in those dreams.

The most detailed one was I was invited to a party at a huge mansion on the outskirts of town. The party was to celebrate "The archeological find of the century" and the party included an open house to tour the old mansion and see the find in the mansions' basement.

So I get there and just like everything else in the town its in disrepair and there is loose garbage everywhere. Just dotting the grounds. One interesting thing about this dream town is that it also has a ton of cemeteries. Like any green space at all usually has headstones in it even if it's just a tiny patch of grass in the middle of downtown. So the lawn is also covered in headstones.

Anyway, I make my way into the house and down the stairs to see what I am then told is a mummy. Cool, I like mummies. So I go down and the mummy is actually gigantic. Like fifty feet tall at least. And as I'm watching it I realize its chest is rising and falling, its breathing, the mummy isn't dead its sleeping.

As soon as I realize this it wakes up, I take off running and this huge mummy is scrambling after me up the stairs so I run into the kitchen through an old servants door because its tiny and it won't easily be able to follow me. I woke up just as I was escaping the kitchen back into the yard.

The dream town also has vampires as that is a given but it's more a sense of dread knowing they're somewhere nearby and less being actually run down with those dreams.

[the-entitie]

All I can imagine is a reader who lives in a continent full of monsters.

One of the only humans there, or well. Human adjacent.

You make some of your money by being a health care worker for the monsters here, not a healer per say but the closest thing to one any of them can get. You're the go-to for cuts, scrapes, bruises, and dislocated limbs. Even for the more, not human side of the residents.

There's nowhere else to go. It's you or deal with it alone.

You learn their stories, or their scars, even the trauma they have to carry. Like the deep forest Naga, whose flares dull when the clouds start to gather. Or the lycanthop who couwers at any loud sound. You are the only one the youkai trusted to help.

That's not the only way you make your money to keep the medical office stocked.

Many of the creatures or monsters can "shed" certain parts. Like the vampire's teeth, they shed those fangs neat yearly, or the avians, the false angles, who mault. But other times, when things like corpses or amputations are a must to hold. You can use those parts, too.

What did those human rulers who exiled you expect?

That a mortician would just be happy to sit down and watch the people around them fumble with basic injuries and watch those small little cuts fester and rot, let alone the major injuries that come about.

You had a fucking medical and veterinary doctorate so you where going to use it.

If that means dismantling the dead or selling off the things you don't keep for study or as trinkets to keep that medical practice open?

Then gladly.

[science-lings]

Batfam Monster Poll 4: Cass

*We're just going to go with the implication that all the options that don't technically have a human form, do have one for the purposes of this AU

Part 1: Bruce (ends 3/31/2025)

Part 2: Dick (ends 4/1/2025)

Part 3: Jason (ends 4/2/2025)

Part 5: Tim (ends 4/4/2025)

Part 6: Steph (ends 4/5/2025)

Part 7: Damian (ends 4/6/2025)

Part 8: Duke (ends 4/7/2025)

More info and thoughts-

Glossary-

Huli Jing-

Practically the same as a Kitsune, a fox spirit with a human form, the Japanese version tends to include a tail (or multiple) that need to be hidden in their human form. Foxes are widely interpreted to be mischievous and cunning. They can be both very good and very bad.

Dhampir-

Half vampire, half human, though usually described as mostly normal and able to integrate fully in human society, they can still be recognized by their 'wild untamed black hair' and 'cunning and courageous nature' which is typical of the average batchild. They also typically become vampire hunters. They don't need to drink blood but they can if they have to. They can also go into the sun so they're basically like if vampires weren't weak babies. But who would be the vampire parent? Lady Shiva or David Cain?

Naga-

Ah snake people, Naga have the bottom half of a snake/ a long tail for legs, though the Chinese version of them can be likened to dragons. Other options in this category are similar in appearance. Gorgons have snake hair and tusks; Echidnas have a double snake tail.

More thoughts-

Cass's voice is an extremely important part of her story, her not being able to use it, her not being taught to use it, so the idea behind her being a banshee would center around her being taught that she has to repress something deeply instinctual about herself. It takes a while for her to figure out what it means but when she does, she is always trying to change fate. If she starts to sense the nearness of death, her first instinct is to rebel against it. Her voice isn't a weapon, but it is a tool, and she should be free to use it.