#old vampire goes to college

[milacatbat]

Surprise hot guest lecturer today, in a sort of east european Oscar Isaac kind of way and my mind conjures up the sentence "off to the wankbank you go!"

[pycth]

REDACTED OC ‼️

The amount of ocs I’ve made while away is actually insane, but this is the first step to introducing them (Not including Hydrus and Michael who you’ve already met, but maybe I’ll reintroduce them at some point) and where better to pop off than with this fucker right here—

Taken Care Of By Frat Guy At A Party | Audio RP | [M4A]

Name: Noah Baz (Formerly Noah L. Woods)

Age: Biologically—20

Chronologically—38

Died: 2006 (?)

Height: 6’1”

Orientation: Unlabeled “It’s all the same in the dark”

Gender: Cis Male (He/Him)

Species: Unempowered Human (Formerly) Vampire (Currently)

Occupation: Prince of House Baz

A few headcanons-

- Noah was the President of ALPHA PHI KAPPA back at his old college. He has since taken the name and given it to his new frat. He runs the only frat house on the D.A.M.N. campus.

- He was originally turned on a dare at a party his frat was hosting. His maker was the heir to the house he currently belongs to. After his maker’s unexpected death, he became next in line for the crown.

- Being a part of one of the oldest vampires houses, a lot of the members took some time to get used to Noah especially after he became prince. Someone of his era and energy was a lot to comprehend, but they’ve since then grown very attached to him almost like a family pet.

- He is very close friends with Vincent and was a big enabler to his rebellious years back in the day.

- Always has a red solo cup or flask in his hand wherever he goes.

- He wears sunglasses despite no reason for needing them. Rarely takes em off.

- He has a lower back tattoo that says “Lucky You”

- You know exactly what he sounds like.

(Some bonus doodles I did in his making + the post that first inspired it all—)

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Black No.1

WARNINGS: canon-typical violence. dean's hatred for the supernatural. a lot of vampire world-building because i'm a nerd. 7.5k

NOTES: first part of little miss scare-all. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

“I went looking for trouble. And, boy, I found her.”

New Orleans is emptier this time of year.

Dean is kind of glad they got a case here in October instead of during Mardi Gras. As much as he would love the partying, the booze, and the girls in tiny dresses, it's hard to be discreet about their job when there are that many people around.

Sam and he walk into a small, rundown bar near the motel, deciding to stay away from the main streets of the French Quarter. The place is dark—way too dark, even for a bar. The floor is black wood, and the walls are covered in dark red velvet, which looks like hell to clean. Dean could call it goth, but the crowd’s surprisingly mixed.

As Sam and him take a seat at the bar, Dean thinks there are way too many people here for a Tuesday afternoon in a small bar tucked down a quiet alley. There are some college kids, a few young couples swaying on the dance floor to the rock music playing in the background. But there are also big groups of adults, old men drinking alone, and people who look like they’re in their thirties sitting around, glancing from their drinks to the empty stage in the back of the bar — like they're waiting for something.

Dean and his brother share a confused look but decide not to question it. They just started this case today, and it’s already causing trouble.

They both order some whiskey and sip from their glasses while going over the case details.

More people trickle into the bar—all ages, all styles. But most of them don’t even order a drink or head to the dance floor. They just stand around, waiting.

Okay, what the hell is happening?

Before he can ask anyone, the bartender snatches a microphone and bolts for the stage, where a drum kit, a guitar, a bass, and a mic stand have somehow been set up without Dean even noticing.

Sam and he turn to each other again, confused.

This tiny, murky bar has live music?

“Good night, everyone!” The guy greets the crowd, and it’s only then that Dean notices the people packed in around the stage. “Our girl is ready for you, so please, everyone, give it up for Lost Souls.”

Great. Probably some local band of teenagers with way-too-edgy lyrics and way too much eyeliner, Dean thinks. He turns back to the bar and takes a long swig of whiskey.

But then, the crowd erupts in cheering so loud that Dean almost jumps out of his skin. Everyone, both young and old, is losing their mind over this band.

There are two girls and a guy already standing in front of the instruments, but everyone’s eyes aren’t on them. Instead, they’re locked on the figure walking onto the stage.

That's when Dean sees you.

Your hair is long and pitch-black, reflecting the dark red lights of the bar. You’re dressed in a tiny leather mini-skirt, a lacy red tank top that hugs your waist perfectly, and a leather jacket that you slip off your shoulders as you make your way to the front of the stage. The crowd goes wild. You’re wearing knee-high boots, and multiple necklaces, bracelets, and earrings adorn you. You have an eyebrow piercing, and when you wrap your hand around the microphone, Dean notices the rings on your fingers—and how your long red nails are as sharp as fangs.

Holy shit.

Dean’s met plenty of beautiful women—both human and supernatural—but none of them compare to you. There you are on that stage, greeting the crowd like they’re old friends. The shifting red and white lights seem to wrap around you, making you glow like something otherworldly. Your eyes are mesmerizing, and your smile is sharp, almost predatory, as you scan the bar. You move with such smoothness that Dean almost wonders if you’re a siren.

And then you start singing, and he’s almost convinced you are one.

Your voice… it’s unlike anything Dean has ever heard before. Sultry, powerful, piercing—yet soft at the same time. The band plays behind you, but it’s clear that all eyes are on you. On the way you jump around stage, like you own it. Both Sam and Dean stare, eyes wide and jaws dropped. They watch as you sing song after song, people singing and cheering along. 

What the hell are you doing in this run-down bar, and not Madison Square Garden? Dean can’t wrap his head around it. You sip from a huge bottle of wine throughout the show, twirling with it in hand during every guitar solo. You play some covers from big bands—classics that make Dean’s heart quicken, the deep rumble of the bass vibrating through his chest. And then you play some of your own songs, which you announce with a grin, and they might just be Dean’s favorites.

At some point, he thinks you two make eye contact. But Dean is still in the back of the bar, perched on his shaky stool, while you’re bathed in lights and surrounded by the hands of people jumping and dancing in the way. It’s probably his imagination, but he swears he sees you lick your lips.

The show ends with a roaring final song. You introduce each of the band members before saying your goodbyes to the crowd.

“As always, it’s a pleasure and an honor to sing for you.” The crowd erupts in cheers, totally enamored. “Y’all are the best. Stay safe, and long live rock ‘n’ roll!”

With one last bow and a few kisses blown to the audience, you disappear backstage.

Dean stares at the closed curtains of the small green room you’re probably in right now, mesmerized. He hears Sam paying for their drinks in the distance, but it’s all just background noise. He’s completely lost in thought as Sam pulls him out of the bar, unable to focus on anything except you.

He lies on the uncomfortable motel bed that night, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His mind is a tangle of red lips, long legs, and your songs—lyrics of shoving, ripping, sucking. Bloodied lips, sharp teeth, and bruised knees—all echoing in his head until he finally drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, a bloodless corpse awaits them a block away from the bar.

Sam and he continue to work on the case, but every night, Dean insists on returning to that bar.

Every night, he watches with hooded eyes as you walk onstage in some skimpy outfit, twirling, jumping, and kicking around the stage, flirting with a few lucky sons of bitches in the front row. You wink at them, sometimes even kneeling down to sing right in front of their faces. You also flirt with the members of your band, brushing your hand down their arms, leaning back-to-back with them, and sending seductive glances over your shoulder.

It’s always the same routine. You sing a few covers, a few original songs. Every night, the crowd goes feral for both. The bar is never empty—there’s always a huge crowd ready to watch you perform. You drink from your bottle of chartreuse, finishing it by the end of the gig. Dean wonders how you never seem to get drunk. You introduce the band members, give your thanks, and walk backstage.

And then Dean leaves.

For some reason that he—nor Sam, by the confused looks he sends him every night—can’t understand, he always leaves before you even have the chance to walk out into the bar. He doesn’t know why. He likes you, obviously. You might be the most gorgeous, sexiest woman he’s ever seen. And any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate to go up to you.

But you’re different, and he just doesn’t understand why.

But tonight is the night. It’s Friday, and he knows the bar will be fuller than any other day. The case, though, is turning out to be more difficult than they anticipated. They know it’s vamps—another corpse has shown up every night since they got here, all attacked past midnight, and all of them drained dry. The thing is, there’s no sign of a nest. No suspects, no connection between the victims, nothing.

So, Dean is stressed out and ready to unwind a little. And what better way to do that than flirting with (and hopefully having some good sex with) a hot rockstar chick?

Sam and he walk back into the bar around seven-thirty, half an hour before your gig, and sit down on the same bar stools as always. Dean tries to hide his anticipation behind a glass of whiskey. After all, he’s got a cool guy image to uphold.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You've noticed the guy coming in every night. Of course, you have.

Even though it's near the French Quarter, it’s still unusual for tourists to find this bar. And you definitely had to notice the two extremely hot newcomers, especially the one in the brown leather jacket with sharp eyes that seemed to follow you around like a hawk.

You're supposed to be focused on hunting down those pesky vampires that have been killing people in your audience. You know it’s just a small, cheap excuse for a nest that’s hiding somewhere secluded, using your shows to catch easy meals.

And if they get discovered, you'd be blamed, even though you stopped feeding directly from humans a long time ago. There are four of them—four different kinds of footprints at each crime scene. You’ve pieced together this information, but you still don’t know who they are or where their nest is. You've been following clues, waiting outside the bar to catch them, but they’re some slippery motherfuckers. They manage to escape every time. And, if you’re honest, you’re also a little distracted.

You’ve been in front of some pretty attractive men in your time—from Mick Jagger to Axl Rose in his prime, to the nights spent with Peter Steele in New York. And, okay, you’d admit, Lord Byron had been quite the cutie, too.

But this guy? With his piercing green eyes and that cocky smirk that vanishes, replaced by an almost hypnotized look whenever you sing a particularly filthy song? He’s got you infatuated like you haven’t been in literal ages. But for some reason, you can never seem to find him once the show ends. You’ve heard from a few people that the two new guys are FBI agents investigating the deaths in town, but you have a feeling they’re hunters.

You’ve dealt with hunters before, always trying to convince them to walk away, to avoid a fight they’re not going to win. Some listen, some attack. You never go for the kill—at least, not unless you have to. You prefer leaving them unconscious, just injured enough so they can’t track you down right away. By the time they’re back on their feet, you’ve already moved on to a new city, sometimes a new country. They never find you again.

You kind of hope Green Eyes isn’t a hunter, though. But he has that look. You just pray that he and his partner are after the real killers and not you.

Either way, it’s time to perform. Hopefully, he’ll be there again, and this time, you’ll catch him after the show.

All thoughts vanish the moment you step onto the stage. It’s like the music possesses you, and all that matters is that these people are here to see you. So, you give them the best performance you can, like you do every night.

You let the music guide you, letting the sound of the guitar flow through your veins as you feel free. There, with all the lights on you and the loud cheers of the crowd, with the microphone in your hand as you twirl, jump, and flirt, you feel alive. Or, at least, as alive as a vampire can be.

You decide to sing a Led Zeppelin cover tonight, sensing that Green Eyes is that kind of guy. And you’re clearly right, if the way your enhanced eyes catch his jaw dropping is anything to go by.

In the next song, you jump off stage.

If Green Eyes doesn’t want to be found after the show, you’ll catch him mid-performance instead.

You walk through the crowd, and they part like the Red Sea for you. All of them with wide eyes, trembling hands, but they don’t touch. You cup a girl’s face, singing to her and making her almost faint. You run a delicate hand down a guy’s chest while singing about a poorly hidden metaphor for a blowjob.

Slowly, like a snake, you make your way toward the supposed FBI agents.

You make a show of sitting on a stool, singing toward the bartender, who just chuckles and shakes his head, too used to your shamelessness. You get up and walk past the taller of the two new guys, sending him a glance over your shoulder, before you finally reach him.

Green Eyes is even hotter up close. You lick your lips and lean down, hovering over him as he sits on the bar stool. Your hand runs through his hair, and you catch the way his breath hitches. You whisper filthy lines into the microphone as your hand trails down his shoulder, and you just know your bandmates will tease you about it all night.

You grab his jacket and pull him forward as you walk backwards, not enough to make him stand but enough to leave him perched on the edge of his seat. Then you turn around, making sure your hips sway just right as you make your way back to the stage, a pleased smirk playing on your lips.

The rest of the show flies by, three more songs before you make a show of walking backstage, only to have the crowd scream and beg for one more.

You down the rest of tonight’s wine bottle before rocking out to the real last track. Now in an extremely good mood, you toss your leather jacket to a group of your regulars—the groupies who always crowd the front row. By now, you know them all by name. They fight over the jacket until Alice, you think her name is, snags it. The smile that splits her face is so big, it fills your soulless body with a warmth so real, you almost believe you have one.

You give your little goodbye speech and retreat to the green room.

You retouch your makeup, check that your fangs are still hidden, tug your mini-skirt just a tiny bit higher.

Once you’re ready, you walk out on a mission. 

For your pleasant surprise, Green Eyes is right where you left him. He seems to be in some kind of argument with the other guy, both of them gesturing quickly with their hands.

You walk closer slowly, smiling at the people who offer compliments and gently brushing off anyone who tries to make conversation.

You are focused on something else.

Casually, like you don’t even notice they’re there, you lean against the bartop right next to them. 

“You’ve got quite a line waiting for you today.” The barman, Troy, informs you with a grin. You can feel the two agents stop their conversation and focus on you instead.

“Well then, I better get started.” You thank him when he hands you your first drink, a spicy mango margarita. 

Fans always try to buy you drinks. You never have the heart to tell them you don’t need it, you have more money than necessary even with your eternal existence. But it’s very inconvenient when they all try to buy them at the same time, and you end up with five to ten quickly melting drinks around you.

That’s why Troy and you came up with a system. Fans could go to him and buy you a drink, and he would just add it to a list. At the end of every show, he would start preparing the first drink. By the time you’re done with that one, he has the next one ready. And the next one, and the next one.

Thank the gods for your supernatural alcohol tolerance.

“One day I’m gonna have to drag your cold body off that stage after the cirrhosis takes over.”

“Something’s gotta kill me, right?” you wink at Troy, and he laughs—even if he could never really grasp the irony in your words.

Only after you’ve taken a long sip of your fruity drink do you turn to the two agents. Their eyes dart away, caught staring, and a sharp, Cheshire-cat smirk curls your lips.

“You two are new.” It isn’t a question.

Green Eyes licks his lips but hesitates for a moment. The other one—so tall, even with you in platform heels—takes over.

“Yeah, we’re just passing through.” He extends his hand for a shake, and you meet it, watching him twitch at your icy touch. “I’m Sam. That’s Dean, my brother.”

Brothers. That made sense, the hotness is genetic.

Green Eyes—Dean—nods and extends his hand as well. You grab it, letting your touch linger this time.

“That was quite the show you put on tonight.” His voice is deeper than you imagined, and you take a sip of your drink to hide the grin tugging at your lips.

Oh, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

Only if you’re wrong, and he’s not a hunter... but you try not to think about that just yet.

“Well, thank you.” You smile, stepping away from the bartop and stopping right in front of the brothers. “First time seeing our gig?”

You know it’s not, but you ask anyway.

Sam shakes his head, earning a glare from his brother.

“Nah. We’ve been coming here after work every night.” He says, unbothered by the daggers being thrown his way. “Every show has been amazing.”

“Yeah.” Dean adds, leaning forward, his elbow resting on the bar and a smirk on his face. He seems to have regained his composure. “I can’t believe you haven’t made it out of this hellhole.”

You chuckle and shake your head.

“I’m kinda fond of this hellhole.” You shrug, earning a smile from both brothers. “The booze’s good, the crowd’s electric, so I’d say I’m doing pretty damn well.”

The real reason you could never go further than some goth bar in New Orleans is simple: you couldn’t risk getting famous. Back when the only way to capture a moment was through an oil painting, it hadn’t been a problem. By the 50s, you’d started hiding a bit more. But now, with the rise of the internet, getting too popular could be disastrous.

Someone, thirty years from now, might see you on the street and wonder why you look exactly the same as you did back then. It’s too risky.

You continue to make small talk with the brothers, trading jokes and witty comments. You finish your margarita and continue with a rum and coke. The brothers look at you with wide eyes but Troy reassures them.

“I’ve seen her mix every single liquor we have in this place and she still won’t get more than a little clumsy. I don’t know how she does it, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”

It stops any questioning, but you could see the wheels turning in Sam’s head. He might be trouble.

“So, a Zeppelin fan?” You look up at Dean with hooded eyes over the rim of your glass, subtly changing the topic. He seems taken aback that you noticed his reaction to your cover choice, choking on his last sip of whiskey while Sam tries to suppress a laugh. 

“Oh, you know it.” Dean grins, setting his empty glass back on the bartop. “Classic rock never disappoints.”

You nod, humming lowly. Led Zeppelin had, admittedly, been one of your favorite bands to hang around back then. You remember being at one of their concerts—VIP, then backstage. You can almost see Dean’s reaction if you told him you were actually there for most of the writing sessions for Physical Graffiti. “Oh, for sure. The seventies were wild, the golden age of rock ‘n’ roll.”

You eye both brothers’ empty glasses and meet Troy’s gaze.

“How many whiskeys today?”

Troy glances at his list, then grimaces. “Like fifteen? I don’t get why most of them order you whiskey.”

You laugh, shrugging. You could down any drink without flinching, but you had to admit whiskey wasn’t your favorite. (Too many nights throwing up on a pirate’s deck might have given you some serious PTSD.)

“Care to help me scratch a few more drinks off that list?” you ask the brothers, already signaling Troy to start serving the glasses.

“Am I not supposed to be the one buying you a drink?” Dean’s grin widens, his voice lowering an octave.

You laugh, low and sultry. “Oh, believe me, darling, I don’t need you to.” You wink at him, pointing at the already served whiskeys. “Help yourselves. Tonight’s on me.” You smirk. “Or, well, on my fans, anyway.”

You end up getting pretty hammered that night. The brothers are way worse than you, with Dean stumbling around the emptying bar. His hands start to wander, and his touch lingers longer each time. He leans in closer every time he speaks to you, his eyes half-lidded and his words a little slurred.

At some point, someone gets a hold of the jukebox and plays The Cure. Dean whines about it being too “emo and sappy,” rolling his eyes as the first chords play.

You drag him onto the dance floor, both of you swaying to the beat of Lovesong. You grab his hand, making him spin a few times, the two of you laughing as you end up draped all over each other. His face presses against your neck, and his large hands wrap around your waist.

You are enveloped by his scent, the sweet smell of his humanity (his blood calling to you like honey) mixing with something strong, like motor oil and wood. It is a scent you won’t forget.

“Haven’t felt this alive in ages.” Your words are more literal than Dean realizes, but he nods anyway. His gaze lingers on you, eyes shining with an almost hypnotic intensity, as though he’s as mesmerized as some of your fans. It makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t realize it still could.

At least four more rounds of tequila shots later, Dean is all goofy grins and slurred whispers, insisting more than once that you come back to his motel room.

“Sammy’ll find somewhere to crash,” he mumbles, his words slipping together.

But he’s clearly too far gone, so you gently steer him back toward the bar, ordering a glass of water. Sam is a little more sober—at least enough to shoot you a few teasing glances—and you trust him to keep an eye on his brother. Still, you walk with them to the bar’s front door, making sure they’re both upright and heading in the right direction, not stumbling toward a car.

Dean tries to convince you to let him walk you home, but you just shake your head, laughing. Not only do you not need protection, but you're also sure he'd end up passing out halfway there.

"Go with your brother, darling. I’ll see you at my next gig."

You wait for a few minutes, then follow the brothers from the shadows to make sure they get to their motel without any issues before you retreat. You continue your nightly rounds, still on the lookout for those dumb vamps.

With your mind just the tiniest bit clouded after finishing every drink on tonight's list for the first time in a while, you end up heading home earlier than usual. Maybe the vamps took a break on Friday night.

The next day, you walk outside just to find another body, this time abandoned in the bar’s dumpster. A young girl, black leather jacket clutched in her hand. 

⋆♱✮♱⋆

After Alice’s death, you decide it is finally time to get rid of the plague.

But this also serves as a reminder of why you don’t get attached to mortals. Their bodies are so fragile, their existence so fleeting. You can’t afford to bond with them; you’ve learned your lesson.

So, erasing any trace of Dean from your mind, you double down on hunting the vamps.

You sneak into the morgue first, hoping to find any clues in the body. Just like the others, there’s nothing but fang marks on her smooth skin. If your eyes gloss over at the sight of your autograph scrawled on her arm in black Sharpie, well, that’s between you and the corpses around you.

From there you visit all the previous murder scenes, trying to find any detail you may have missed. You look closely, try to catch any strange scent or trail they may have left while retreating, but find nothing. 

You leave Alice’s for last. She was the only victim you knew by name, and it tore you apart knowing that they all probably knew your name. Or the name the town gave you, at least.

You're just going over the footprints that seem to vanish into thin air when you hear two voices approaching. The sun is already setting, but it is still strange for clients to be here this early, especially roaming around the dumpster. 

You quickly retreat to hide behind a nearby tree, the trunk thick enough to conceal your figure. 

You listen closely, trying to figure out who it might be.

“We already investigated this place in the morning.” An exasperated voice reaches you. “You sure we’re not here just so you can try and catch a glimpse of her?”

“C’mon Sammy, I’m a professional.” So you were right about the hunter thing, damn it. “I’m just saying this is the freshest lead we have. We might as well start here."

“Yeah, right. So the way your eyes keep drifting to that window means nothing, hm?”

Dean scoffs, and his footsteps get closer. 

“I am just… making sure we’re not missing anything.” 

A brief silence follows, as though the brothers are sharing an unspoken moment.

“You’re so fucked.” Sam snorts. “The only person you’re gonna catch behind that window is Troy. I don’t think she’s the type to go out in the sun.”

Oh. He is indeed trouble.

You stay as still as non-humanly possible, trying to gather how much intel the brothers have. They know what you know—that the killers are vamps and part of a nest—but they’re missing some pieces.

And they also know a few things you didn’t know.

“The guy you saw last night, you said he drove a black van?”

Sam saw one of the vamps? Damn it, if you’d been a little more careful, maybe you would’ve caught them too.

“No, he wasn’t driving. Someone else was inside, waiting for him. Took off as soon as he jumped in.”

“And you couldn’t follow them because you were drunk out of your mind.”

“Should I remind you, you were the one passed out in bed.”

“Details. But the tracks are gone now, right?”

“Yeah, somehow they managed to get rid of the tire tracks before sunrise.” Sam pauses, and there are some more shuffling noises.

“What I can’t seem to understand is why they are targeting the bar’s clientele.”

"I think I know.” Sam sounds reluctant, like he’s not sure whether he wants to say it. “And I think it might have to do with your Lily Munster.”

“It does.” You step out from behind the tree, making both brothers jump and pull out their guns. You catch sight of the machetes hanging from their belts, and you sigh. “But not in the way you’re imagining.”

You meet Dean’s eyes, and his jaw twitches. He looks disappointed, almost betrayed. You keep your chin up, but something bitter washes down your throat.

Whatever

“So that’s why you don’t get drunk, or even break a sweat while performing.” Sam’s tone is all-knowing, and you fight the urge to smirk. “And you’re freezing cold.”

“So, what? You use your charm to lure in fresh blood?” Dean sneers, his voice dripping with disdain.

You shake your head, leaning back against the tree and watching him unsheathe his machete.

“You’ve got the wrong vamp, guys.” You try to explain, reluctantly spilling everything you know about the nest and why they’re targeting you.

“And you expect us to believe that?” Dean scoffs. But Sam’s mind is clearly racing now, the wheels turning again.

“You saw the van and the vamp last night. I was circling the bar at that time, trying to catch these assholes.” You shrug, flipping your hair back with casual defiance. “I can tell you more about them if you need.”

“Like what?”

“They’re young vamps, the way they bite their victims…” Something cold flashes in your eyes as Alice’s body comes to mind. “It’s feral. They’re new to feeding, probably abandoned by their Sire, left to fend for themselves.”

“Also,” you add, shaking your head and stepping closer to the brothers. They immediately tense, preparing for a fight. “Their nest is somewhere with a strong odor. I can pick up their scent at the crime scenes, but the trail’s impossible to follow. They’ve covered their tracks, wherever they’re hiding.”

The brothers exchange a look, both mumbling. “The old factory.”

“What?”

“There’s an old factory near our motel. The smell’s unbearable.”

“It’s also close to where Sam saw the vamp yesterday.”

You nod, taking in the information. You wonder how you missed the factory—it had been so easy to get distracted by a cute guy, and now a young girl, along with many others, are dead.

“The sun’s still up, which means the vamps are probably still holed up in there.” You speak up. “If we go now, we can take them out while they’re still vulnerable.”

“We?” Dean scoffs. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

You lock eyes with him, his green gaze still piercing under the warm sun, and you notice his grip on the machete waver.

“I’m not who you think I am, Dean.” You take a slow step forward. “I don’t feed on humans, I don’t harm people. I’m not like the other vamps you’ve hunted.”

His tongue presses against his cheek, his breath catching as you close the distance between you.

“That would explain how she can walk in the sunlight.” Both of you ignore Sam’s voice, still focused on each other. “She could be useful.”

“I’ve given you everything I know about the nest. Believe me, I want them dead just as much as you do.” You glance at Sam briefly, then back to Dean. “Let me help.”

Dean hesitates, his expression softening for the briefest second before hardening again.

“No. We’re not working with a bloodsucker.” You swallow the lump in your throat. He tightens his grip on the machete, preparing to strike.

“Dean, the sun’s setting. We don’t have much time before it’s dark.” Sam grabs his shoulder, pulling him back. “The nest first. This can wait.”

With that, Dean secures his weapon back in place and walks off. You watch as the brothers climb into their car and drive toward the factory. You try to shake off the tightness in your throat, but it lingers.

Licking your teeth, you turn around and start walking. 

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Dean can’t believe what he’s about to say, but he kind of wishes he had accepted your offer.

He shuffles again where he’s tied to a column, trying to find a way to break the ropes. But the vampires—just some fledglings, as feral and lost as you predicted—knew how to tie someone up. Neither he nor Sam can find a way out, the ropes pulled tight and deliberately placed away from any sharp surface.

The bloodsuckers pace in circles around them, speaking in hushed, frantic voices.

“I thought you said the plan was infallible!”

“Well, I thought it was! They should have gone for her, not us.”

“I told you this would happen! You never listen to me.”

“It’s not my fault, okay? We’ve all heard about the Dark Heiress. I was sure she’d tear any hunter to shreds before they even got close to us.”

The Dark Heiress?

Oh, what has Dean gotten himself into?

Sam and Dean share a look, both trying to piece together who you really are.

Dean has to admit, he’s a little bitter.

You’re genuinely one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever met. Even through the haze of alcohol, he remembers everything from last night—the shared laughs, the slow dancing, the looks that meant a lot more than either of you could handle.

His heart tugs at the idea that you might just be another monster he’ll have to gank.

"Whatever. We have the hunters now. We just gotta get rid of them, and we’re clean."

"I still insist it’s not a good idea to keep bothering the Heiress."

"Yeah, guys. She might find us out, and I don’t want her as an enemy."

"What would she even do to us? We outnumber her."

"She’s invincible! She'll wipe us out before we even get a chance to pull out our fangs. Haven’t you heard the stories?"

"The stories may be a bit exaggerated," comes that smooth, sultry voice.

Dean turns to look at the front door of the old factory, just in time to see you walking in. As disgusted as he is about your nature, he has to admit you look like a goddess.

"But blondie’s right," you continue with a smirk. "You shouldn’t mess around with me."

All the fledglings freeze on the spot, turning to look at you like they’re seeing the boogeyman.

Your eyes drift to Sam and Dean, like you’re making sure they’re okay. Dean tries not to think about the fact that you might actually care.

The sound of your boots against the floor echoes like a marching band as you make your way toward the vampire gang. In your hand, you hold Dean’s machete, the same one that had been ripped from his grasp when he got knocked out.

Dean has trouble breathing at the sight. You move like smoke, slow and confident, your eyes dark and flashing almost red. You’re still wearing your typical get-up: leather mini-skirt and flimsy top. But now, you look dangerous, like sin personified.

The swing of your hips matches the lazy sway of your blade, and when you smirk, Dean catches a glimpse of your fangs. Two of them—long, shiny, and sharp—placed where your lateral incisors should be, instead of covering every tooth like the other vampires.

You slash through the first vamp’s neck like it’s nothing, sending the other three flying. But you’re quicker, just as precise and skilled in combat as you are playing the guitar. Your long hair whips around you as you spin and jump across the factory, and the contrast to the girl he saw on stage leaves Dean dizzy for a second.

He hates to admit it, but he can’t tell which version of you is hotter.

In a matter of seconds, there’s only one vamp left—the one who seemed to be their leader. He puts up a bit more of a fight, and you end up straddling him right in front of Dean and Sam. The machete had been knocked from your grasp, and now you’re pinning the fledgling down, struggling to figure out a way to reach the weapon.

“Should’ve known killing the little bitch was a bad idea.”

Your eyes immediately snap to the guy beneath you, your expression twisting into something almost bestial.

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I told him not to go for the groupies, but the dumbass had to kill the pretty girl.” The vamp spits out, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Didn’t think you really cared, though.”

The grip you have on the guy’s wrists tightens, the veins in your neck standing out as your voice sharpens to a deadly hiss.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“I don’t regret it, though.” The vamp smirks, blood and vampire goo dribbling from his mouth. “She was a good little snack, barely screamed—”

He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence. You rip his head off with a swift, vicious motion, the sound of bones snapping filling the air.

Bare hands, no weapon. You simply wrap your hands around his jaw and yank. You toss the head aside like it’s nothing, then slowly rise off the corpse’s lap, casually adjusting your jewelry.

Your face is splashed with goo, your white tank top—no bra, Dean’s brain notes unhelpfully—now dripping with black vampire blood.

“Damn it, always so messy.” You roll your eyes and casually walk over to pick up the machete.

You head back to the brothers, who are staring at you in stunned silence.

You just beheaded someone with your bare hands.

A sick part of Dean’s brain sends a shiver down his spine at the sight, but he shakes it off.

Bloodsucker. Remember?

First, you free Sam, and then you make your way to Dean. He turns to look at you as you kneel next to him, but your eyes remain cast down. You make quick work of cutting through the ropes with the machete, never once meeting his gaze. There’s something creeping behind your eyes, something dark and morose.

You leave the machete next to Dean, like you’re daring him to use it. He grabs it but doesn’t lunge for you. Instead, he gets up and rubs his wrists where the rope irritated the skin.

“Thank you for that, I suppose,” Sam says after an awkward moment of silence. You let out a bitter laugh and nod.

“No problem. I just thought I should come and check if the job was done.”

Dean nods, studying you slowly with his eyes.

“You’re different,” he affirms, and it finally makes you meet his gaze. Something heavy passes between you, something that leaves him breathless and scared. 

“Could’ve told you that,” you huff, leaning down to pick up one of your necklaces that fell off mid-fight. 

“Who are you, Dark Heiress?”

The nickname makes you laugh, this time genuinely. You throw your head back and all, eyes closed, the moonlight catching on your flawless, fangless smile.

“I told you, I am not like other vamps you know.” You place the necklace back around your neck, a black leather thread with some kind of symbol as a charm. “I am… older. Another breed, if you will.”

Dean turns to Sam, but his eyes are locked on the necklace. It’s a seven-pointed star inside a circle, every space outside the star engraved with a different symbol, and a tiny triangle in the middle of it. On the outside, a wolf-headed snake is eating itself. It’s like nothing Dean has ever seen before, but Sam seems to recognize it.

“No way.” Sam takes a step closer to you, and you simply smile smugly. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Do you mind catching me up?” Dean asks sarcastically, but his brother ignores him, staring way too close at your necklace — and your chest.

Dean’s jaw tightens. “Okay, dude.”

He grabs Sam’s shoulder and yanks him back a step, a little rougher than necessary. Sam just stumbles, still wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

You only laugh, and even then, your voice sounds melodic. You look at both of them with a cocky grin, and Dean can’t tell if he wants to punch you or kiss you.

“You’re Count Orlok’s… daughter?” Sam asks in fascination.

Dean thinks he should probably know who that is, but he’s still completely lost.

“Count Orlok?” He frowns, trying to place the name. Maybe it’s the Vampire Alpha? Or was it in a movie?

“I think you mortals know him more as Nosferatu.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to drop his jaw. “You’re telling me you’re the daughter of… that creepy gray dude from that silent film?”

You laugh again, still covered in vamp goo — and still beautiful.

“Pretty accurate representation, not gonna lie,” you drag out, walking toward a broken mirror to fix your lipstick.

“So, there’s an entire other breed of vamps? Orlok descendants?” Sam’s eyes are huge and shiny, and Dean can practically see his brain overheating from the nerdy overload.

"It’s just me," you respond after a beat, your voice low. "Father was the last of his kind. He needed a male heir to continue the line... but he only had me."

You turn to face them, shrugging casually, as though you're not shattering everything they thought they knew about vampires.

"So you’re the heiress."

"That’s what the other vamps started calling me." You smirk. "They know better than to disturb me." You glance down at the corpses with a sigh. "Or at least, I thought they did."

"So what’s Nosferatu’s daughter doing in New Orleans?" Dean huffs, finally letting go of the machete. You can't help but smile at his frustration.

All three of you begin to slowly make your way out of the factory. Sam and Dean walk with a slight limp, still feeling the aftereffects of being attacked and tied up, but you glide next to them effortlessly.

Strong. Determined. Graceful. Hypnotic.

“I’ve lived all over the world, met all kinds of people.” You walk closer to him, confident and radiant under the dim lights of the twilight. “When I decided I wanted to perform, I couldn’t help but come here. All the legends and literature weren’t lying, it really has been the best place I’ve lived in a long time.”

A blanket of sadness drapes over your eyes, and for a moment, it looks like you’re not really seeing him—like you’re lost in your own thoughts. You bite your lip, and Dean can’t help but notice the shift.

“That’s why I try to stay away from trouble, keep a low profile. I wanna enjoy this for as long as I can.”

It makes sense. You couldn’t stay in the same place long enough for people to notice you don’t age, and you clearly loved performing. Dean could tell music gave you life, and he doubts you’d jeopardize that. But still…

“How do you feed, then?” Dean’s voice softens slightly, the edge of hostility melting away quickly as he meets your gaze.

You all stop in front of the Impala, you leaning casually against it.

That’s an image Dean won’t forget—you, in your tiny clothes, looking like the cover of a heavy metal album, sprawled across Baby’s hood.

He can easily picture you there in another world, mini-skirt pulled up higher, blood-red lips parted—

“Blood bags.”

It takes Dean a moment to catch up. Right, feeding.

“I haven’t fed on humans in a long time,” you continue, shrugging nonchalantly. “I mostly steal blood bags. It’s enough to keep me going.”

Both brothers nod at the information, but Sam’s eyes flick back and forth between you two.

“I’ll—uh, go put the machetes in the trunk.” He practically scurries away, making you giggle.

Cute.

No, Dean, stop. Bloodsucker.

You straighten up and walk towards him, tilting your head slightly so you're looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“So, should I get ready to fight you?” Your tongue runs over your teeth, and Dean resists the urge to pull you closer.

“Don’t think it’s necessary.” He gives you a half-smirk. “Just don’t give us a reason to come back and find you, sweetheart. Next time, I won’t be so nice.”

Your grin turns smug, and you lean just a little bit closer.

“I won’t.” You wink at him. “And it was a fight you were gonna lose, anyway.”

That makes him snort, eyes narrowing. He wants to call you out for being cocky, wipe that smirk off your face with his own mouth, but he can’t. He saves people. He hunts things. Things like you.

“I don’t know about that.” He lowers his eyes, pulling away. You catch the shift, taking a step back and clearing your throat.

“Right.” You seem to collect yourself, and Dean can almost picture the armor materializing around you. “I guess I… won’t see you again.”

He chuckles lowly, a little bitter. “I hope so.” He nods, and your eyes linger for one, two, three seconds before you pull away.

You wave goodbye to Sam, and then, with a fluid movement, you disappear into the shadows, as if the night itself is swallowing you whole.

Dean sighs, sliding into the driver’s seat, trying to shake off the bitter taste lingering at the back of his throat.

“Thought I was the one with a history with violent women?”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“Come on, you practically got a boner when she decapitated that guy with her hands.”

“Are you feeling okay? You might have a fever. Hallucinating things.”

A beat passes, and then—

“She looks like a good person.”

“She’s not a person. She’s a creature.”

“But—”

“I think you should get some sleep, Sam.”

Hours later, as the empty road stretches on, Dean finally lets himself wonder if he’ll ever see you again.

NOTES: Nyx is here!!! I hope y'all liked it. I am obsessed with her and I've been planning her whole story for quite a while. I wanted this to be a little shorter but there's just so much lore to explore! anyways, part 2. coming soon.

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[hritika13-tamboli]

Jeon Jungkook Fic Recs List 4....

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Series :

Moonstruck || Werewolf & Vampire Hybrid!AU, Supernatural!AU | Hybrid!Jungkook x Hybrid!Reader | Werewolf!Taehyung x Hybrid!Reader (ft. BTS) || @jeonsweetpea

Summary: You couldn’t wait for Jungkook to break his sire bond with you. Not like you were thrilled an ungrateful brat was sired to you anyway. Just a hundred more days and it would all be over. He would no longer be loyal to you.

Chasing cars || brother's best friend!Jungkook x reader | forbidden love?au | college!au | slice of life!au || @oddinary4bts

Summary : when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

The Farmhouse || cowboy jungkook x reader | childhood bestfriends au | friends to lovers au |slice of life || @solecize

Summary : every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision. despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

Fool for you || jungkook x reader | college au | fake dating au | strangers to friends to lovers au || @btsgotsvt-blog

Summary : When Jungkook is finally single, you shoot your shot.

Supercharged || Jungkook x reader | supernatural au | superheroes au / villain au | Enemies to lovers au || @btsmosphere

Summary: starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?

Long way home || dilf!jk x best friend!reader | single dad jk | boxer!jk | friends to lovers au || @sparklingchim

Summary: jungkook's life makes an 180 degree turn when he's suddenly a single dad and while you're trying to help him come accustomed to the new circumstances, your long-standing friendship takes new turns as well.

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One-shot :

Meraki || grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader | not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers || @taegularities

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

Silent treatment || Gamer Jungkook x cat owner reader | Established relationship au || @angelic-vibez

Summary : Jungkook gives you a silent treatment after your cat ruins his whole gaming setup

But we loved too young || Bestfriend!jungkook x reader | friends to lovers au | lovers to strangers au | big timeskip au | college to adulthood au || @jl-micasea-fics

Summary : Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

First class || rich student!jk x rich student!reader | universityau | bestfriends au || @girlygguk

Summary: in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

The witch sisters || heartthrobwitch!jk x witchfem!reader | witch au || @rkivepetals

Summary : When your seven witch sisters come across your almost- boyfriend.

Not like you || dilf!jungkook x boxer!jungkook x childhood enemy!reader | Enemies to lovers au || @oureuphoria

Summary: God had favourites. Jungkook figured that out early in his childhood, when every waking moment was spent trying to impress his parents at the expense of you. He ran away at 19 to escape the immeasurable pressure to succeed but he couldn't escape you. Six years and a daughter later, Jungkook met his childhood enemy again, except this time he didn't want to run.

Limerence || exes to lovers au | ex boyfriend!jk x ex girlfriend!reader || @kooktrash

Summary: a recent discovery of old VCR tapes takes you down a rabbit hole of self-pity, remembering what you once had and how it all went down the drain over youthful mistakes. suddenly, you find yourself playing back the old tapes of the best relationship you’ve ever had and all you can think about is how to get it back—if you could get it back

Infinity || Three-shot | alien!Jungkook x human!female reader | alien!AU | dystopian!AU | dark romance | S2L || @runariya

Summary: As the last human in existence, what will be your fate?

Sweet apple biscuits || Jungkook x reader || @rosaetae

Summary: a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy.

“Hold him and love him. Tell him how you feel. Tell him how much he means to you. And whatever you do, never let go of him.”

Disney+ and bust || app developer jungkook x reader | Established relationship au || @1kook

Summary : There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. 

The lucky ones || Jungkook x reader | University!AU | Soulmate!AU || @today-we-will-survive

Summary: unique soulmate mark stains the skin around your right eye, making you an outcast in a world where everyone has a mark showing where their soulmate will first touch them. Unlike others with marks on their palms, arms, or cheeks, your eye mark sets you apart, leaving you to question its meaning and the fate of your soulmate.

Some way, some how || autoshop owner!jk x businesswoman!oc | slice of life | childhood crushes | friends to lovers || @1kook

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

It was always you || naval aviator!jungkook x professor!reader + editor!jungkook | childhood friends to lovers au || @hueseok

Summary: as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

[angelisverba]

praise

in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny

word count: 5.5k

pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)

warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.

author's note: happy late halloween!

When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.

She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.

Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.

Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.

Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.

He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles. 

So y/n had a little crush.

A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it. 

She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her. 

In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.

Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.

But she couldn't.

Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.

She could imagine it.

He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.

And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.

So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.

With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.

A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.

She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.

But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.

She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.

***

Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.

He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.

Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.

A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.

He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.

It reminded him of one his students, y/n.

She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.

But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.

She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.

Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.

But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.

Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by. 

Not that he noticed.

Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again. 

This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.

He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.

Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.

Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.

It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.

Her hearbeat.

Calm. Steady. Alive.

It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.

He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.

He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.

She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.

Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.

Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.

He had to get her to speak.

The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.

Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”

At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.

Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.

Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.

But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.

In fact, he looked almost... mad.

Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.

Everything, including her breathing.

He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.

Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."

She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.

Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.

And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.

One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.

This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.

"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"

***

Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.

She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.

He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.

“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.

“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.

"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.

"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.

"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.

She was wrong.

Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.

Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.

And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.

Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"

She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"

"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.

In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."

She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.

“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.

He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.

"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."

When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.

"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.

"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.

Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.

The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.

"You were a bad girl, y/n."

Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.

His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"

"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.

He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"

Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”

“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.

“I need to cum, sir. I need-” 

“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”

"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.

She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-

"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.

"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.

"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.

"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.

"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.

Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.

Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.

He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"

"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.

"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.

"I understand, Professor"

He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."

*****

happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!

[cosmicdahlias]

💖ford x reader headcanons💖

part 6

• always turns down the ac in the bedroom so it’s freezing. he likes it cold but also does it so you’ll cuddle up to him for warmth

• has very rough, calloused hands. when he rubs your back it makes you shiver

• loves to wrap his arms around you and hug you from behind while you’re cooking or working in the lab

• you once found some old photos of his days being possessed by bill. to say he was embarrassed would be an understatement

• thinks you hang the moon

• was really sick and delirious one time and all he could talk about was how beautiful you are and how much he loves you

• snores. it was kind of hard to sleep with at first but now it’s like your personal white noise machine

• you got him into ren faires. calls you his majesty

• very passionate kisser, sometimes gets carried away and forgets to breathe

• if you’re lgbt he goes to pride with you. mabel dresses him head to toe in pride merch

• anxious attachment (mostly because of bill)

• might forget to eat but always makes sure you do

• big spoon, loves feeling the warmth of you up against him

• when you’re getting ready to leave somewhere he says “are you ready to rock and roll?” like the dad he is

• teaches you self defense, sees it as a very practical skill

• loves seeing you smile

• you love his morning voice

• constantly had nightmares about bill hurting you. he’d wake up and pull you close, he wanted to protect you so much

• gives the best hugs

• recorded himself reading books before he went away on his adventures with stan so you could still fall asleep to his voice

• when you first met he fell so hard for you when you told him you read the journals

• when you and ford get married mabel and dipper call you their grauntie

• if you’re in college he helps you with your homework and studying

• writes about you in the journals. refers to you as “the most beautiful creature i have ever encountered”

• drunkenly admitted to you one night that his first crush was jackie kennedy

• plays with your hair a lot. it’s practically a stim

• if you’re having a rough day he’ll pull you onto his lap and let you vent

• when you show him a video or a meme he does that old person thing where he takes the phone out of your hand, holds it out, squints, and adjusts his glasses while asking you something like “is that your friend?”

• you guys have heated vampires vs werewolves debates

• struggled heavily with suicidal thoughts after weirdmageddon. there were nights where neither of you slept and you were honestly afraid to leave him alone. if it wasn’t for you, stan, and the kids he never would’ve made it.

[r-memberme]

Hear this concept: reader doesn't know Klaus is a vampire and always gets surprised by his intelligence. I mean, the guy is a thousand. He KNOWS things. She is just shocked that he seems to know every language ever. He helps her studying and always seems to know more than her even though she is the one in college. And then maybe one day she insists he goes to a little party with her friends and they play that type of quiz games? And he is simply the best? (Very much based in that scene Elijah and Cami play the quiz game together)

Ohhh yes. Yes, yes, yes—this concept is perfection and so you. Listen:

She thinks he’s just some hot, suspiciously poetic man who dresses like he’s allergic to hoodies and says things like “the stars are not so brilliant as your mind, love.” She just chalks it up to British charm and a very good vocabulary. But then he starts helping her study—first it’s Art History, and he’s casually naming obscure Renaissance painters like they’re old friends. Then it’s her French lit exam, and he’s quoting Baudelaire from memory, with perfect pronunciation and a smile like this is child's play.

She frowns. “How do you know all this?”

Klaus shrugs, lazy and smug on her dorm bed, flipping through her textbook. “I pay attention, sweetheart.”

Cut to: she ropes him into going to this little get-together with her friends. A casual night. Pizza. Music. Drinks. And a board game. It’s one of those team trivia games and everyone’s laughing—until Klaus opens his mouth.

He’s not just good. He’s scary good.

“Who built the original Hagia Sophia?” “Emperor Justinian I. Though technically, Anthemius and Isidore were the architects.”

“What’s the capital of Burkina Faso?” “Ouagadougou. Though I much prefer Timbuktu, aesthetically.”

“Name a Shakespeare play that doesn’t end in a death.” He gives three. In order. With commentary.

She’s sitting there with wide eyes, clutching her wine like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to Earth.

“Are you…like…a genius?” she whispers after he wins again.

Klaus just smirks, leans in, brushes a curl behind her ear. “No, love. I’ve just had more time to learn than most.”

And for the first time, she realizes there’s something… off. Something timeless in the way he moves. Something ancient in his gaze. The dots don’t quite connect yet—but she’s getting closer.

And Klaus? He’s enjoying every second of it.

[pigeonstab]

these are just sketches but I NEED to get these out, so! It is indeed going to be a college AU (is that surprising)

I finally got to draw my skinny jeans flannel Cross lol, I planned on doing a whole brainstorming thing to get an idea of where I wanted to go with it but what actually happened is that I picked up my stylus and blacked out

Basic premise is like, Cross and Killer go to the same college, and they meet and it's cute and stuff. Killer lives with his coven: Nightmare, Dust and Horror

Nightmare is a European (probably english?) vampire who's like 500 yo (easy that was already his age)

Dust would be like a traditional Korean vampire (I'll have to do research on dates and the inner workings of Korean society a long time ago cause I also want to give him accurate old clothing from that place and period) idk about age but definitely younger than Nightmare by at least a few centuries

And Horror is actually a wolf shifter. (Not to be confused with werewolves I will explain) but basically!! I'm hoping he can act as a sort of mentor for Cross later on? Like "holy shit that is a pup and he is very weird and does not know how to be a werewolf I need to fix him"

Killer is like a twenty year old (hence why he's going to college) and he is the youngest! All the others in the coven just stay at the manor while Killer goes out and stuff

Cross... Is an anxious mess. Who is also very big and bumps into everything and says sorry to chairs. The mark under his eye is the scratch mark that made him a werewolf.

And! perfect time for me to explain the difference between a wolf shifter and a werewolf. Wolf shifters are basically just 'werewolves' that were born that way. They are akin to nature spirits, werewolves on the other hand are normal people who either have been cursed (or maybe a wolf shifter that's forsaken or smth I need to choose between the two) or someone who's been bitten/scratched by an already infected werewolf. Most wolf shifters don't want to interact with werewolves.

Meaning. Cross was a normal kid. Got hurt by a werewolf at a very young age but wasn't integrated into a pack leaving him with no bond with anyone so no family. Cool. Bro's life sucks.

Killer clocks Cross' lycanthropy before Cross clocks Killer's vampirism, actually Cross would have to be told I think lol

[milacatbat]

I might not be the oldest in class after all but oh no some of my new classmates look so young!

Never ever let people who claim "but she looked 18!" Off the hook because I know for a fact everyone in class is 18-19 at minimum and even with this knowledge the young ones really look like little kids to someone my age. Does not give you permission to patronize someone just because they are young of course, we will be peers in school - just a gut reaction of "must protecc this child" and then the child is a 19 year old business major who believes in trickle down economics.

[maliktomlinson]

🌿 Take Me Higher Than I've Ever Been by crimsontheory @ireallysawanangel [51k]

Harry is pretty simple. He goes to work everyday, comes home, then watches Netflix with his cat. And if he happens to have a tiny little crush on his coworker, then that’s just his own business.

🌿 Crave** by dimpled_halo @comebackassholes [90k]

All eyes are on Louis Tomlinson to bring new talent to save Hanover Records from the mess the previous executive left behind. His newest artist, Harry Styles, is charismatic and everything Louis needs to revive the label. It’s up to Louis and his team to make Harry the star he was born to be. When Harry and Louis come face to face, it isn’t the first time they’ve met, and their worlds are about to be turned upside down.

🌿 Young Gods by sincewewereeighteen [77k]

“Why don’t you stay?” Harry looked down at him and snorted. “What?”

“You’re not my type, Louis”, the boy rolled his eyes sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

“Says the man you just had sex with”, Louis pointed feeling smart, but Harry was one step ahead of him, with the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“You see, if you were my type, I wouldn’t have”, Harry winked, cheeky as hell. “I would’ve gotten to know you first.”

“Bullshit”, he accused the boy not letting it show how intrigued he was. “How can you know I’m not your type if you don’t know me?”

“How about I list five things about you to prove I’m right and if any of them are false I’ll lie down again.”

“Ok. Go.”

the one in which Louis is a model and Harry's supposed to be a normal guy... Until he isn't

🌿 School Of Extraordinary Lovers by @stylinsoncity [191k]

harry is a third-year witch and violinist at Laitswold, the only magical academy in the UK, with dreams of taking on the world, and hopefully breaking the centuries-old curse on his family while he's at it. he does not dream of facing off against his childhood rival and duet partner, but louis is back in town after six years abroad, so that's exactly what happens.

🌿 One Last Time by @smittenwithlouis [24k]

“I mean it, Harry, this is the last time,” Louis breathes out as Harry kisses down his neck.

“Sure,” Harry mumbles into his heated skin.

The action makes Louis shudder. He hates how good it feels. He knows he should be revolted. Disgusted. But god does it feel so damn good.

Or: Louis is a werewolf, and Harry is a vampire. They’re supposed to hate each other, but they’re too busy fucking to care.

🌿 Where I Burn To Be by pleasinglouis @pleasing-louis [143k]

“That’s right. I do own the skies. And you wanna know why?” he sneered. Without his boots on, Louis was a fair bit shorter than Harry, his eyes pretty much level with Harry’s chin and his socked toes bumping into the boots of the other man, close enough that Louis could make out the tiny scar on Harry’s brow and the individual shades of emerald in his irises. He was handsome, but that only made Louis hate him more. Heart thumping heavily against his sternum and his hands balled into fists, Louis lifted his chin defiantly and plastered a coldhearted smirk across his lips. “Because I’m the best goddamn pilot here.”

aka the Top Gun AU

🌿 Like A Melody In My Head by sarcasticinfluentry [60k]

A college marching band AU in which Harry is just trying to get through his first semester of college while pining over the hot drum major, Louis is trying to ignore his feelings for a certain curly-haired freshman, Zayn is trying to become less guarded, Liam is trying to be patient, and Niall is trying to make his dad proud.

🌿 Now You Know Me (For Your Eyes Only) by nadinecestmoi [77k]

au where harry and louis are solo artists and they’re not exactly friends per se but they’re friendly, know each other from industry parties and things like that and there’s always been this weird unspoken sexual tension between them and louis’ always kinda confused bc isn’t harry the biggest ladies’ man in the industry?? and one day harry asks louis to collab with him and of course louis says yes even tho he’s kinda surprised and harry plays the song for him and louis is completely blown away by how beautiful it is and it’s a love song and he’s like damn whoever this is about is lucky as fuck bc it’s clearly written from personal experience so they spend all this time together recording and it’s super bittersweet bc they click right away and it takes louis about three seconds to realize he has a huge fucking crush on harry but on the other hand harry clearly had someone in mind when he wrote the song so the last day of recording comes and louis’ like “thanks for having me on the song” and harry just shrugs and is like “well it just seemed fitting bc the song is about you”

🌿 Cold As Ice by larryspillows [76k]

Two famous boys, one passion. Two hearts, one home: the ice.

Or, an ice skating ff where the two most famous skaters in the world are forced to skate at the same rink. The only problem: They hate each other. What could go wrong?

🌿 take my hand (and my heart and soul)** by bananasandboots @anylessreal [45k]

The one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

Total Fics Read: 10

** rereads

[hannahwatcheshorror]

SEASON ONE RECAP

e1- Pilot- The brothers are back together because dad is missing. They hunt a Lady in White before Sam's girlfriend Jess gets the Winchester Woman Special. (🔥)

e2- Wendigo- It's Wendigo season at Blackwater Ridge (like it is every 23 years) and the boys need to Winchester Woman Special him good. (🔥)

e3- Dead in the Water- A drowned boy causes trouble for lake town by drowning off family members of the folks who killed him. Dean gets a kid sidekick and a smooch from a MILF!

e4-  Phantom Traveler- Demon on a plane! Dean faces his fear of flying so the boys can face their first demon!

e5- Bloody Mary- Bloody Mary goes after secret murderers before the boys give her a taste of her own medicine! Sam misses Jess.

e6- Skin- A Skinwalker takes on Dean's appearance when Sam goes back to visit some old college friends! Always kill your double!

e7- Hook Man- Preacher's daughter with insane Christian guilt accidently commands a hook-handed spirit to kill. The boys sort it out sorority style.

e8- Bugs- The boys are bugged by insected when some realtors build on cursed land. But they bring a family closer together!

e9- Home- Homeward bound to see their own lady on fire (mama dearest) who saves their hydes from a poltergeist! They just miss papa, John, though.

e10- Asylum- Helpful spirits in an asylum freak everyone out while trying to keep a creepy surgeon's evil spirit at bay. Ends with a call from Dad?

e11- Scarecrow- Super spooky scarecrow is a pagan God killing couples for a good harvest and the town loves it! (Wack) Sam splits off momentarily to find Dad but instead meets Meg (a demon!).

e12- Faith- Rita from Dexter and a Reaper! Oh my! A faith healer is swindled by his own wife in this one and Dean is saved in more ways than one.

e13- Route 666- The boys take care of a racist truck driving spirit in this episode! Dean hooks up with an old girlfriend he used to love.

e14- Nightmare- A telekinetic kills his abusive family then himself as Sammy's premonitions get more intense. Sam also moves something with his mind!

e15- The Benders- Humans kidnap Sam then attempt to hunt the boys for sport when this messed up family crosses paths with our boys.

e16- Shadow- Meg the demon tricks the boys into inviting their father to Daeva country. They agree they ought to split up again for safety and to find the demon that killed their mom and Jess.

e17-  Hell House- A Tibetan thought form, or Tulpa, becomes a problem for the fellas when everyone believes different things about the thing!

e18- Something Wicked- A Shtriga (child eating witch) is terrorizing the kids in a town by playing doctor and Dean goes all super brother!

e19- Provenance- Bust out your best suits, it's auction time when an expensive painting hosts the ghost of a child who keeps killing whoever owns it.

e20- Dead Man’s Blood- Vampires are real and they killed a hunter so now Papa John is back and the boys are so happy! They also get The Colt, a gun that can kill pretty much anything supernatural.

e21- Salvation- The Winchesters have a trace on the demon that killed their mom and Jess but Meg splits them up and makes John go find her while the boys save another family from flames. John is captured in our first to be continued episode!

e22- Devil’s Trap- The boys meet up with Bobby for some help and are able to exorcise Meg back to hell. They also learn how to make demon traps! They find John but he is possessed by the yellow eyed demon (the one who killed their mom and Jess) and the boys face a tough choice but ultimately let the demon go so their dad could live. Ends with a cliffhanger of the Winchesters being hit by a big truck! Dun dun dun!

SEASON TWO RECAP

----------------------HANNAH WATCHES HORROR---------------------

[punkeropercyjackson]

Jason told. Gimme headcanon pls. (Sexuality, gender, the whole shabang)

Jason is a third gen dominican inmigrant on both his parents' sides and Catherine was ethiopian while Willis was congolese.Him being so eager to find his 'real mom' in Ethiopia was motivated by diaspora kid trauma and Los Padres Todd were a mixed bag to refrain the demonization of poor people yet also give a good insight on intergenerational trauma in latino/black/afrolatino families.Jason is darkskinned with 4d textured hair,a big beautiful nose,full lips and fat.Chunky Robin!Jason is so fitting and cute and so is him with natural hair to reference his canon curls and Red Hood!Jason goes through a variety of dread styles with that single white loc eternally there

Jason is transmasc agender and butch.His egg cracked so early he dosen't even remember thinking he was a girl or rather a binary cis girl-He lowkey identifies as partially a girl in a nonbinary/genderqueer kinda way so he loves being called girl-adjacent and hates when he's lumped in with cis men in gender as he feels no connection in traditional maleness.I fw with the 'The Lazarus Pit gave Jason a testosterone boost' theory and it applies to his post-ressurection ego boost too as the gender euphoria kicked in.And killed and maimed and tortured and other kinds of violence.I don't support Jason's wrongs and i'm glad he got over himself and embraced losercore and anarchism.He uses he/they/xe pronouns and Eddie was his first boycrush as he's bidemi so really his childhood boy best friend is the only option(looking at you,'Jason's bi awakening was an older man' crowd......he's not THAT kind of fatherless and your imaginary incestcapades are a sign of your racism issues,not 'daddy' issues).Scruffy Jason is the best Jason

Never beating the triple A i.e audhd, autism and anxiety and cluster b allegations,specifically bpd,npd and bipolar disorder(his ptsd is explicitly implied/shown).His special interests are classical literature,theater,gothic subculture,dogs and video games,neapolitan flavoured things are his main safe food,his emotional regulation problems and nonexistent masking game date back to basically birth,he picks his fits based on a mix of personal style and whichever gives him the best sensory feels,he was bullied at school ever since his school career started and it demotivated him from going to college or taking online classes to catch up on high school even further and he's a multitype otherkin:Ghost,border collie and vampire bat.Almost forgot but he pretty obviously has psychosis and he's been getting called the p slur so long and so often he dosen't even blink but depending on who it is,he might jump whoever is saying it

Hot black anime nerd alert!!He grew up reading the Bleach manga and Ichigo Kurosaki is his ultimate comfort character thanks to how similar they are and he owns a bunch of volumes and merch and his ideal woman is an afrolatina version of Orihime Inoue.Other JT childhood classics include Devilman,Doraemon,Soul Eater,Fullmetal Alchemist,Yu Yu Hakusho and Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann and he vaguely sorta remembers Naruto but tapped out at the Sasunaru fujofest he saw in the fandom due to finding it horribly mid.He dosen't care for shoujo too much except Magical Girls and his favorite MG series is Ojamajo Doremi and he refuses to associate himself with any of the orientalist incel parts of otaku subculture

Duke and Jason are eachother's Robin.Fullstop,no cap,segregators shut your performative asses the fuck up.Jason could never love any nonblack guy as much as he loves Duke and Duke deserved to be as much of a kid as the other Batboys and Robins so he's The Outlaws' Robin and was adopted by Bruce beforehand so he's unambigiously a Batboy too.Duke got a year in as Batman's Robin but got into a disagreement with Bruce that scared him shitless as he thought he was gonna be fired as Robin like Stephanie and his twelve year old orphaned mind couldn't handle it so he ran away in the dead of night with a supersized back of supplies given to him by a certain semi-kryptonian and was found as the sun rose by twenty year old Jason as the opener to Volume Two of Red Hood and The Outlaws,ran from two thousand ten to two thousand twenty.Duke was caring for a family of fat calico cats in an alley he'd snuck into and Jason took him to The Fortress,The Outlaws' base,upon discussing the circumstances with him.Duke quickly intigrated into the team and fit right in,including with the other Kid Outlaws and Jason gave him the nickname Sun Pocket as a pun on his powers and pocketable size.Rhato takes place over three years and the gang disbands not on any beef but simply needing to take different paths to live to the fullest and none of them ever loose contact forever and after sorting some stuff out,they manage to reunite all together bi-monthly.I picture Jason and Duke reuniting when Duke is sixteen a week shy of seventeen and a bit stressed out and Jason's covered in scars inspo'd by Juni Ba's version of him so he holds concerns Duke will be offput by his new apperance or worse not even recognize him but the second he sees him again,his eyes blow open in shock and it wares off in a few seconds as he bolts towards him with a huge smile on his face and a golden opalesent streak behind him and crashes him into a hug while yelling out his name and Jason reflectively opens up his arms to him before he even processes the situation.Duke excitedly introduces Jason to his hero squad aka The Lights and insists they go to Batburger to get Batmeals for old times sake and Jason refuses to let himself do more than tear up over how much he missed him in public to save face but he can tell anyway and feels happy over it

Talia is Jason's adoptive mom,don't @ me with any anti Talia shit or Talia erasure,she's objectively extremely good and deserves better just like Duke and so does Damian.They were intergenerational close friends in his Robin days so in Lost Days,they upgraded to considering one another mother and son and Damian came to be completely consensually with no dubcon retcons and just Brutalia angst ft.Bruce knowing he has a bioson by Talia and not allowed to meet him for the safety's sake and it killing him he couldn't raise his boy yet also feeling grateful he at least got to have one of the best mom's anyone could ever ask for.Jason babysat baby/toddler!Damian and Damian didn't see Jason again until he was ten with him and Duke two years apart in age and hitting it off on first meeting,although for clarification they met when Duke returned to Gotham to attend high school at fifteen and Jason was gone because he was on his Red Hood arc.Since Talia is a palestinian-chinese,her and Jason did and do cultural bonding,sharing and fusion/blending and he calls her Mamí and Duke is on it too as he adresses her as Auntie and views her as a reliable older woman in his life who's not quite a mom but definitely family and them and Damian are the Traffic Light Siblings.Talia also earns Lexcorp into her own hands by turning it into a solarpunk international company and renames it Taliacorp

Bro is ALT alt,not a poser watered down thirst trap.He's a mix of afropunk and afrogoth and dresses and lives accordingly and listens to a wide genre of punk and goth music and adds bits of personalization to everything he owns and makes.He does taxidermy,attends mosh pits and Duke introduced him to them so they're very personal to him,vandalizes public property,hangs out at macabe and creepy places,does corpse paint and elaborate edgy nail art,finds the interplay of blood and romance hot as fuck,is obsessed with indie horror games,hates Hot Topic and wants Tim Burton lynched.He resents the stereotypes about alternative subcultures and debunks misinfo about alts through his actions and teaches about them too whenever prompted

Yes i'm a believer in Jason and Stephanie parallels and found siblings bestieisms but please see the purpose of this isn't to deplore Stephanie's arc,it's to explore a fun and complex platonic m/f relathionship and give Stephanie nice things,okay?Jason's not the woobie Batfanon stans paint him as but he's not a heartless traumaless monster either and there's interesting bits to him and Stephanie that work in both their favors.Once they start interacting by comics standard plots and lighthearted shenanigans,they quite like eachother in a hesistant way due to their many differences but find common grounds enough to form a real bond.Stephanie is black too(jamaican/south korean)so it influences the developments and the final product and Jason got Stephanie's back and Stephanie dosen't coddle Jason and they love Duke so fucking much and share so many black inside jokes and do hair and skincare together and celebrating juneteenth is their version of christmas

Fuck ya 'Wonder Woman fanboy Jason' white feminism,Starfire fanboy Jason is infinitely better in-character🙄 Pre-Robin Jason was an og Kory stan and Robin!Jason damn near fainted in black boy joy overload when he met her in New Teen Titans.Kory found it so endearing and flattering and brought him along on adventures with her and Jason was in the waiting room the day Mar'i was born and sobbed his heart out over his first of many to come precious niece.Kory owns a casette tape Jason made her briefly pre-Ditf and held it as a keepsake of grief until his return and she made him a casette tape too so they'd come full circle

Idc who you ship him with,he's poc4poc and hates men as a social class.Rose and Artemis are god-tier Jason love interests and afrolatino4mestizo Jaykyle is the only valid Jaykyle

And as a little treat,a Jason moodboard coming at you pookie /pos

[kay0783]

✨~~~~Headcannons That Make No Sense~~~✨

The reason why Treasure did not flinch at all when Porter tells them crazy shit like, "I'm a Vampire" or "I'm being asked to kill people by a tyrant King and I am deathly afraid of him" is because they already knew of the magical world before they met him.

Instead of the hc that they were Darlin's underpowered friend that was attacked, it's actually because they had a group of friends that they were really close to who were all empowered. They were were nice, kind, included Treasure in group outings and did not expect them to set aside their feelings and take care of them. They were everything the new group of shitty friends were not.

Their old group of friends went to the stadium where the games were held and ended up being murdered when the inversion happened. After the news broke, Treasure's shitty college friends reached out to make sure they were okay and would invite them out to things to make sure they weren't lonely--only that was a cover for them to have Treasure be their DD and therapist friend. They stayed with that awful group of friends because they had no one else. They just want to feel as if they belong, like they did with the old group.

That's why Treasure deals with Depression and loneliness.

That's why that pile of laundry sits on their bed, getting bigger as time goes by.

[greentrickster]

Transcript: @amourtabb7859 The Vampire trope is always so glaring to me bc it would make perfect sense if they went to college bc u can never really run out of classes to take especially as the centuries go by [crying with laughter emoji]

Oh okay, but that's so true? And they could just hop as many schools as they wanted just... whatever. Can you imagine the hierarchies that would result from all this? Vampires are already categorized as being very clannish, and everything I know about academia tells me that they are somehow even worse than the vampires about all this!

This would also open up the opportunity for a whole range of appearances and types of people these vampires are. There's a whole clan of little old lady vampire academics, another one of grizzled old men academics, along with the usual crop of Hot Young Things who have been Hot Young Things for several hundred years, and everything in between.

Plus, I mean, imagine academic vampires having all these different standards for how they ranked amongst themselves - some sort by how many degrees in general, some only count ones that they got a masters or PhD in, some are trying to get a degree from every Ivy league, some to get a degree in every country, some trying to find the weirdest degrees possible, some want to find the weirdest university possible, some count it by how long you can spend at one university before moving on, others switch as often as possible to see how long they can get their paper trail before they have to switch identities... the potential just goes on and on!

And so, as a result, does the opportunity for drama. As not only have they been debating certain topics for literal centuries, they're debating who has seniority/rank on top of that on top of arguing how seniority/rank works in this environment. You think who has the most powerful clan and territory is hotly debated, you've never seen a debate between two academics about who's got to much seniority to be forced into being a teacher's aid for the third semester in a row!

[theendlessnessofbeingme]

So I’m thinking about Buffy as one does and I was thinking about her romantic relationships within the show and how when we discuss them we do not discuss them within the context of the place. She is in when she is in with in these relationships.

Like with Angel, she’s 16 years old she is in high school. She’s being forced to accept her fate as a vampire slayer as the slayer and she doesn’t want it for the entire like three seasons of her in high school. She does not want to be the slayer now we can say that she does accept it, but it’s not a choice that she wants to make and it’s not a choice that she’s interested in making. It’s a choice she has to make so she makes it. And Buffy Summer has always been the greater and so she will always do what is right for the greater good even if it is at the cost of her own personal happiness or safety. So when she’s in this relationship with angel and I’m gonna include Angelus in the next part. She is in a very high school romance relationship. It’s very overdramatized. It’s very over-the-top. There are a lot of emotions and not a lot of communication going on and while I do find the relationship with Angela, but a few uncomfortable because of the fact that like I believe Angel when he got turned, he was in his 20s so like even if he wasn’t a vampire The relationship would still be uncomfortable and unbalanced. This is first love and with first love, you are putting on rose colored glasses. You do not see the flaws. You do not see the mistakes. You just see somebody who you are so in love with that they can do no wrong. It would have to be something extreme for you to go against them

Onto Angelus he is the break in the rose colored glasses he is what makes you take them off. He’s what makes you realize all this stuff about relationships. And so at this time, Buffy is experiencing both heartbreak from a break up, but also the guilt from what she believes to be her fault that he has turned, but as Giles tells her it’s not her fault like this isn’t on her. Her being physically intimate with someone does not mean that if they turn out to be a bad person because they suddenly got that physical intimacy that’s not her fault. People make their own decisions and we cannot be held accountable for what other people are choosing to do. Also, I think when we’re discussing Spike and Angel, we do need to be discussing them on the equal playing field of both of them with souls and both of them without souls if we’re going to be separating the two we need to actually be separating the difference with soul and soul less.

So after Buffy goes through all of this in her first romantic relationship, her first relationship where she ever got physical, which just ended not in a tragic way, but just ended, and while there was a lot of traumatic and tragic stuff going on through that it still ended on relatively in OK note.

Now let’s get to Riley, which I know it’s so hard to hear that name. She is Buffy‘s first real adult relationship. She’s out of high school. She’s in college and she gets into this adult relationship right after she has been been in this very extremely Romeo and Juliet type of relationship, but also the Parker situation which did also mess her up and definitely like deflated her confidence. And so she gets relationship with Riley and at first she’s just like this is just a normal average human guy who’s very sweet and very nice. And there’s a lot of secrets and a lot of lying and a lot of just miscommunication going on because they are not telling each other the truth and so it’s not like a true relationship at that point. But then when the truth does come out and they decide to keep going with the relationship, they don’t really discuss a lot. Again this relationship does have like a lot of emotions in it, but it doesn’t have a lot of communication they’re not talking. They’re not talking about their problems. They’re not talking about their issues. It’s not healthy communication. And well, it is a very like sexually liberating relationship that doesn’t mean it’s a good one. And so in the end, it all kind of breaks down because what Buffy needs in her life during that moment because her mom is sick and she’s got a sister who’s not really her sister and like the end of the world was coming and she has to fight to God. She needs like an adult man to be an adult with her in an adult relationship and Riley cannot do that because Riley lost purpose and he didn’t try to find a purpose outside of Buffy and when her like responsibility shifted and she had to focus more on her family rather than this romantic relationship. He fell apart because he couldn’t handle not being the center of her world and not being her purpose.

And now we get to spike and the pike relationship has been building up since season three but nothing happened until season six. And Buffy gets into this relationship when she is at her lowest point in life, she has come back from the dead she’s deeply traumatized. She has to deal with debt with raising a sister with becoming a mother. She no longer has the freedom of youth, even though she is young. And so she gets in is very sexually kinky exploratory physical relationship with spike. That she is not allowing emotional connection to happen and she is enjoying herself, but she is hating herself for enjoying herself and so that makes a confusing situation for him as well cause he doesn’t understand that she’s not just like playing a little like back-and-forth game with him. So the relationship falls apart during seeing red, obviously. And there’s a lot of issues with that episode mostly it’s the creator‘s fault. But it also falls apart because they don’t talk. They don’t communicate. They don’t have conversations. They aren’t talking about anything and so while it’s fun and thinking and all of this stuff, they never had a conversation about what and wasn’t acceptable.

And then we finally get into the season seven relationship she has with Spike and at that point Buffy is full an adult. She’s full accepted being the slayer it is not just a responsibility. It is not just for the greater good. She is choosing to do this out of her own accord. And so when her and Spike start seeing each other again like really after he’s no longer just like talking nonsense. And you know she finds out he has a soul. They communicate so much and so well. And well, they never say the word they do have conversations about consent. They have conversations about privacy and well it’s not about sex. It is a conversation about intimacy. They are being more emotionally open and communicative and intimate with each other this season then they were in season six. And we can go into arguments about whether she should’ve forgiven him or not for what happened in season six, but she chooses to move on from it and that is her choice as a character. And at this point, her relationship with Spike is an adult relationship. It’s a fully communicative, healthy adult relationship that isn’t about sex yet, but it is emotionally, mature and healthy.

And that’s particularly why I prefer her relationship with Spike in season seven is because of the fact that it’s a healthy adult relationship that has communication that isn’t about just brushing everything under the rug that isn’t about immediate physical gratification. It shows Buffy‘s growth as a person with her ability to have this very healthy adult relationship 



[whereserpentswalk]

Imagine you're dating a girl whose doomed to become a lich. She's been raised by a mysterious cult to become one, joining a long line of kings and queens before her.

She goes to the same college as you, and has an aparentmemt in the same city as your campus. You see her all the time before you know who she is, in the halls, on the subway heading to school, in that one comic shop only locals know about.

She shows you magic. Shows you things you never knew existed. Vampires, wizards, demons too old to have names, statues who move in the night, gods who sleep on park benches and in studio apartments, temples deep below the earth. She shows you the world of magic before she tells you her place in it.

You're devastated when you learn what she's doomed to become. You can't imagine losing her, the way she laughs, the way she smiles, her warm soft hand agaisnt your breasts, your body agaisnt her's as you fall asleep. You can't help but know that when she was born she was doomed to die, that when her parents held her the first thing they did was hand her off to a cultist to inspect her body for imperfections, that she was born to be killed.

You just want to hug her and kiss her and tell her not to hurt herself. And you tell her you don't want to see her die. She tells you this is the only way for her to love forever. She tells you it'll be fine, though her humanity and soul will be gone she won't need those things anymore. She assures you she'll still look beautiful, that they know how to keep dead bodies pretty years after they die if that's what you're worried about. You tell her you don't want her body to be dead at all.

You don't leave her. Even if you can't protect her you want her to be warm and happy until she's killed and her body is desicrated by undeath. You cuddle with her knowing how cold she'll be soon. You feel her tongue inside you knowing her mouth will by dry and dead someday. You eat with her knowing someday she'll never eat again. When she cries at that movie you both like so much, you'll wonder if she'll feel such things once her soul is destroyed.

On your last day together with her alive she's so very happy while you're so very sad. She pets your head and tells you it'll be ok while you mourn her death. You look oit the window together at the city below her apartment, and you let her sing to you while you cry.

She spends that night on an alter. Sleeping forever and never again the blood draining from her wrists.

When you see her again she's dead yet still walks. There's something rubbery about her body, there's no difference you can clearly point to outside of the wounds on her wrists, but there's something clearly not alive about her. You cry at first but she's happy to see you, she gives you that smile she always gave you, and hugs you, and though her body is so very cold you can feel that she still loves you. You hold her close, and keep her warm. The light from her eyes is gone but it's still the girl you love. You could have hated her new body in that momment, but you don't want to fear her, you want to be with her.