#I see the danger it's written there in your eyes

[alastorss]

Hi, could you do an Alastor x Reader where Alastor is the intimidating, scarier half. Their group of friends see him wearing an adorable, soft, pastel pink sweater and start to laugh at him. Until Alastor jumps on Reader's back, grinning and kissing Alastor's cheek because Reader took forever to make that sweater?

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"Hey, Smiles..." Angel strains out awkwardly. "What'cha got goin' on here?"

The spider gestures up and down Alastor's body, brows pulled together in utter confusion. (He really wishes he had his phone on him. He'd risk taking a thousand photos just to remember this moment.)

Alastor only stares back, smile ever present but eyes narrowed in irritation. "I'll have you know that pink is in this season!"

"In? This season?" Angel guffaws, glancing down at his own outfit before his eyes are all over the Radio Demon again. "I mean, I guess... But you don't seem the type."

"What ever do you mean?"

'It's written all over your face!' Angel screams in his head. He clears his throat and continues carefully, not wanting to step on the Overlord's toes and wind up on his dinner plate.

But before he can even get another word out—

"He means that stupid fucking pink sweater you're wearing," Husk deadpans from behind the bar, attention devoted to polishing a glass. Perhaps that was for the better, Angel thinks, when Alastor shoots daggers in his direction with a glare.

"Stupid?" Alastor repeats, voice crackling dangerously with static.

"It looks like Valentine's Day just threw up all over you," the bartender elaborates.

"Does it now?" The Radio Demon stands, seething in his spot.

Angel clambers over the sofa in worry. "Apologize now, I beg of you," he sputters in exasperation.

However, Husk doesn't back down. Instead, they stare at each other in intense silence, anger simmering between them. The pornstar is just about to yell for Charlie to break them up when his knight in shining armour waltzes into the room.

"You're wearing it!" You gasp, joy evident as your grin spreads ear-to-ear.

Angel watches in relief when Alastor relaxes, antlers shrinking back down. He takes his seat again, allowing you to attack him from behind. You dangle off his neck like a charm with your cheek pressed to his.

"Of course I'm wearing it," he chuckles. "You made it!"

Alastor's eyes dart to the side to leer at Husk who finally shrinks back, realizing his mistake.

A strange pairing.

It was what everyone murmured under their breath when they would see you and your companion. Wherever you went your relationship drew eyes. You were too good for him, or he was too good for you.

To hell with that.

You suited each other—despite the odds, despite the differences. He was harmless as a domestic cat in your arms, and he was teaching you all the wonders of smiling until your cheeks hurt.

And it was one thing to badmouth him. It was another to insult you, whether they realized it or not.

"Pink looks so nice on you," you sing, giving him a little squeeze. "Don't you think?"

You peer up at Angel, and for some reason, he feels a chill run down his spine. Maybe it was because you were currently an accessory to the most feared demon in the Pride Ring.

Or perhaps...

"Looks fantastic," he grits when your head tilts and he realizes you're smiling so wide that you're practically baring your fangs at him.

You were just as terrifying when you were mad!

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"They hated it, didn't they?"

Alastor can hear your pout.

"Oh, sweetheart," he muses as he watches you get ready for bed. "They absolutely did~"

You sigh, flopping down onto the mattress. When you finally look at him, you snicker.

"You really don't have to wear it to sleep, you know?" You poke his side. "I know it looks terrible. Take it off already!"

The Radio Demon catches your wrist and guides you into his lap, allowing you to straddle him. You melt into his body as his arms wrap around you.

"It's perfectly warm and comfortable. Acceptable attire for bed. Need I mention again that you made it for me?"

He kisses the top of your head and you giggle as he continues.

"And I believe pink really does suit me."

"Even if people laugh at you?" You ask quietly.

He is silent for a pause before he pulls you so close that he can feel your heartbeat.

"They can laugh all they want. At the end of the day, who's the one who gets to hold you like this?"

You breathe out a whispy laugh.

"Sap."

Before you fall asleep, you make a new reminder in your phone to pick up more supplies for another sweater.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @princekeerys @cedarrthefluffylee @alastorthirsty (send an ask to be added!)

[moonstruckme]

hi !! i saw that your requests were open and i'd really love if you wrote something with james (or poly!m !!) with a gn!reader taking up literature in uni who tends to get back pains from being hunched over reading and writing almost all hours of the day (definitely not projecting, hehe!)

i love the stuff you write and everythings just so sweetly written and portrayed so lovely !! thank you for keeping the marauders fandom alive lol

Thank you ml <3

modern au

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 709 words

James plops down beside you on the couch, and when he pokes your spine you straighten reflexively. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, only half in the room as the rest of your brain continues working on your essay. 

“Are you really not done yet?” Sirius asks, putting a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You start typing faster. They’re going to want to start the movie soon, and then your laptop is going to be wrested away from you whether you’ve reached a stopping point or not. “I can’t remember the last time I spent more than a couple hours on an essay. You’ve been laboring over that thing all day.” 

“It’s a long one,” you admit, “but it’s hardly labor.” 

“Sure looks like it, when your back is hunched worse than a coal miner’s.” 

You give him a deadpan look. Sirius glances down at your fingers, still typing rapidly, and shudders. 

“Fucked how you can do that.” 

“Literature students might be the new coal miners,” says James.

You hum dubiously, looking back to your work. “Not sure that’s a super fair comparison.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Remus agrees with you, “but it’s not like you’re not doing yourself any harm when you write all day like this, love. Your back is already hurting you—” 

“You’ll probably get carpal tunnel,” James adds. 

“—and I know looking at your laptop for this long gives you headaches.” Remus’ slow strides into the living room feel like a countdown clock. You manage to hammer out the end of your sentence just before he pulls your laptop out from under your fingers. “If you’re not careful, it’s gonna fuck up your sleep. That’s enough for tonight.” 

You sigh but don’t complain, rolling back your shoulders to ease some of the tautness there. Your spine crackles, quicker and louder than the popcorn popping in the kitchen, and James flinches away from you. 

“God, make it stop,” he pleads. 

You ignore him and roll your neck to the side, eliciting a series of cracks from there too. James makes a dramatically horrified sound and squeezes his eyes shut, and Remus grabs your head in both hands, restraining you. 

“Don’t,” he tells you severely. “We’ve been over this.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly as he pulls the bag of popcorn from the microwave. 

“It hurts,” you complain. 

“Sounds like it, fuck,” James agrees emphatically. Now the danger has passed, he leans towards you again, splaying a protective palm over your mid back. “Sirius, could you grab my icy hot from the fridge? Here, lovie, lie down.” 

Remus lets go of your face somewhat reluctantly, letting James help you lay across his lap. His hand smooths up and down your spine, pressing down lightly upon muscles rigid with tension. You sort of wish he’d just crush you. You’re sure he could, he doesn’t spend all that time at the gym for nothing. 

“I’m gonna get you a back brace,” Remus mutters, fondness under the veneer of resentment in his tone. 

“That'd be kind of hot.” Sirius lifts your feet, dropping down onto the couch before passing James the tube of cream. “Those are the strappy looking things, right? I’m for it.” 

“I do not consent,” you say clearly, then hiss as James applies the cool balm to your lower back. 

He and Sirius laugh. Remus reaches over to press your shoulders back down. 

“Easy, angel,” says James. “It’ll help.” 

“I didn’t know it’d be this cold,” you defend yourself, a little laugh tripping out of you as well. “You do this voluntarily?” 

“You’ll see why in a bit.”

“If I were spending all of my Saturday hunched over my laptop and a bunch of books,” Sirius says, “I think I’d at least use the right ‘your.’ What are they teaching you, babe?” 

You suppress a groan. You’d sent Sirius a grammatically incorrect text two days ago, and he’s yet to stop lording it over you. 

“That was autocorrect,” you tell him again. 

He hums noncommittally, tracing a path up your calf with his forefinger. “I’m just saying, can it really be worth it if we’re making those sorts of mistakes? Will they even still give you your degree?” 

“Sirius, their back is getting tense again. Knock it off.”

[louisaskywalkerani]

Whispers in the Dark, forbidden embrace.

Pairing : Anakin Skywalker x f!Reader

synopsis : anakin reassures you about your forbidden relationship in more ways than one.

CW : 18+, smut! minors DNI. no movement but, p in v penetration, cock warming.

an : ok this is my first fanfic i've ever written, i'm completely petrified tbh, i tried to do my best, if u can give me some advice, it would be super nice. enjoy this ig.. the end is also inspired by @ohcaptains !!

The dim lighting in the temple corridor casts long shadows. Anakin's footsteps echo softly as he approaches you, a determined look in his eyes. You've been avoiding him, knowing the danger of your connection. Tonight, there's no escape.

"Anakin, we shouldn't be here," you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken emotions.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "We can’t keep pretending, not anymore," he replies, his voice husky. "The Council doesn’t understand what we feel."

You look into his eyes, seeing the conflict mirrored in your own. "What if we're caught? The Council—"

"Screw the Council," he interrupts, his hands gently cupping your face. "I need you. We both know this is more than a fleeting desire."

Your breath hitches as his thumb brushes over your lips. "Anakin, we're risking everything."

"Some things are worth the risk," he murmurs, leaning in. His lips capture yours in a kiss that speaks of months of longing and suppressed passion. The kiss deepens, and you feel the warmth of his body against yours, his heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours. "Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I'll walk away."

You close your eyes, the truth undeniable. "I can’t," you admit softly. "I’ve tried, but I can’t."

With a relieved sigh, Anakin wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "Then let’s not fight it anymore."

—

The night is serene, stars twinkling above as if to guard your secret. Anakin spreads his cloak on the ground, inviting you to sit beside him. “Remember when we first met?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You smile, the memory clear in your mind. “You were so arrogant,” you tease. “I thought you’d never take anything seriously.”

Anakin chuckles, his hand finding yours. “And you were so serious. Always following the rules.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the bond deepening with shared memories. You both lie down on the cloak, looking up at the stars. "I used to think the stars held our destiny," you say, your voice barely audible.

"They still do," Anakin replies, his fingers intertwining with yours. "But we can choose our path."

The quiet of the night is broken only by the soft sounds of the temple gardens. Anakin turns to you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we didn't have to hide?" he asks, his voice tinged with sadness.

"All the time," you admit. "But the life we've chosen doesn't allow for what-ifs."

Anakin's grip tightens around your hand. "We could leave. Start a new life, far from here. No rules, no codes, just us."

You look at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart ache. "And what of our duties? Our responsibilities?"

"We've given enough," he says fiercely. "Isn't it time we lived for ourselves?"

The temptation is strong, the vision of a life with Anakin almost too beautiful to resist. But the weight of your commitments anchors you. "I don’t know if I can."

Anakin sighs, pulling you closer. "I can't lose you," he whispers. "Not now, not ever."

"You won't," you promise, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We'll find a way to make this work."

The night stretches on, filled with whispered words and tender touches. As dawn approaches, you both lie entwined, the weight of your choices pressing down but the warmth of your connection offering solace. For now, in this moment, you are together, and that’s all that matters.

You lay there, enveloped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. The temple gardens, usually so serene and quiet, now seem to pulsate with the forbidden energy of your bond. The leaves rustle gently in the night breeze, almost as if they are whispering your secrets.

Anakin strokes your hair gently, his fingers tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. “I’ve always admired your strength,” he says softly. “You’ve kept us hidden so well, even when it must have torn you apart.”

You sigh, nuzzling closer to him. “It hasn’t been easy,” you admit. “Every time I see you, I have to fight the urge to run into your arms. But I’ve never regretted it. Not for a moment.”

His grip tightens around you, as if he fears you might slip away. “I want to show you something,” he says suddenly, sitting up. “Come with me.”

Curious, you follow him through the winding paths of the garden until you reach a small, hidden alcove. The moonlight filters through the leaves, casting a mystical glow over everything. Anakin kneels and presses a hidden switch, revealing a small passageway.

“How did you find this?” you ask, amazed.

“I have my ways,” he replies with a wink. “Come on.”

The passage leads to a secluded chamber deep within the temple, one that even you, with all your knowledge of the place, had never discovered. It’s filled with ancient artifacts, relics of Jedi history, and texts that seem almost forgotten by time.

“I come here to think,” Anakin says, lighting a small lantern that casts a warm glow over the room. “It’s a place where I can be myself, away from the pressures of the Council and the weight of my duties.”

You walk around, marveling at the treasures surrounding you. “It’s incredible,” you whisper. “Like a sanctuary.”

Anakin smiles, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I wanted to share it with you. A place that’s ours alone.”

You turn in his embrace, your eyes meeting his. “Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “It means more than you know.”

For a moment, you simply stand there, holding each other, surrounded by the silent witnesses of a bygone era. Then, with a gentle tug, Anakin leads you to a small nook filled with cushions. You sit down together, and he pulls you into his lap, his lips finding yours once more.

He breaks the kiss and smiles up at you, taking in every curve of your body, his hands brushing along your thighs as he drinks in the sight of you.

“You're so beautiful... even more so up close.” he whisper 

He reaches up, his hand cradling your cheek as he kisses you again. As the kiss deepens, he pulls you closer, his hand sliding lower along the curve of your waist. His touch is gentle at first, but as his passion grows, he holds you tighter against him.

Anakin's tongue explores your mouth as his hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine as it ignites the fire burning within you.

You moan softly into his mouth as you feel his fingers brush across your skin, their touch leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Your hands explore his back, feeling every muscle as they clench and relax beneath your fingertips.

Anakin breaks away from you briefly, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone. His teeth graze against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

“Ani... what are we doing...?” You breathe, biting your lip as his lips find a sensitive spot on your neck.

Anakin chuckles, his breath warm against your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses along your jaw.

"I think you know, love.." He murmurs, his hand slipping under your chin to tilt your head back and expose your neck to him.

“I want you,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and husky.

His words send shivers down your spine, and you can't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. Your body aches for his touch, but you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed. 

Regardless, he can sense you tightening your grip on the back of his head. As you shift up against his thigh, the heat from your underwear burns against him.

He is aware that you are hesitant.

“It can be like i told you last time.” He stutters, licks his lips, and struggles to get the words out of his throat.

“Just- sit on it.” he managed to say. “If you don’t want to move it’s alright love, just wanna be inside you.” 

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and kiss it carefully to not leave any marks.

“Anakin..” You whisper softly as you struggle not to close your eyes to his touch.

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“What? Are you afraid?” 

Your eyes roll slightly “No i’m not afraid.”

A slight smile appears at the corner of his lips. “Then what is it?”

You squint at his attitude. “Nothing. I- I just won’t move.”

He nods and slowly kisses your neck, his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. “Alright, love.”

You shift back so he can pull his trousers down to his knees, and you take his cock in your hand, feeling him melting at your simple touch.

“Love,” he whispers, his voice deep and rough. “I want to be inside you. Now.” 

You feel a surge of heat between your legs, and you can't help but moan in response. You've never felt so aroused, so completely lost in the moment.

You push your underwear to the side, and you lift yourself to sink onto him as Anakin breathes “Take it easy love, don't want you to hurt yourself.”

You halt. To avoid pushing him inside of you all at once and hurting yourself, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You pause as a slow burn builds in your thighs, you clench down in an effort to relieve the pain.

“Fuck,” Anakin grunts as he wraps his arm around the back of your hips, “Lemme,” he mumbles, and he flexes gently his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked core and kiss your neck again to distract you from the potential pain.  

You're gasping for air, you moan softly in pleasure, the heat of his mouth on your skin igniting the fire within you. You've never felt anything like this before, and you never want it to end.

When you finally sink to the depths, the pair of you moan out loudly in unison.

Anakin buries his face in your neck, “Now, don’t move. Just don’t move.” He grunts once again.

You nod a little too vigorously, which creates a slight movement in your hips, and because of that you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you.

he manage laughs falsely and grips your hips more firmly “What did i say?”

“S- Sorry” You whisper as you feel his wet lips brush against your breasts which makes you throw your head back.

“If you move again,” Anakin begins to say, panting, “I'll leave the Jedi order and do what I should have done a long time ago.”

Anakin always wanted to fuck you properly and it drove him crazy not to be able to do it.

“D - Don’t try to tempt me, Anakin” You managed to say, saying in your head to yourself,  

Don’t even move.

But Anakin brings you out of your thoughts by licking gently your neck, making you clench around him, causing him to groan deep against your neck.

“I'm warning you, this is the last time.” He says, gritting his teeth and gripping your hips even more firmly, but not enough to hurt. 

“It’s all your fault this time” You whimper as you tighten your grip on his shoulders. 

“Just stay still,” He said firmly, concentrating on not moving and coming inside you.

[generalsmemories]

HELLOO THEREE!! i love how dedicated you to jing yuan!! Can i have req for 1k event???

Fluff sentences "8" + fluff scenarios "4"!!

Thank you so much!!

I keep looking forward to your JY work!!

Bedrest

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts: Not letting the sick one move an inch + playing with their hair until they fall asleep & "You're going to get sick if you keep coddling me." "And you're just going to get worse if I don't" || 1k event also requested by @/thetwinkims

✧ content: fluff, established relationship, i swear it's just fluff like for once there's no hidden angst over here.

✧ a/n: hello fellow jing yuan lovers, i'm still alive. this was once again written at 1 AM and not edited at all so if there's any writing mistakes, no there isn't. the initial plan was to keep this one in the drafts while I also write other WIPS to feel productive but i have honestly starved ya'll for months at this point i'm so sorry i'm back with milk.

have soft jing yuan just giggling, is he delirious, sleepy or just in love? we don't know.

If you could describe Jing Yuan in one word other than mischievous, it would be stubborn. The General of the Xianzhou Luofu is too stubborn for his own good, you don't know if this stubbornness of his is rooted in his desire to protect Luofu from danger, or from the fact that he just dislikes when people wish for him to do something in particular.

In any case, his stubborn and mischievous nature could very well be linked to that of a feline - which he himself has been told that he share similar traits of, despite being fully human.

You just wished that he would be less stubborn when it also came to his health.

"Jing Yuan, how many times have I told you to just lay down…!" you say whilst gritting your teeth, using almost every ounce of your strength to push the general back down on the bed. Jing Yuan merely lets out a quiet chuckle, still trying "playfully" wrangling with you. "I'm injured, not sick, dear." he says, to which you merely roll your eyes in exhaustion.

Jing Yuan truly loves it when you finally forego your usual gentle demeanour to a more brazen one. It's usually a side of you that only he can see, more so because he's the only one who can annoy you enough to make you realize that gentle words and probing won't get you anywhere.

"I don't think someone with a temperature of 40 degrees is only injured, darling. Now can you please just lay down before you reopen your wounds?" you plead once again, pressing the heels of your palms further down Jing Yuan's broad shoulder which shook in quiet laughter at your desperate struggle.

"I'm wide awake after having taken numerous naps because per your request though?" he informs, finally settling back down on the bed which finally allows you to lean back to sit on the edge of the bed again. "Last time you insisted that you were fine, I had to get Mimi to help haul you up the stairs because you could barely move." you remind him with a huff, Jing Yuan turning over on his side to face you, his already messy bangs sweeping over to the side to almost cover his right eye.

He didn't say anything, his arm was still laid behind his head to act as another form of cushion while the other rested lazily over the bedsheets. You could however see the golden eyes peering deeply into your own between the grey strands. A silent request that he didn't dare utter to you.

Jing Yuan rarely requested things from you after all.

With a sigh, you turn your body over and hoist your knees over the bed. Nudging Jing Yuan's arm aside with your hands, "Move them." you quietly demand, the same golden eyes that were peering at you blinking in slight confusion. "What for?" he questions softly while moving his arm upwards.

You don't reply, merely raising the thin blanket up to lay down beside Jing Yuan - making sure that you were hoisted a bit higher up than he was. You snake one arm around Jing Yuan's neck, a silent request to make him scoot closer to you.

When he's close enough, you hook your chin over his head while pressing his face towards your chest, the other arm wrapping around his hair. "There we go."

A few beats of silence passes by, you can feel Jing Yuan take in a few more breaths than normal whilst his eyelashes brush against the material of your shirt, the material thin enough to feel every movement of his face that's pressed against the upper part of your torso.

And then he's shaking in another quiet chuckle, "You're going to get sick if you keep coddling me at this point, darling." he says, and yet the arms that snake around your waist and the way he snuggles deeper into your chest indicates that he won't let you go now that he got you within his grasp.

He can tell that you're rolling your eyes yet again. You decide to answer his jab with a small peck on top of his head, mostly focusing your attention to the locks of hair in between your fingers, curling a particular strand around your finger whilst your other thumb is busy rubbing soothing circles at his hipbone. "And you're just going to get worse if I don't."

The general merely huffs out a laugh, replying to the peck on his head with kiss against your shirt. "You spoil me way too much." is the last thing he whispers, before he quickly falls into a deep slumber.

Because you both know that Jing Yuan truly never sleeps unless you're near him.

[c-nstantine]

Strangers From the Club

Description: Jason and Roy take the reader home and sexcapades ensue

Warnings: badly written smut, cursing, p in v, male and female recieving oral, reader is black as always, also Jason and Roy are roommates

Word Count: 2.4k

Clubbing in Gotham was either the best thing in the world or the riskiest thing that a single woman could do. That's why Y/N came out with her best friend. The buddy system had never failed them before. There they sat in the corner of the dark club, sipping some watered-down and overpriced cocktail.

"I think those two guys are watching you, "Her friend noted a tall ginger with tattoos and a taller dark-haired man from across the club.

"They're not," Y/N tightened the ponytail of her box braids that were in a half-up half-down style. Y/N knew she was attractive but to attract two men who looked like they stepped right out of Gotham Times? That'd be something new.

"They are," Her friend reached over and adjusted the cleavage of Y/N's dress before smiling and being pleased with her work. The dress was already out of Y/N's comfort zone because of it being short, low cut, and sequined. However, the silver sequins only made her more desirable under the strobe lights.

"No, they're not," She wrongly assured her friend.

"They're coming this way! Have some fun tonight," Her friend slid out of the booth and disappeared into the dancefloor with a wink. Y/N swore she was gonna get her back for this.

"Hi, beautiful. I'm Roy, and this is Jason," The ginger named 'Roy' slid on one side of her while Jason slid on the other. Roy's arm was wrapped around her but his energy was so inviting that she didn't mind him touching her.

"Hi, I'm Y/N," She smiled softly at the two men, still feeling a bit unsure about what would happen next.

"See, Jason and I had a little bet going on which one of us was more your type." Roy started while looking into her eyes. His green eyes were so inviting and friendly, that she couldn't help but be trapped in his stare.

"Winner gets to try and take you home for an 'eventful' evening with your permission, of course," Jason spoke for the first time and winked at her.

"I don't think I could choose," She said looking back and forth between the two men. Roy had a certain charm to him that made him appealing but Jason had a mystery about his aura that left her wanting more. As for physical appearance, both of the men were not lacking in that department. Jason was clean-shaven with jet-black hair that was dangerously close to his eyes. He wore a jacket but she could tell his muscles were aching to be free. Roy had a bit of stubble growing in and had a mop of red hair that was cut into a mullet. Unlike Jason, Roy wore a short-sleeved shirt that didn't conceal his muscles or his tattoos.

"Oh, that's fine. We don't mind sharing, do we, Jason?" Roy's eyes never left Y/N's face.

"Not at all," Jason agreed with Roy while putting one hand on Y/N's bare thigh.

"So, sweetheart, do you wanna have some fun with us?" Roy asked her with a small smirk as if he already knew the answer. She could only nod, her throat and mouth suddenly dry.

"Use your words," Jason chided her as he turned her chin towards him.

"Yes," She said a little too excitedly.

"Good girl," Jason whispered into her ear before leading her out of the club. The three of them took a brisk walk to a car that Jason owned. He was in the driver's seat while Y/N and Roy took to the back. It was only a few more moments later before Roy placed a kiss on her shoulder, then her neck, her jaw, and her cheek before finally hitting her mouth. His tongue prodded along her lips before she opened up.

Roy wanted to take it slow so he didn't spook her but she was so damn tempting. Before he knew it, his hand was creeping up her thigh. She spread her legs slightly to give him better access. He smirked before pulling away from her mouth. He helped her slip out of her panties before tossing them up towards Jason, who was eyeing them in the rearview mirror. One of his hands was on the wheel while the other was palming the tent pitching in his pants.

Y/N was in complete bliss while Roy's fingers continued to trail up her thigh. She gasped as he pressed against her wet heat. His fingers played with the outer lips of her pussy before skillfully dodging her clit. A small whimper fell from her lips as she caught Jason's eye in the review mirror.

"What about him?" She practically panted.

"It's okay, he likes to watch," Roy reassured her before pressing another kiss to the side of her head. He pried her legs open as wide as he could in the back of Jason's car.

"This wet already? It's like you were made for us," He spoke as he slipped a finger inside of her. He was sure she was dripping onto Jason's seats at this point but he didn't care. Roy added another finger and her pussy clenched around him as he found his rhythm. It didn't help that it felt like Jason was purposely hitting every pothole in Gotham.

"How many can you take? Three? Or Four?" Roy slipped four fingers into her tight pussy, pumping them in and out while his thumb massaged her clit. He could tell she was going to fall apart any second. His fingers began to do a curling motion against her g-spot and she knew she was done for.

"I'm gonna-" She could barely get anything out before her pussy began to spasm around his fingers. This didn't stop Roy. He continued to stroke in and out of her pussy removing one finger at a time.

"That's it, baby, cum around my fingers," He whispered as Y/N's breathing slowed. She felt like she was floating on cloud nine but it was interrupted by feeling the car be put in park.

"We're here," Jason smirked as he noticed how fucked out Y/N looked and this was only the beginning.

"Jay, you wanna taste?" Roy offered his hand which was still covered in pussy juice to his best friend.

"Hot," Y/N mumbled as she watched Jason take Roy's fingers into his mouth. The three of them managed to stumble out of the car without committing any more public indecency. Well, Y/N had to hold down her dress but Roy was insistent that if her pussy was exposed, he'd immediately get on his knees and eat her out.

"Who's apartment is this?" She asked after Jason unlocked the door to the large condo. It was surprisingly well decorated but it looked like men had lived there.

"Ours," Jason said tossing his jacket over the back of the couch. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his arms. She was right his biceps were bulging. To be trapped under those, she thought to herself.

"Are the two of you dating?" She asked noticing the shared pictures of them on the walls. Some had other people in them but it was usually one of them.

"We're just roommates with the same taste in women," Roy explained before walking towards her. She walked back until she hit the counter of the kitchen. Roy smiled down on her as he lifted her so she sat on the counter.

"Oh," There was a small gap in between them before Roy kissed her again. She felt like her breath was being taken away. It wasn't long before Roy broke the kiss and disappeared down a hallway. Y/N's eyes followed him before her view was blocked by Jason.

"Hi, princess. I wanna taste you s'more. That okay?" Jason tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him.

"Mhm," Y/N couldn't formulate words at the moment, not with what was about to happen.

If Y/N were to imagine heaven, she would think that it would consist of Jason's mouth on her pussy. His hands were relaxed behind his back and only his tongue was working. She swore that if she focused enough then she could feel him spelling out something but she wasn't sure what.

If Jason were to imagine heaven, it would be Y/N's pussy. The taste of her that he had in the car wasn't enough. He needed more. He didn't care about how much of a mess her wetness was making across his chin and face. No, no, she tasted too good for that. The sloppy slurping sounds hid her moans but Jason could feel her thighs straining to stay open.

"Jason, please," She moaned as her hands tangled in his hair. She pulled him closer to her aching pussy. Her hips subtly grinding on his face as she tried to chase her high. Jason was nothing, if not a people pleaser, so he let her cum on his face before carrying her to his bedroom where Roy was waiting.

"Take your dress off, baby," Roy said as he crawled next to her on the bed. In one fell swish, the dress was off of her and she was completely naked. Feeling slightly more sober than before she reached to cover her chest but Roy stopped her. He crawled on top of her and lowered his head to take one of her peaked nipples into his mouth. Her hands flew to his hair while he was holding her waist.

"Who do you want first? Me or Roy?" Jason asked stroking her face softly. Roy's tongue flicked her nipple with a pleasing smile.

"Roy," She moaned.

"You heard the lady," Jason nodded as he removed his shirt. He took a seat in the chair across the room. When his pants and boxers lowered, his cock sprang free.

Roy quickly relieved himself of his jeans and briefs. He grabbed a condom from his back pocket and put it on his already hard dick. His dick was pale at the base but his tip was red and dripping with precum. He wasn't sure how long he'd last because he had been hard since he fingered her in the backseat of the car. He carefully rubbed his cock's head between her folds before he began to push into her.

"Fuckin' hell," He muttered as he slid into her inch by inch. He wasn't bigger than Jason but his thickness would stretch her out like never before.

"S'not gonna fit," She whined as her back arched off of the bed ever so slightly. Roy just leaned down and kissed her once more. While she was distracted, he used this opportunity to fully sink into her.

She moaned into his mouth. His strokes were a bit sloppy but he managed to hit her G-spot every time. Jason sat in the corner watching and stroking his dick. From his angle, he could see her reaction to every stroke and movement by Roy. Her moans filled the room along with the sound of slapping skin.

Roy held onto her waist tightly as he pummeled into her. Her walls gushed and squeezed around him with every movement. He knew she was close to finishing when her legs locked around his back. He threw his weight behind him and began to push down on her stomach slightly.

"C'mon and cum pretty girl," Jason spoke from the corner. His hand was pumping faster than before. His stomach felt tight but he wanted to cum with them. Roy drew more moans out from her and nearly came as soon as her pussy fluttered around him as she came. Jason moaned as he came on his stomach. He wiped the sticky fluid onto his fingers and walked over to put it in her mouth.

"You're doing so good for us," Jason said as she sucked his cum from his fingers. Roy chuckled a little as he sat near the top of the bed. Y/N was still taking deep breaths as Jason stood at the edge of the bed.

"On your stomach," Jason tapped her thigh and she did as instructed. He placed a light smack to her bottom before lifting her hips and helping her arch back just like he wanted her to.

"Open up," Y/N looked up to see Roy's cock still hard even after cumming. She began slowly by teasing the head of his dick by licking his mushroom tip. Roy's face flushed red as she took into his mouth.

"Shit," Jason grunted softly as he pushed his cock into her. Y/N gagged on Roy's dick from the pressure building at the bottom of her belly. Roy kept one hand at the top of her head, slowly guiding her up and down until she got used to his size in her mouth.

If Y/N had thought that Roy was big, then she couldn't describe the words of Jason tearing her pussy apart. Every stroke felt as if he was just shy of kissing her cervix. His girth alone made her think about how she would struggle to walk in the morning.

"Mouth feels like heaven," Roy spoke as Y/N moaned around his dick. He wasn't gonna last long nor did he care.

"You wanna swallow?" Roy lifted her mouth off of his dick so she could answer. All she could do was nod from Jason's mind-numbing backshots. Roy held her down the full length of his cock so that she could swallow his nut. The warm fluid flowed down her throat with only a little spilling out of her mouth. Jason was getting close to cumming and he pushed and drove her further into the mattress. Y/N held onto Roy's thighs for stability as Jason completely wrecked her pussy. He felt her cum around his cock and gave a few more strokes before cumming himself. He smacked her ass one more time as her body fell limp onto the bed.

"Bathtub?" Roy asked while looking at a very fucked out Y/N. The bathtub would be the place for everyone to get cleaned before turning in for the night. Maybe even squeeze in one more round if Y/N was willing.

"Bathtub." Jason agreed.

taglist: @flyestvenustrap@megamindsecretlair@blxckdesire @prettyvintageafternoon@lilbanas@certifiedloverwoman@melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

[elijahstwink]

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

[thegildedbee]

Fire/Night: May 20 & 21 Prompts from @calaisreno

[This current chapter and the previous ones are on Ao3.]

............................................................................................... As he begins to step off the train, Sherlock uncurls his fingers to let his mobile slide from his hand into the open space between the train carriage and the pavement's edge — although he’s removed the sim card, best not to have anything to hand that has an identification number since he's unsure as to what dangers lie ahead. He’s now untethered from communications, and about to step out onto a naked stage to begin a scene for which he does not have a script, although others surely do. He looks about with a keen eye, seeking to identify his contact – ah, there he is, it seems, a man perhaps a decade younger than himself, dressed neatly but inconspicuously, in black jeans and a heavy navy wool jacket, the asymmetrical opening buttoned closed at the shoulder. Sherlock inclines his head, as does the other man in response.

When Sherlock nears the path leading to the car park, the man toward whom he’s heading begins unfastening the coat, causing Sherlock to slow his stride and shift his weight, looking stealthily toward his left to identify any obstacles should he suddenly need to begin an evasive maneuver.

The man shakes his head slightly, and places his hand, fingers spread and pressed flat against his heart, for a brief moment, and then holds up his index finger. Looking closely, Sherlock sees that he is wearing a vibrant blue shirt, patterned with silver-outlined cranes. He calms, and awards points to his contact; nice touch, that. Although he subtracts points for needlessly tripping the threat alarm of a person on approach.

“Dr. Scott?” the stranger inquires, clearly expecting the nod of confirmation that Sherlock gives; he seems to have been at least minimally briefed. Sherlock hopes that this means they’re not flying blind.

“Greetings, sir. I am Ceba Trungpa, education section head of The Council for the Preservation of Sacred Cranes, at your service – I am here to help you complete your itinerary for the day,” he says pleasantly, speaking in Mandarin. With two hands, he holds out his business card and bows slightly; Sherlock accepts the card in the same manner, including responding with a careful bow. The front, written in English, is straightforward: name, title, organization. These words also appear on the back, although this time in Mandarin, and in a smaller font, to make room for some additional lines, which look to be numbers related to addresses and mobile contact details. Shorn of the letters, however, Sherlock decodes the numerals as indicating map coordinates; it’s not likely to be a coincidence, for the result works out to be roughly five miles from where they now stand, in a slightly northeasterly direction. He scrutinizes the card further, but concludes that he’s extracted all the information to be had, which leaves him only marginally less in the dark.

“I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Trungpa,” Sherlock replies, also in Mandarin. “As you have been informed, I have come from Shigatse, where, out in the field, I was honored to have seen four pairs of the noble black-necked crane nesting safely. A rare privilege.”

Trungpa does up his coat, and nods his head. “Indeed, you are quite fortunate to have been absent from Lhasa in such safe surroundings, and to have been able to view such a high-priority scene -- a very fine outcome,” he says blandly, with an affable smile. “Black-necked cranes are remarkable creatures, as you know. Beautiful and fascinating in themselves, but also a flagship species for assessing the environmental status of the Tibetan plateau. Your photographs and field observations are most welcome, and it is certain that they will be of significant interest to many.” He gestures toward the car park. “If you are ready to join me, please come this way; my vehicle is at the far end from where we are – the jeep near the entrance. Do you see?”

“Yes, I do. Thank you. If I may, what is our itinerary?”

“Of course. You are to finish your day by visiting Drak Yerpa, a Buddhist pilgrimage site, located in a valley on the northern bank of the Kyichu. It will take us perhaps an hour to arrive there. It consists of a monastery and a number of ancient meditation caves, carved into the steep limestone cliffs. As you may have read, it was created in the seventh century, and at one time housed several hundred monks. Nearly all was destroyed when the Chinese came; but the caves remain, and there has been rebuilding. In our own time, ten monks have permission from the authorities to be in residence. I can assure you that it is a remarkable introduction to the traditions of Tibetan Buddhism.”

Sherlock takes this in, wondering what advantage will be gained by this turn of events. “This sounds most intriguing. I thank you for this opportunity for enlightenment.”

Trungpa halts briefly, looking closely at Sherlock with an air of gravity as he also comes to a stop. "It was thought this would be an excellent place for you to begin your departure from Lhasa. In addition to exploring the site, there are many interesting bird species in the area – pheasants, finches, sparrows, larks, partridges, geese, vultures.”

“I see,” Sherlock says slowly, not sure that he does. If the man is an operative of some sort, he is giving almost nothing away; he is doing a commendable job of seeming to be nothing more than what his putative business card says he is.

“Am I correct that I will be required to trek beyond the monastery site itself in quest of these sights?”

“Yes, you are indeed correct. In particular, if you proceed some distance away, after dusk you will encounter a Blackhawk.”

And there it is, Sherlock thinks to himself, the sum and substance of this foray. He tries to convey by the slight nod of his head that he understands the import of that last statement.

"And will you be joining me for that later portion of the schedule?” he says mildly, mentally inching his way toward a determination of what the mechanics will be that bring his visit to Tibet to its end. He is very nearly sure that these developments are being overseen by his brother, but he remains wary of assuming too much, too soon, lest he make a ruinous error.

Trungpa begins moving forward, and bids Sherlock continue with him. "I regret to say that will not be possible. I will be leaving near 17.30, when Drak Yerpa closes for visitation. Prior to this I will convey information regarding which direction it would be most profitable for you to proceed in order to have maximum success.”

When they reach the vehicle, Trungpa indicates that Sherlock should seat himself in the back, while he takes the wheel. Once they are both settled, he adds, “I should note that the elevation will increase another one thousand metres as compared to our current altitude. You will need to pace yourself accordingly. For now, please, just sit back and rest.”

The barest of outlines seems to be coming into view, Sherlock muses; he will need to hike a mile or so beyond the caves, using his compass to find the exact placement. If he has not been deceived – either deliberately, or through his own miscalculation – a Blackhawk helicopter will arrive to extract him soon after nightfall.

“That is excellent advice. I have indeed found the altitude to be challenging.” Contemplating the rendezvous to come, he asks, casually, “Are there 'bears' in the vicinity? Would one need to have some sort of weapon to hand?” He carries several, not least an intimidating knife concealed in his right boot. Best to know if trouble is expected.

“According to my current information, it is highly unlikely, and you need not concern yourself with such a scenario,” Trungpa answers, making eye contact with Sherlock in the mirror. He turns slightly to look at him person, his eyes taking on a teasing glint. “Nor do you need fear encountering a Yeti.”

“Good to know,” Sherlock says with a chuckle. He settles back into the seat, and pulls a banknote from a trouser pocket, and in self-soothing gestures, folds it, then unfolds it, smooths it out, and then folds it again to occupy his hands. He closes his eyes, and internally surveys the disordered pathway to the Asian museum exhibit space in his mind palace.

On the passing of the half-hour, he opens his eyes, and scans the passing landscape of grazing yaks and small farms amidst the winding roadway. He wishes he knew more specifically the cause of the instruction that he steer clear of his hotel, and to continue on as Dr. William Scott, rather than re-inhabiting Gabriel Vernet's persona. He has been careful to try and keep under the radar of Moriarty's network by engaging only lower and middle level confederates to date, and by spreading his efforts widely, dispersed across great distances. He has been keen to avoid establishing data points that might make a pattern of effort evident, attracting attention from the leadership, and prompting reconsiderations of his status as deceased. He is anxious to learn what he may have done wrong, and whether it will affect what comes next.

Upon their arrival, Trungpa suggests they stop at the teahouse situated below the cave complex. Although his stomach is reluctant to receive food, Sherlock knows that eating at least a small meal will help fortify him for whatever complications may lie ahead, and so he chooses some meat and cheese dumplings and sweet tea. As he watches Trungpa pay up front for their orders, he catches a glimpse of a piece of paper being passed to him, and reminds himself to stay alert.

During their long climb to the caves, and then as they tread along the extensive trail that connects them, they cross paths with very few people. As a guide, Trungpa is quite knowledgeable, explaining the meanings behind various statues and wall paintings, as well as stories that have been handed down from past centuries that assign specific caves to having been inhabited by particular holy men for years in meditative retreat.

It is said that one of these very monks from the ninth century spent years in solitary meditation in one of the caves, until mounting a horse and riding to the emperor's palace, where he shot an arrow through the heart of the man who would be the last ruler of the Tibetan empire, assassinated for his hostility to Buddhism, his death ushering in what came to be known as the Era of Fragmentation. Trungpa relates that he then returned to spend further years in meditation, having eluded capture by escaping to the riverbank, whereupon he reversed his black robe so that the white lining was now visible, and in wading his horse through the river, the charcoal he had used to color the animal black was washed away. There is another tale, which gives the horse's name as Silver Blaze, in honor of the speed with which his hooves pounded across the plateau, as swift as a flashing sword. Sherlock senses that his companion is particularly invested in this story, and he wonders if it resonates as more than sacred history, but also as an image that symbolizes a vein of resistance to the Chinese occupation of what their leaders style as the Autonomous Region of Tibet.

As they approach one of the furthest caves, Trungpa indicates that they should move behind a crag a short distance beyond, which will shield them from view. It is a location that opens out onto rocky terrain, which Sherlock grasps is where he will begin his trek. His guide verifies that the business card reveals map coordinates, and gives Sherlock a basic orientation to the topography that lies before him. He shakes Sherlock’s hand, and passes on the paper that he had received below. He has been told that the message contains no information of immediate necessity, and suggests that Sherlock make haste to move toward the meeting point, and only then, when safely arrived, read the message. He then speaks several sentences in Tibetan, places the palms of his hands together and bows, and lastly uses English to ask that the next phase of Sherlock's journey be auspicious, safe, and marked by good fortune.

Sherlock draws out a leather wallet and places the paper inside, and then draws a paper object of his own from his jacket pocket. He presents Trungpa with the banknote that he had been toying with inside the jeep, which he had fashioned into an origami crane. He, too, bids his companion safe travels and good fortune, and bows, and then swiftly sets to make his way without looking back. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long bruise-colored shadows from the slopes of the mountains, while at the same time coloring the snow-covered peaks as if they are on fire.

He hopes that his camouflaged field jacket will aid him in making his way to the site without being noticed, until the night's sweeping robe of darkness hides him from view, as he waits to meet whatever fate has in store for him.

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

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

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

[zvdvdlvr]

— Olive Garden Gift Card

🌌 — synopsis. You meet your dad.

🌌 — warnings. This is basically a self-fucking-insert. You have a sister and good grandparents but youre stepdad left! Fix-It!Rossi. Don’t read this if you don’t have daddy issues.

     The sun had just dipped over the tall building when you entered the FBI building. You knew going in here was a gamble. Why would a big shot FBI boss believe an almost 22 year old woman claiming that he’s her daughter?

     No matter, you told yourself as you wittily convinced the security officer to let you in the building. Your mother was dead now and you wanted to at least let him know you existed. Even if he did already know, you wanted to tell him of your mother’s death. The dark blue folder with paint stained in the back (courtesy of your little sister) stopped shaking after taking a calming breath in the elevator.

     You had memorized the layout of the room memorized after weeks of planning what you would say and how you would say it, so actually entering the room made your heart beat a little faster. To think you were actually going to see your biological father- your dad- made you mad and a little nervous.

     Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner looked up at the figure at the door. Her face was solemn, but the way her eyebrows were set made Hotch think she was nervous. She had a familiar frown. The girl wore a pair of dark jeans with brown square-toed boots. The Carhartt shirt she wore was black. “Hello. SSA Hotchner. What can I do for you?” He asked, sticking his hand out.

     “I was asked to give this to you,” you said after shaking your dad’s hand. You tried to keep your voice calm. You couldn’t believe you were actually standing in front of your father. From a young age you knew you were different. All the other boys and girls weren’t in their mom’s wedding as the flower girl or ring bearer. All the other boys and girls didn’t call their male parent by their first name. All the other boys and girls had the same last name as everyone in the house. Except you.

     Aaron looked at the tightly-written cursive on the back of the envelope and felt a pang of familiarity in his heart. “I- I’m sorry, who are you?”

     After saying your last name- your mother’s last name- you saw it.

     “I’ll read fast.” You watched your father’s eyes dart over the front page. Your mother’s handwriting took up most of the back as well, but you were ready for Aaron to usher you out of his office and apologize for your loss so you stayed rigid in your seat. The cold leather of the chair did nothing to soothe you. Aaron’s cologne made you want to heave. What would he say?

     Another minute passed before Aaron placed the letter in his desk and took out photos from the envelope. You didn’t know what your mother wrote, but you read the captions and years on the back and your eyes filled with unshed tears as you relived those memories.

     After examining the photos with an unreadable expression, Aaron looked up at you. “I didn’t realize your mother was pregnant when she left,” he murmured, glancing down at the photo of you at age six with a pink hat and camo jacket on your mother’s shoulders. In your hands you held a small trout. In your mother’s hands was a larger trout. You were so proud because that was the first fish you had ever caught.

     You nodded. “She told me everything.” You tried to keep yourself neutral until Hotch told you to get out.

     “Y/n,” he said slowly, examining you closely. You had your mother’s flat nose, hooded eyes, and plump lips. You had Aaron’s high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and serious eyebrows. Aaron knew you were a spitfire- a dangerous combination of him and your mother. “What do you want to do? What do you want me to do?” His tone was quiet and you knew you had done it. He didn’t care. Not about you or your dead mother or the little sister that you cared so deeply for. Well, fine.

     That caught you off guard. “I don’t care. I just wanted to come tell you that you have two other kids and that my mother was dead.” You felt your throat tighten at the mention of your little sister. Your grandparents were currently watching her since your stepfather had divorced your mother and wanted nothing to do with either of you. “So I did that. I, uh…” your jaw clenched and you looked at the framed picture of the happy family of three: consisting of Aaron Hotchner, his wife, and son. You didn’t want to cry in front of a man you didn’t even know, so you swallowed and set your eyes to him. “I’ll leave you to your life.”

     You tried to ignore the way your bottom lip trembled and how a single tear slipped down your cheek as you closed the door to his office rather loudly. You tilted your head up and your shoulders kept solid as you walked past your dad’s office, your dad’s team, and your dad. This time you were the one doing the walking away.

— 🌌

     You had promised your sister to pick up a present for her. Despite the pretty big age gap between the two of you, you and Ava go along well. You had planned to stay for a couple days in Virginia, so you had time to thrift for gifts for your loving grandparents (read: mother’s mom and dad) and sister.

     Right now, though, you were strolling through a small book store on a darker lit area of the town. Sure, you knew you probably stuck out like a sore thumb with your appearance, but you had always harbored a love to read. You were just pulling out a Sylvia Plath to add to the growing pile of Vonnegut and Wiesel book on your arm. You counted those books and decided another one wouldn’t hurt.

     “Already read you,” you murmured, walking slowly past an aisle of titles.

     “Do you want me to carry those for you?”

     You turned around, remembering the stainless steel knife your stepdad had gifted you long ago in your front jeans pocket. In front of you was an older gentleman in an expensive suit. The lines across his face told you he was older, wiser. “Uh… no. Thank you though.”

     He nodded and stuck his hand out for you to shake. “My name is David. David Rossi.”

     This David Rossi fellow worked with Aaron, you recalled. You had done your research. “I see. Did Hotchner send you?”

     Rossi shook his head and followed you. “No. I came here on my own accord. You left in a hurry,” he said. You made your way to the fictional section- you were a sucker for some fictional romance.

     “I don’t think he wanted me there. He has a life and so do I. I just… my mother wanted me to give him that letter and I… just wanted to meet dear old dad,” you replied dryly. You didn’t regret seeing him- you had planned for the scenario that he didn’t want you. Hell, you had already lived with not knowing your dad and thinking about him for your whole life. This just gave you a reason to never think about him again. “Why are you even here?”

     “I wanted to talk to you,” he answered immediately. “Try to convince you to stay for a couple more days. I think you’re isolating yourself from your dad because you’ve been let down by other men before. I think you’re trying to protect yourself from what you want. I know that you wouldn’t have stuck around if you didn’t at least have a little hope for talking to your dad again.”

     “Please don’t call him that,” you requested tensely. You didn’t like that word. Dad. It made you shudder as you reached out to examine a book by Margaret Atwood. “But you’re right. I am scared. I have- I have other priorities. People need me and I need her. We’re all we have and I’m not about to waste my life away trying to prove to some man that I- his blood- an worth his while. I’m tired of that, sir. But thanks for trying.”

     You picked up the book and moved to the register. Rossi followed you, watching as you paid the price with cash. “Receipt in the bag please,” you said with a bright smile. “Thank you, Joe.” 

     “You’re more than welcome,” the man replied smoothly, returning your smile. You didn’t acknowledge the man known as David Rossi as you unlocked your rent truck.

     “Please just come talk to him again. He wants to talk to you, I can tell. He just needs to talk to his wife and son,” Rossi tried again.

     Shaking your head, you scoffed. “‘Wife and son’? No. No, I’m good.”

    “Before you leave. If not for him, sit down and eat lunch with me and the rest of the team. You’re an intriguing individual.”

     You buckled your seat belt and leaned back in your seat. “No. I’m not.”

     Before you had shut the door and left, you heard Rossi yell “You know the building!”

— 🌌

     Much to your own dismay, you did end up showing up to the building two days later. In your hand was an Olive Garden gift card you’d been saving for a special occasion. Hopefully David liked Italian.

     But you also tried to hide the little flicker of hope that burned in your chest. ‘He wants to talk to you, I can tell’ is what David had told you.

     Your phone rang, though, as soon as you had entered the building. The security man recognized you immediately and handed you a guest badge as you accepted the call from your Grandmother. “Hi Gramma,” you greeted brightly, genuinely happy to hear from the woman.

     “Hi puddin’ pie! Ava wants to talk to you since we missed your call last night,” the woman explained.

     “Put her on,” you said, pulling your jeans up by the belt loop and tucking in your pocket as the phone crackled. You were wearing a light washed pair of jeans, the ones your mother was so proud of when she bought and guessed your size. Jean shopping was always difficult, but your mother always seemed to get you the perfect pair.

     “Hi y/n! How’s Virginia? Did you get me anything?” Ava asked.

     Pushing the button to the BAU’s floor, you laughed. “No? I didn’t know you wanted anything you crazy girl. Too late now, I’m on my way home now.”

     You heard Ava groan loudly and your grandma’s laugh from the other line. You smiled, happy to call them your family. “Y/n! I told you what-“

     “I’m just teasing, kiddo. It’s a surprise though. I’ve got a couple more days here until you can see it,” you explained, waiting for the door to open.

     “Well… is it cool? Like a tank or a grenade or- or a really big skull?” Ava asked.

     You stepped out of the elevator and stood to the side, not wanting to end the call. “I told you, Ave, it’s a surprise. I can’t tell you otherwise I’ll die.”

     Ava’s laughter filled the line and your heart ached for the little girl. She had gone through so much. So had you, but she was more important.

     You scratched your head and your smile faded after seeing the corner of his lips lift. He was standing in the middle of the bullpen, listening to his agent’s conversation. He tilted his head towards his office. You raised an eyebrow and he just nodded before excusing himself to wait for you.

     Pocketing the gift card, you kept your head solid and your back straight as you walked in. “Well, I gotta go, Ava-Girl. Give Papa some hell and keep the cows clean, yeah?”

     “Okay. You’ll call tonight, right? Papa said he wanted to call, but is busy fixing Mr. O’Donnel’s wiring.”

     “Yeah, yeah I’ll call, Ave. Be good for Gramma okay? Give her a hug for me. Love you, kiddo,” you said quietly as you quickly walked past Aaron’s open door.

     “I love you too, y/n. Have fun and be safe,” Ava replied before hanging up.

     Rossi smiled at you. “Good evening,” he greeted. You resisted the urge to laugh at the smugness of his smile. “We’re almost off. Are you going to talk to your da- Hotch?”

     “If he wants to,” you replied. “I have a gift card for Olive Garden. Is that offer for-“

     “Yes. Do you want the whole team to come with? They might ask a lot of questions but they all mean well,” Rossi asked.

     “I mean, I’m a complete stranger to you all so it’s up to them. I’ll pay,” you answered, feeling your billfold in your back pocket.

     “Nonsense. Do you… do you want to talk to Hotch first? We can go and reserve a table,” Rossi offered. You wondered how you were going from avoiding the whole lot of people all together to going to dinner with them.

     You nodded slowly. “Yeah. That would probably be best. Thank you, Rossi.”

     “Just David, kid, and don’t worry about it,” he said, laying a hand on your shoulder before heading out to get the team.

     This time, you entered Aaron’s office without knocking. “David and the team are meeting us at Olive Garden. Are you- do you want to come?”

     Hotch stood up, arms hanging awkwardly at his side. “Do you want me there?”

    “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t… I also thought we should, uh, talk. Or you talk and I listen. You know what I have to say.”

     Aaron nodded, still rigid. “I don’t- I liked your mother, y/n. I did. We just had different plans for our future. I wasn’t in love with her, but she was a good soul, a good mother. I didn’t know she was… with child when we parted ways,” he explained cautiously, examining you for your reaction.

     “Do you love your wife? And son?” You asked, voice oddly calm.

     Aaron nodded. “I do. I do but I want to be in your life. You said you had a little sister?”

     “Yes but I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because you hooked up with my ma. I want you to want to know us.”

     Aaron nodded. “I do. I really do, y/n. Just give me a chance and some time. I talked to Haley and Jack and they… well, they’d like to meet you.”

     Swallowing, you nodded. “Okay. Okay, well. We can start with dinner.”

     “Dinner,” Hotch repeated, arm twitching as he nodded.

     An solemn silence filled the air as you gnawed at your lips. The rigid, wide-eyed man in front of you did want to know you. You felt your eyes sting knowing that this would either heal you or break you. But you wanted to try. For you, your mother, and your sister.

     “Come here, y/n,” Aaron murmured, bottom lip shaking ever so slightly as he opened his arms.

     It was embarrassing how hard you collided into your dad’s arms. You probably would have even laughed if you weren’t so overwhelmed with actually hugging him.

     Aaron closed his eyes as tears fell down his own face. He really really really hoped he didn’t screw this up.

     You finally pulled away and sniffed, knowing you probably looked like a mess. “So you are going to Olive Garden with us?”

     A watery laugh bubbled out of Aaron throat as he hugged you even tighter. “I’d love to get Olive Garden with you.”

[whumpsday]

K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #4

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, starvation, electrocution, torture, captivity, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumper

@whumptober Day 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.” / Cattle Prod / Shock / “You in there?”

-

The hunters laughed as Kane lunged forward again, pulling his chain taut. It wasn’t even silver this time, the steel more than enough to hold him in his starved state, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the blood. Right there, glistening and red and rich and delicious and everything he’s ever wanted, dripping decadently from the hunter’s finger, forming a lovely red trail down his hand. Kane needed it more than anything. He couldn’t even find it in him to be afraid, in that moment, every ounce of his mind devoted solely to his desperate need for food.

He whined, eyes wild, trying to scramble forward as best he could, broken nails scrabbling against concrete floor. It was no use. The chain pulled at his ankle, stopping him from getting close. From sinking his fangs into that hand, into its owner’s neck, from drinking and drinking until he’s finally had his fill–

“You in there, parasite?” One of the other hunters poked him in the head with something plastic, but Kane couldn’t focus on that right now.

Fangs bared, he pulled and pulled, reaching his arms out desperately toward the bleeding hunter. His whines were louder now, and he managed to express a coherent thought: “Please, I need it! I’m so hungry!”

Another round of laughter.

“Oh, I dunno, I think you’re perfect just the way you are. Let’s see if we can get you under control another way.”

The plastic thing came back, but turned around this time, poking him in the chest with the other end– not plastic. Metal. He yelped at the burn, flinching back. But this was different from silver, not the same kind of burn.

As his eyes focused, Kane realized it wasn’t a burn at all, but a shock. They’d poked him with a cattle prod.

“I– I’m s-sorry, sir–”

The bleeding hunter squeezed his finger, another drop of blood oozing from the small cut. The last of the coherent thought vanished as the intoxicating smell intensified, and he leapt once more, his chain pulling tight and forcing him back to the ground.

He screamed as the other hunter stuck the prod into the back of his neck and held it there, not letting up.

“Not sorry enough. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you.”

[how-much-for-a-whump]

WHUMPTOBER day 4:

Prompt: "I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes."

Sana Bir Sır Vereceğim 16. Bölüm

[sinvulkt]

The Monster and the Child

The dragon has been trapped for years. It lost its name. It lost its body. It lost most of its memories of not being a dragon. It is everything its Master wanted.

Then, one day, its Master brings it a child. A sand-haired boy smelling of blood, grief and terror.

@whumptober-archive @angstober

Chapter 1: Meeting

The dragon slept, curled on itself in the cold cell that was its home.

It hadn’t always been so. Once, when the dragon hadn’t been a dragon yet, it had been free. It had a name and an inferno burning in its chest. It had a will with no one powerful enough to stop it.

It was different now.

Now the inferno was reduced to sizzling embers, doused by too many cycles of isolation and silence. Now its name was gone, devoured by the scales covering its new skin. Now it layed in chains, trapped behind bars no teeth or claws could break.

Read more on ao3 or bellow the line.

A metallic noise echoed further above.

The dragon raised its head, suddenly attentive. No one ever came into this part of the palace except for its Master, his guards, and the occasional food offering. As if on cue its stomach growled, the rumbling noise echoing on the closed walls of the room. The dragon had since long gotten used to the nausea hunger brought, but a reprieve from it always felt welcome. It was better to think about than the alternative.

For if it wasn’t food being brought to it… a shudder ran down the dragon’s spine, its mane flexing in remembrance. It still sported open wounds from its Master’s last visit. Between the dampness of the cell and the growing weakness of its body, injuries became infected more often than not.

Figures appeared beyond the red hue of the ray shield. A rush of fear overwhelmed the dragon as it recognised the Emperor, surrounded by his Imperial guard. Cold slowly filled his veins. The terror soon gave way to confusion as the dragon noticed a small sniveling form between the guards.

There was a child there, half pushed, half dragged by the faceless soldiers. A boy, with sandy hair dirtied by blood and a snotty face covered in tears. He was struggling weakly against their iron grip, though in vain. The dragon tilted its head, curious. The Emperor had fed it children before, but he seldomly assisted the feeding himself.

The group stopped in front of it.

"Hello, old friend," its Master began. "I have a gift for you."

His oily presence reached out to it, slithering inside the dragon’s mind, probing its reaction. Something about the boy he brought was special. His Master was excited today, the infantile excitement of a new toy discovered. The dragon curled on itself and tried not to fight the invasive presence, knowing it would only make it worse.

"Put him inside," Palpatine ordered the guards.

The ray shield dropped and the guards threw the boy inside. A pungent smell of piss, blood and ash assailed the dragon’s nostrils as the child collapsed on his front paw. Wherever the child had been, showers had not been an option.

The dragon's Master studied them. His presence was everywhere, filling the dragon’s lungs, dragging the dragon’s heart, pushing the dragon’s mind.

"Do as you please," its Master said. There was a lightness to his tone the dragon didn’t like. It felt like the warning ozone before the lightning.

The Emperor took a last glance at the situation, a pleasant hum on his lips, and turned away, faceless guards trailing behind. The dragon didn’t dare to move before the oily presence left his mind too - or as much as it ever would.

His Master reduced to an icy point in the back of its’ mind, the dragon turned towards the foul smelling child. He hadn’t dared to move either and was still sprawled on one of the dragon paws. When its immense head turned towards him, the boy scrambled to his feet, taking shelter in one of the corners of the cell. It didn’t take him very far away. If it wanted to, the dragon could snatch him in one snap, and get rid of the hunger plaguing its stomach.

The dragon hesitated. Its Master hadn’t exactly ordered it to eat the child. He had offered for it to do as it pleased, but the dragon’s wants were never of importance to its Master. It was always a trap. An open question with a single answer.

An odd feeling froze its body though; a whisper, a warning hanging in the air. It observed the child.

The boy stood as straight as he could, clearly trying to seem brave despite the terror shaking his bones. He was a shivering mess. When neither of them moved, the child's heart rate slowly calmed down. He began to observe the dragon in return.

He raised a timid hand. “Hi.”

The dragon waited to see what the boy would do next.

“Please don’t eat me,” the boy squeaked. “I wouldn’t make a good meal."

The human words hurt the dragon's ears. They were too loud, too high pitched, too fast. Most of their meaning got lost on the way, but the cold fire that burned in its chest translated for it. The child’s fire was strong too, the dragon noticed, as strong as the laser wielding soldiers, that his Master made it fight and sometimes eat.

It stepped closer, curious about the child’s fire. Curiosity was something it hadn’t felt in a long time.

The boy tensed and scrunched his eyes closed as the dragon approached, but he didn’t run away. There was nowhere to run to.

The dragon assessed the human smell flooding the room. It was oddly familiar. The blood on the child’s skin woke up old memories, memories of a time with a name that belonged locked away in a box. It breathed on the boy's face, letting a few hairs billow. If it ate the boy, the silk-like threads would drag on its tongue and accumulate in its throat, making it cough for days. But the flesh would warm its belly, and the dragon was cold.

The boy stilled. Then slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes. Clear blue eyes, as vast as the sky spreading beyond horizons.

‘I trust you,’ they said.

The dragon licked the boy. A small grain of sand rolled on its tongue. The boy tasted like blood and flesh and sun. He tasted like chains broken and forged anew, like golden dunes trapping feet in their embrace. He tasted like a small moisture farm lost in the desert, filled and yet empty for it lacked its most important person. Most surprising of all, behind the sand and the sun, behind the blood and the chains, he tasted like Naboo.

The child tasted like family.

The dragon licked him more, reveling in the various smells coming from him. The blood on the boy’s face woke up names in its mind. It swept them away. The grains on the boy’s skin tore open old scars in its soul. It rubbed them away. The bitter taste of the boy’s pain and fear made its stomach swirl with nausea. It wiped them away.

The dragon licked the child clean, until his only stench was the dragon’s smell. It licked the child clean until his fear was gone and it giggled against his muzzle, crying for him to stop because it tickled so much. It licked the boy clean until its stomach stopped rumbling, fed by the dead blood that covered him.

Vader licked the child clean, and decided there and then not to eat him.

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 4 "I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes"

He’ll crush my larynx anytime now. Funny because if John would show up now after all the damage might be irreversibe. Goodbye baritone voice. Still too late, John, even if you saved me from suffocating.

The edges of Sherlock’s conciousness began to erode rather suddenly. Not gently desintegrating but more a landslide of dirt and mud coming loose and thundering into nothingness. Thoughts blurred and frazzled. His left foot began to spasm eratically.

This is how die. His dissolving brain provided, unhelpful, unwanted. Useless.

Choked to death, suffocating slowly and alone and undignified. Under the hands of a real psychopath. I would laugh if there was air. How embarrassing.

Blackness crept up out of the void, engulfing the remaining walls of his crumbled and charred mind palace.

I have seen the danger written there in Smith’s eyes and have run to it. Like John had always done when it had been reflected in mine. But I have played with fire and now my lungs are burning due to lack of oxygen.

Sherlock’s vision swam into swirls of red and grey. Soon he would lay cold and stiff on a stretcher in Smith’s favourite room where his corpse would be talked to and Culverton would gloat about having turned Sherlock into a thing.

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won't get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @inevitably-johnlocked @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @discordantwords @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @kabubsmagga @jobooksncoffee

[spoopkook]

"I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes." | Shock | "You in there?"

Word count: 991

Read it on ao3

"Hi Captain."

Before I could even take in what was happening I was knocked to the ground, the pain rendering me temporarily blind.

My vision was blurry and my hearing was unclear.

The extinguisher fell to the ground with a muffled clank as he walked towards me. His boots slowly came into view.

I reached out for support and he grabbed my hand.

"Sorry about that, couldn't afford to let you make another mistake."

Before I could pull myself up, he took pliers, forcefully removing the warp crystal from my palm.

The pain was once again blinding, the shock from it going all the way up my arm.

"Hmm, yeah. Funny thing to say after an eternity of nothing but second chances-"

He twirled his fingers around the crystal. With no other ideas, I reached for it.

He grabbed my hand. "Don't."

His tone was uncompromising. His eyes that were once warm and comforting were cold as they stared into mine. Where had my dear head engineer who was willing to do anything for me gone? He used to trust me with his life and now he wouldn't trust me to make a single decision. It was such a harsh juxtaposition to the conversation I'd just had with his older self. So different from the Mark I was used to.

"You don't have to keep trying anymore," Mark got up from where he was, walking towards the warp core. "There's no time anyway." He giggled at himself, "Another thing I thought I'd never say again. But I'm going to fix the damage you caused. I have a long time to spend rebuilding this machine you broke."

What does he mean? I never broke the warp core, did I?

"A long time, over too many lives… But I know now that this thing does more than just make wormholes." He placed the crystal into the machine. Light and sound emitted from it as it turned on, its power source restored.

"Distance and time are the same thing from different perspectives. That's all these universes are, just different points of view." He stood, walking towards the control panel. "And this machine didn't just bridge a tunnel through our universe. It was bridging all of them." The anger crept back into his voice. "And you destroyed it." He shook his head.

I wanted to tell him I never destroyed it. Wanted to explain. Wanted to change his mind. Stop his monologue. But I couldn't. He was too far gone. He'd made up his mind and nothing was going to change that.

"I can't undo what you've done. Not here anyway. Or at least not now," he pulled the lever.

Warp core engaged.

"If I could go back."

I needed to stop him. It's what old Mark warned me about. But how?

"If I could try again. If I could stop you before any of this even started, maybe I could save everyone."

I wanted to cry. This is what created the paradox in the first place wasn't it? But how could I stop him?

Warning. Paradox detected.

"What? What the hell does that mean?"

I seized the opportunity to throw sand in his face. I could thank old man Mark for that one.

Temporal lock unstable.

"What the hell was that? Is that sand? Who throws sand?!"

I got to the control panel, typing in everything I could. Frantically trying to shut it down before he could stop me.

Paradox detected.

I reached to pull the crystal out the core.

He grabbed my hand, stopping me again.

"Captain no! You'll destroy everything! Again!"

Target arrival date not guaranteed.

The unstable warp core created a wormhole breaking the ship.

We started to float in the air so I grabbed the railing and Mark as quickly as I could.

"Captain, Captain! Don't let go! Don't let go!" Mark screamed in terror as he started to get sucked in.

I was holding onto him, trying my best to save his life. Why has this happened so many times before? Saving him from the black hole from the broken window… we've lived too many lives and they've all been in one big circle.

"Wait. Let me go."

Why was Mark such an idiot? Did he want to get killed? Pulled apart by the gravitational force of this thing? He says that his deaths weren't so bad, that his body can handle it, but he can't! What was he hoping to achieve?

"Captain, please. I can fix this. Look, I don't know what you did."

Well that makes two of us.

"And maybe you didn't mean to, but I have to stop you."

Stopping me won't prevent any of this. Old man Mark 'stopping' me just led to more unstable paradoxes and problems. I wish I could tell him the mistake he's making.

"I have to! God, I wish I had thought of a fake hand or something."

The memories of old man Mark's confrontation were honestly giving me whiplash at this point.

"Please! This is it! This is the end of everything. Everyone that ever existed is going to get wiped out unless you let me go!"

I looked to the warp core. How could I stop it?

"Captain! Please!"

His begging was getting to me. I know he thought this was the right choice. But I knew it wasn't. So I kept holding on for our dear lives.

"I have to keep trying. I have to."

I had made my choice.

"Please! Let me go! I know I can fix everything. I know there's a perfect solution, I just have to find it! Please! Captain!"

I reached for the warp core as best I could without letting my grip on Mark loosen.

"Captain no! Captain, don't do it!"

I ripped the crystal from its machine and threw it into the open chasm of the wormhole.

"Captain!"

It imploded.

Alert. Paradox resolved. Para..dox re..solved. Para…dox …re…solved.

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody, Anakin Skywalker, Stitch (212th medic OC) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2023, Whump, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a terrible patient, locked in syndrome, Anakin Skywalker is surprisingly caring, Tired CC-2224 | Cody, Medical Conditions, Lets be real here I am not a doctor, The medical stuff is very much a case of I've seen it or spoken to someone who is medically trained Series: Part 4 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Whilst on a campaign on a planet, Obi-Wan gets a head injury and has to live with the consequences. Featuring a caring Anakin and a very tired Cody!

My fill for whumptober day 4: No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.” Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

[comfy-whumpee]

Significance

Whumptober 4: "I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

-

Northlight had stopped crying by the time the time the laboratory started to awaken. When the full lights came on and voices began to trickle down the vast corridors outside of their chamber, they were sure their cheeks were no longer flushed, their eyes dried, to hide the moment of weakness. Poor, idiotic Kurt, going along with so much for so little. Naïve, foolish Lachlan, gambling his life for his brother's.

Caroline was present in passing, checking they were still secure and leading a group of initiates to look at them, but otherwise didn't approach.

There was tension in the air. Caroline stood on the other side of the observation glass, a handful of students behind her staring and listening. Kurt sat on the chair beside Northlight's trolley, book resting on his knee, keeping watch peacefully. The siblings had not spoken to each other. Northlight knew Caroline must have found out about the visit. Perhaps she even guessed that Kurt had removed the muzzle.

Of course, whatever happened as a result wouldn't be explained to the body. Kurt would simply disappear one day, or worse, nothing would change at all. They probably wouldn't have a confrontation in front of the students, either, to keep rumours from swirling. Northlight passed the time by imagining how they would retell the story later.

Caroline: (with great feeling) How could you betray me, brother? But worse, how could you betray the cause?

Kurt: I did not intend to harm you, sister.

Caroline: Oh, of course you did not intend anything.

Kurt: Truly. The creature, it… It has such eyes. They stare so deeply into you.

Caroline: Romantic nonsense.

Kurt: It is true. Yesterday, it shed tears of sorrow, could you not see?

Caroline: I saw only the crocodile tears of a monster mimicking human feeling. Your emotions always get the better of you, brother.

Kurt: (turning away) I am sorry. I know our Lady's orders were to never allow them to speak.

Caroline: Then why?

Kurt: (after a deep breath) I believe the creature does feel. If not exactly as your or I do, then as well and as deeply to be compared. Why else would it show sadness when none of us around it did? It thinks, it feels, it has its own life. I have tried to ignore it, but I can no longer. We must act. They must not be treated as a monster any longer.

Northlight stopped the script there. Even in their own imagination, they knew the story had gone astray. Kurt wasn’t able to go that far. He needed time, and maybe some bad times.

If they could, they thought they would ask him why he had joined. It was clear that Caroline was senior between the two, so perhaps it was her own doing. Or was there once a condition or illness that affected him or his family? Was he here to save others or save himself? Had Caroline honestly believed it would be better for him to sit around next to a body on a tray, instead of practising family medicine?

But then… What doctor didn't want a miracle cure for all their poor patients? Maybe the career itself had driven Kurt here.

It was horribly unclear. Their head was full of words they couldn't get out. They needed to talk. They needed so badly to just talk.

Caroline led the students away. The hallway was empty. Northlight wondered if their voice would ever move normally again. The weight and pressure of the muzzle only grew worse each day. When it came off, would their skin come with it? Would their jaw and tongue? Or would it always be part of them like the scars and the drip?

Their treasures were all lost. That hurt the most. Maybe they were kept somewhere, or they could already be destroyed. Maybe they were being pored over by some underpaid clerk who was tasked with divining their significance. The hair tie from Patience Penrose. The folded tamale wrapper from the clinic. The geode. The wooden star. Their beloved scarf.

Their thoughts were too miserable to sustain, and eventually, Northlight let them drift away into stories. Easier for them to remember their loved ones that way. There were stories they told where they didn't even remember the events they were based on, and they probably changed a little each time they were told. But at least, those old and future friends would be brought to some semblance of immortality in Northlight's mind.

And then, when these stories were told, they live on in others, and that was the greatest gift Northlight could give. Immortality without cost.

The next few days passed in relative peace. Lachlan remained elsewhere, his entire healing process laboriously recorded. Caroline stayed clear of Kurt, and Kurt stayed clear of Caroline. When she came with her trainees to experiment, her brother became scarce. Her students took notes, dug out sampled of flesh, and one even took nail clippings. Northlight had barely slept, was dizzy with the eternal electric lights, and dissolved into hysterics at the feeling. Locked in an underground laboratory for vampiric bloodletting, and some middle-aged medic was cutting their nails. What, was he going to try eating them?

Eventually, Lachlan was deemed ready. He had healed enough. Northlight knew it was coming when they were taken on their trolley-bed back to the room where it happened. The one with the other bed, and the lockers of supplies that nobody would use.

Lachlan walked in a moment later, unaided. He didn’t look at anyone. There was a dark line across his throat, but even Northlight could tell it was far better healed than should be possible. Caroline, who had probably examined it in minute detail, was confident she could get away with more.

Lachlan lay on the clean table. The chest scars were also fading fast. They now looked more like the one scar he had before the experiments began, closer to it than to the cut at his neck. Northlight wished they could feel impressed, or even proud, of the work their blood had done. Instead, there was only tired horror and shame.

Caroline arranged her devices to capture every moment. Lachlan tipped his head back, then dropped it again.

The other doctors watched. Kurt watched. It was the first time that the Swindon siblings had been in the same room this week.

“Head back,” Caroline ordered, her tone as flat as if she was reading from a sign.

Lachlan tensed, spine arcing, and his chin tucked in. He stared straight up, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.

Caroline put a hand on his shoulder, and the noise he made broke Northlight’s heart. It was a small, soft, round noise, stuffed to the brim with fear.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out sharply. “I-I’m sorry, I, I can’t.”

Caroline leaned over him, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Lachlan wasn’t one of her students, and she treated him like little more than a servant, but Lachlan’s respect for her was obvious. He tried to calm himself. His hands were pale knuckles around the edges of the table.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I-I’m weak.”

If he was watching for disappointment, there was none to be found. Caroline merely asked, “Do you need to be restrained?”

His eyelids fluttered closed in shame. “Yes, please.”

Northlight looked away. The process was silent and methodical, and he couldn’t bear to watch Lachlan start to relax as his freedom was taken away. Willingly given, his freedom and his life, it was impossible to witness.

They closed their eyes and let their tears fall again freely. If Kurt was watching, let him believe it was the sign he had been waiting for.

Caroline and her scalpel produced a guttural noise of pain, kicking legs, and a noise that might have been words if it wasn’t for how she had killed him. Lachlan fought, helplessly, but at least he tried. Northlight was grateful for it; at least some part of the boy knew there was nothing to gain by dignity. Neither of them had the respect to lose by being pathetic.

Lachlan’s struggles stilled alarmingly quickly. Northlight tried not to look, knowing the blood would be part of this. The healing may have already started, before death could take him. Would it be faster or slower? He didn’t want to know. Either way would lead to more blood taken.

They wondered if Caroline would stop bringing them into the room for these murders. They were her emergency blood bag, but soon she would grow confident in her ability to resurrect her dead. Then, they might not see Lachlan at all. He would always be recovering from some almost-mortal wound.

Almost-mortal, they think again. A good term for these laboratory vampires.

Absent-mindedly, their eyes opened. Their head was tilted towards the doctor, who watched in silence as the others began to quietly discuss the process happening, not stunned speechless anymore. Kurt kept his eyes on Lachlan.

Northlight couldn’t bear it. They turned their head.

The pale blue scrubs were stained with lurid blood. Lachlan lay unconscious, head turned away from them all, hands slack where they rested, strapped to the side of the bed. Northlight couldn’t see if he had healed – Caroline had moved her camera to capture that, and the screens were above their head. But after a moment, they noticed what had caught Kurt’s gaze.

Lachlan’s knuckles were still pale, off-colour, as if he had maintained his death grip on the side of the bed. The tips of his fingers were sallow too. Bloodless.

Northlight turned their head slowly, and the deliberate motion drew Kurt’s eye back to them. They met his gaze.

With a jerk of his head, the doctor looked away. He rose, and went to speak to Caroline.

[callaeidae3]

Whumptober 2023 Day 4 - I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes

"We need to get moving."