#vampire kisses blood relatives

[louniey]

.🦇💜🖤.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Vampire kisses.”

[blood-sucking-freaks]

I can't tell if I want to be them or be with them

/\ ^·_· ^/\

[astonishingillusion]

[after-witch]

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up. 

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away. 

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs. 

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life. 

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season. 

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner. 

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes. 

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New  York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’ 

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic. 

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces. 

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind,  you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running. 

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep. 

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking. 

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild. 

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way. 

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket. 

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.” 

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right? 

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman. 

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway. 

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he? 

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark. 

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another,  you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week. 

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you. 

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place.  “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.” 

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested. 

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected. 

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe? 

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.” 

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way. 

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story. 

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no. 

So you give it. 

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

--

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes. 

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness. 

Jake Jensen died screaming.

--

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night. 

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.” 

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse. 

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night. 

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too. 

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.” 

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.” 

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place. 

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream. 

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them. 

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger. 

“There--look! Look!” 

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts. 

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.” 

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand. 

Chrollo smiles. 

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do? 

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all. 

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind. 

--

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me? 

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth. 

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

--

Saturday:

Three people are dead. 

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But…  dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd. 

Yet now, in one morning, there are three. 

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad. 

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight. 

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

--

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days. 

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date. 

Fuck. 

“Daydreaming again?” 

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school. 

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?” 

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way. 

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.” 

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news. 

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game. 

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival. 

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes. 

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again. 

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him? 

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose. 

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!” 

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look. 

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit. 

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all. 

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you. 

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights. 

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says. 

--

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay. 

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind. 

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes. 

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you. 

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest. 

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival. 

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening. 

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it? 

You ask him, this time. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

--

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags. 

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water. 

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it.  “The waterfall adds a nice touch.” 

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess. 

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled. 

“It came highly recommended.” 

--

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex. 

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room. 

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand. 

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in  your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note. 

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong.  That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that.  You just know. 

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all. 

--

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused. 

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t). 

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that. 

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural. 

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify. 

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.” 

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you. 

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments. 

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue. 

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game. 

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming. 

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.” 

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.” 

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

--

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all. 

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense. 

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.” 

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken. 

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him. 

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway.  You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway. 

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.” 

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach. 

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd. 

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust. 

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do? 

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving. 

--

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t. 

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms. 

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?” 

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?” 

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police. 

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.” 

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving. 

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic. 

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch. 

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage. 

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve. 

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood. 

That’s not all he hit.  The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies. 

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!” 

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you. 

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?” 

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach. 

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!” 

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there. 

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch. 

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck. 

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires. 

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide.  But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years. 

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you. 

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away. 

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason,  you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway. 

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope. 

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below. 

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways. 

All of them have blood around their mouths. 

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up. 

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now. 

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs. 

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises. 

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow. 

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm. 

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man. 

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment.  Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is: 

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers. 

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material. 

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all. 

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while. 

He’s a vampire. 

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically. 

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy. 

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?” 

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin. 

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.” 

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.” 

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts. 

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest. 

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole. 

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s. 

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.” 

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him? 

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper. 

“Like. Hell.” 

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered. 

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire? 

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground. 

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not. 

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this. 

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once. 

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping. 

“F…fuck you.” 

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood. 

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment. 

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up. 

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them. 

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water. 

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.” 

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick. 

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper. 

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy.  “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous. 

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t. 

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely. 

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes. 

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand.  Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood. 

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too? 

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway? 

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over. 

--

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open. 

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch  and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think. 

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood. 

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run? 

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help. 

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find? 

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry. 

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry. 

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.” 

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--” 

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film. 

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort. 

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?” 

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness. 

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you. 

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down. 

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up,  you find that you simply can’t make your body do it.  You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this. 

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down. 

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world. 

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference. 

[ashdreams2023]

Hi again! I absolutely loveeeeed the Draco Malfoy smut. I kept reading it again and again.

I was wondering if you could make another?

I was thinking of wedding night smut 👀 since I haven’t encountered something about that yet

Alright finally got to this one

Draco Malfoy x fem reader

TW: NSFW 18+

Wedding night

Draco sighed then looked back at the house elves cleaning down the venue you two just held in the house.

It was only family and friends, no extended relatives or unwanted classmates.

"Are you gonna stand there all night or come help your wife out of this puffy mess of a dress" you called out for him from where you stood beside the bed.

Draco chuckled and closed the curtains.

He took his sweet time walking up to you, you looked enchanting in your dress, but it was time to appreciate withs beneath it.

His hands sat comfortably on your hips, his lips kissed yours gently, holding back his hunger for you.

Draco’s hands turned you around, he pulled down on the zipper in the back, your dress fell effortlessly off your shoulders and your entire body was exposed to him.

"No undergarments I see" he mused warping his arms around you and pulling you to be prepared to his body, with one hand warped around your breast and the other holding you by the waist.

"I don’t need them…not tonight at least" you mumbled moving your head to the side to expose your neck to him.

He kissed your soft skin, like a vampire getting ready to feast upon his new victim, tormenting them just enough before lavishing on their blood.

You moaned when his wandering hand touched your core, spreading your lips with his fingers and moving in circled motions.

"Always thinking ahead, one of the many reasons why i married you" he breathed against your neck, sucking on a sweet spot of yours.

Your body reacted by pressing your behind to his clothed crotch, you can feel how hard he is underneath the pieces of fabric.

He groaned and squeezed your breast, assaulting your hard nipples and twisting one between his fingers.

"So…impatient"

"Take…your clothes off…" you breathed, you pushed away from him, as dreadful the feeling of his hands not touching it was only fair, you’re not done conman prostitute and you will not be treated as such.

Draco swallowed as you laid on the bed, the same bed he had jerked off on god knows how many times, fantasizing about having his way with you.

Piece by peace he took off his suit, using magic would’ve been easier but the rush that comes from the wait was addicting and the way your lustful eyes followed his every move drove him mad. 

You bit your lip as he climbed on top of you, he kissed you hungrily, as if you were his last supper, his only and last desirable he had before leaving this earth.

It made your body set on fire, your hands warped around his neck and pressed your chest against his, fire on fire it felt.

Your opened your mouth a little more so he can slide his tongue, his lips were soft as ever, just like many times you’ve kissed him before but tonight he didn’t hold back.

"Fuck me" you gasped when he broke the kiss for air, his pale blue eyes hid behind his locks of messy blond locks, a look you only get to see in private.

"Whatever you say, my beautiful wife" he smirked.

You licked your bottom lip "I like the sound of that"

He chuckled before lifting both your legs and warping around his waist, he licked his twin fingers and pressed them down on quivering core, you were wet already.

Fingers pushed inside of you.

You took a deep breath, your chest rose up and your back arched with need for more.

His finger moved upwards, just for a split second you swore you can just get off on his elegant fingers then he pulled out and angled his cock towards your hole and slid right in.

You moaned loudly, who cares who can hear you, your husband was taking care of you and that’s all it matter at the moment.

Draco move his hips back and forth groaning in pleasure, he gripped your wrists and pinned you down as he bounded into you.

Your breath hitched with each slam, his eyes looked at you with intensely, devouring you both physically and mentally.

"Fuck…you feel so good around my cock" he moaned throwing his head back and changing his speed.

"I’m so…close" you clenched your fists as you felt the orgasm coming in.

"Cum for me…let me see you cum on my cock, come on, it’s all yours" he fastened his movement again, rilling you up and speeding your release.

You screamed as you came on his cock, you body shook as it ride onto your every nerve.

Draco kept moving side of you with a look of absolute bliss, he warped his arms around you and fucked his way to his own orgasm.

Both of you laid breathless afterwards, lips puffy and knowing that by the next morning you’ll be sore in the hip and sleeping in till the afternoon.

The sheets magically changed underneath you and you could feel the remaining mess between your legs has disappeared.

"I can’t believe you charmed the bed to do that…"

"I’m always prepared" he sighed and pulled you close to him, he needed a few before you both can clean up properly later and maybe even have a second round in their huge private bathroom.

You laid your head on his chest, letting his heartbeat calm yours.

"I love you" he said.

"I love you too" you replied.

[kaveehs]

Bite Me — Blade

gn!reader, wc 0.8k, vampire!blade, blood mention, tension between blade and reader, blade’s a sweetie towards the end, headcanons + drabble

synopsis: If Blade was a vampire, what would he be like?

a/n: Bladie’s here!!!!! good luck to everyone pulling, I was so happy when i got him <33 this idea came around the time where i first seen him and was listening to bite me by enhypen

Vampire!blade who has drank the blood of many humans in the past and acquired a taste for a favorite– blood that is both bitter but sweet all at once. He especially loves when it is first bitter, but has a sweet aftertaste. After all, when you become his favorite human subject, he vividly tells you the flavor of your blood.

Vampire!blade who purposefully bares his fangs so deeply into you just to see you writhe and squirm from the pain of his bite, you crumble into his arms so easily and whine with such a sweet voice, how could he not?

Vampire!blade who drinks so much of your blood at once that you get lightheaded and almost faint. He holds you tightly in his arms any time his fangs so much as graze your body because he knows all too well you’ll end up falling into them as your knees get weaker and weaker.

Vampire!blade who will drink your blood even if he’s not low on his blood supply, because he’s so fixated on your taste that he practically craves you. He doesn’t even have to utter a word– you know exactly what he wants from you and he likes it when you don’t put up much of a fight to let him have it.

Vampire!blade who can be a bit mean and direct at times, but he isn’t heartless. He will personally wrap up any part of you he has bitten with bandages, and makes sure to be gentle as he cleans you up. When all is said and done, he treats you so delicately, because he has no true intention of really hurting you.

—

Blade stood ways away from you, red eyes filled with a look of insatiable hunger. You knew exactly what this meant– exactly what he wanted from you. Only just recovering from the last time he drank your blood, you found yourself backed up to a wall as he slowly approached you, eyes completely unmoving from your neck.

You uttered his name weakly as he reached you, grabbing hold of your face. “I don’t know how much more I can take. I felt dizzy the last time you—”

Your breath hitched as Blade leaned in, making room for himself by tilting your face away from his own. His hand engulfed your jaw with a powerful grip, one you know you wouldn’t be able to escape from.

“Just don’t make it messy,” you swallowed and shut your eyes as you anticipated his bite. The warmth of his breath made you more and more attentive to him, as his other hand held you still by your waist. You grabbed hold of a bunch of his hair and clothing as his mouth inched closer and closer to your neck– but he hesitated. For what felt like an eternity, he stood idle, lips only a slight movement away from your neck. When they finally made contact, it was in the form of a gentle kiss– a location that he had previously bit that hadn’t fully healed.

As he pulled away, his eyes met yours before he moved to the other side of your neck. “Stay still this time,” he simply said as he tilted your head back all over again. His fangs bore into your neck without much of a warning, other than the friction of his tongue momentarily grazing the spot he intended to bite. The pain made you wince, both your grips on each other only tightened as he drained you of blood. Blade was relatively quiet as he drank, opposed to you who had heavy and staggered breaths.

When he was finished, he made sure to clean up any blood that had spilled. After he pulled away, you took notice of the blood that dripped down from the corners of his lips to his chin. You watched wordlessly as he used his thumb to clean it off.

“Blade,” you started, catching his attention. “What does blood… taste like?” His eyes softened at the sound of your voice, though his previous expression did not waiver.

“Everyone’s blood tastes different,” he answered, picking up the gauze he had set aside for after he was finished getting his fix. You leaned your head back, allowing him to carefully wrap your neck.

He had always made sure to be gentle when he wrapped your wounds, similarly to when you would take care of his own. “Why do you drink my blood so often?” He could tell it was an innocent question, your voice was filled with genuine curiosity.

He tied off the gauze just enough to where the pressure wouldn’t be painful for you. When he was done, two of his fingers trailed over his now covered bite markings. 

“The taste of your blood is my favorite.”

[marvelmusing]

Love Bites

Pairing: Vampire!Aleksander Morozova x Human!Fem!Reader

Summary: For Aleksander’s birthday, you intend on giving him something particularly special - your humanity.

Warnings [18+]: smut, oral (fem receiving), blood, mild references to death, pseudo death, typical vampire themes, blood consumption, somnophilia (not explicit), hint of dub con (consent isn’t explicitly stated but it’s always there), it wasn’t wholly intentional but Aleksander gives off daddy vibes (once again)

A/N: I’ve pictured this as part of my Blood Is Thicker AU, but it can definitely be read as a stand-alone

My Masterlist

“Sasha?”

Aleksander lifts his head up, a tiny frown of concern creasing between his brows as he moves his attention away from where he’s been fussing with the collection of cushions surrounding the two of you on his bed.

“Hm?”

As always, the feeling of his deep brown eyes on you has warmth seeping into your chest, a smile blooming over your face. Heat simmers beneath your cheeks as you admit quietly,

“I love you.”

He smiles softly.

“I love you too.” Then his expression shutters slightly, the concern returning. “You still want this, don’t you? Because if you don’t, please tell me. I would never want to force you into anything - especially not this.”

His tone is serious and you believe every word.

“I want this. I want you, forever.”

A distance enters his eyes as he looks down at the space between you both.

“Forever is a long time.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand, curling your fingers around his for a gentle squeeze.

“I want you, for as long as you want me.”

His smile returns as he leans forwards, hooking a hand beneath your jaw as he moves to kiss you.

“Forever it is, then.”

That has your smile widening against his mouth. When Aleksander breaks the kiss, he presses his forehead against yours, nuzzling your noses together affectionately. Despite his tender touches, he still seems somewhat tense.

“Even still,” he adds. “It doesn’t have to be tonight - if you’re not ready. I would never be disappointed in you.”

“I know, Sasha.” Fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, you frown as you attempt to explain how you’re feeling. “But it’s your birthday - and I know it might sound silly…” Your voice begins to trail off into something quiet and bashful as you lower your gaze. “But I want us to have the same birthday.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches, flexing as he clenches his teeth together to restrain the intrinsic urge to bite, especially at the thought of turning you - ridding you of your humanity - on his birthday. Gaining you as his eternal life partner, a little fledgling of his own, is one of the best gifts he could have hoped to attain.

“It will hurt.”

“I know,” you whisper.

Aleksander has already explained the turning process to you, countless times during your relationship. The discussions had become more lengthy and detailed when you had expressed your desire to be turned by him.

“The femoral artery will ensure you lose enough blood relatively quickly.”

He traces his fingertip along the length of your bare thigh, revealed due to the short skirt of your nightdress, hemmed in white lace for a little touch of innocence.

“A bite to each thigh should suffice.” His fingers dance up your body, the barest hint of a caress as he makes his way up to your neck. “Perhaps one at your throat, for good measure.”

The next breath that leaves you shakes as you exhale. Aleksander tilts his head aside.

“It’s alright to be scared.” You nod weakly. “I have absolute faith in your ability to handle this.”

Swallowing hard, your breathing catches as if you’re about to cry.

“I’m going to miss you, Sasha.”

Aleksander’s expression crumbles slightly and he pulls you into his arms, holding you safe against his chest.

“You won’t be gone for long, I promise,” he vows, his lips brushing over the crown of your head. There’s a pause before he adds slowly, “But I will miss you too, my sweet girl.”

He ducks his head down, kissing you leisurely. There’s a spark of arousal flickering to life inside you as his hands begin to wander, cupping and squeezing at the places that make you squirm. His mouth moves slowly, determined against yours as he begins to guide you backwards into the mound of cushions he has been crafting all evening.

“I know you’re scared,” he coos gently between kisses. “But I need you to relax. Need you to be warm and comfortable. Do you think you can do that for me?” A small whimper escapes your lips, though you manage to nod. He smiles. “Of course you can, my brave girl. Such a good girl.”

His hands ease the tension from your body, working against the stiff muscles and smoothing over whatever bare skin he can find.

“My beautiful girl.” He grasps at your breasts and you arch into his touch as his mouth moves down your body. He squeezes your nipples over the soft silk fabric of your nightdress, before his hands slide over your figure. “Are you going to let me kiss my favourite part of you?”

His gaze is heated as he stares down at where your nightdress has ridden up, exposing your bare lower half. Arousal is coating the flushed lips of your cunt, smearing over the sheets beneath you.

“Sasha,” you whine, writhing. He smiles, seemingly unaffected by your needy state.

“Hm, you’re right, milaya. I do have more than one favourite part of you.” He lifts his face away from your cunt, making you whimper with a pout. He grins, sharp teeth flashing. “Perhaps I should give my attention to every inch of you.”

Filled with need, you shake your head which has a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No?” he asks playfully. “Where would you like my attention, milaya?”

“My cunt,” you mumble quietly.

Affection swims in Aleksander’s eyes as he looks at you with a fond smile.

“Where?” he repeats, encouraging you - as always - to voice your needs clearly to him. Heat burns over your cheeks in a blush that he will be able to smell as it spreads down your neck.

“Can you lick my cunt, Aleksander, please?”

His smile widens. There is nothing in this world that he would be able to deny you.

He licks and sucks with a familiarity that has you sinking into the mattress as bliss soaks your muscles, drawing moans from your lips as you hold onto Aleksander’s hair. His tongue curls inside you, pressing against your quivering walls as his nose rubs at your sensitive clit.

Breathless, you writhe and rock your hips forwards against his face, eager to continue feeling his tongue lapping at your cunt. Pleasure climbs in your stomach, drawing you closer and closer to your peak. Aleksander’s mouth is covered in your arousal when he finally lifts his head to say,

“When you hit your climax, I’m going to bite you.”

Whilst you know he’s warning you of the upcoming pain, your cunt clenches desperately at the thought of being bitten - of being claimed by Aleksander so completely. A constant spiel of his name falls from your lips as you tighten your grip on his hair.

Tumbling into your orgasm, you barely even notice Aleksander has bitten you through the throes of pleasure overtaking your body. Then he retracts his fangs from your skin, deeper than any bite you’ve experienced before, and the cool air meets your open wound.

The ache is fierce, unlike any pain you’ve ever felt in your life. Violent pins and needles prickle over your calf and foot, while your thigh aches down to the bone. Every minute movement has pain thrumming through your body, drawing small groans and cries from you. Tears spill over your cheeks, dropping down onto the bedsheets that are now becoming stained with your blood. Aleksander hushes you gently.

“Don’t move, sweet girl.” A sob heaves at your shoulders and his expression shatters. “I know it hurts. Be a good girl and stay still for me while I bite the other thigh.”

With one hand, he holds your unbitten thigh in place, whilst the other rubs tight circles over your clit. Unable to move, you whimper and cry as the pleasure mingles with your pain. When his fangs break the skin once more, you all but scream and the world goes splotchy. Unsure of everything, you think you might have climaxed again. Everything is shaky and disjointed.

Every few beats, your heart forgets itself, halting in the rhythm it has maintained since before you were born. There’s a numbness in your toes and your fingers, a heaviness weighing on your limbs. A weak whisper of Aleksander’s name is all you can muster to convey the spark of fear in your chest.

“It’s alright, sweet girl. It’s almost over.” He breathes out a fond laugh as he looks over your body. “Of course, you still have some fight left in you.” He kisses your cold cheek, smearing the tearstained skin with blood. “Stop fighting, milaya. Give up and let me make you mine for eternity.”

His words are honey in your ears, soft and sticky against your aching, exhausted body. He kisses along your throat, listening to your slowing heartbeat. As your vision swims, you can almost see yourself spread out over Aleksander’s bed - a mess of blood and arousal and tears covering your body.

The last thing you feel is the snapping of your carotid artery, breaking under the pressure of Aleksander’s fangs. Pain shoots up into your head and ricochets down your spine, like two ends of an elastic band springing away from each other. Then everything goes dark with a frightening intensity.

»»---------------------►

The only thing you’re aware of is your discomfort, though whatever ails you is quickly tended to. A cool cloth pressed to your forehead when you grow hot. Blankets tucked up to your chin when your body shudders from the cold. A soothing hand stroking your head when it aches. Arms snake around your waist when your stomach cramps fiercely.

When your throat becomes frightfully dry - enough that you wheeze and cough - hot liquids are pressed against your lips and you drink eagerly. When you reach between your thighs to alleviate the ache of your dripping cunt, a hand pulls yours away and replaces your little fingers with two long digits that stretch you open so deliciously that you fall back asleep with them inside you.

Moments of lucidity arise. A soothing voice. Aleksander? Hands that feed you, bathe you. Teeth aching for something you can’t name. Settling your head in someone’s lap. Gentle strokes of a hairbrush. Suckling on his fingers as you fall back asleep.

Then one day you wake up. Alone.

Blinking the dryness from your eyes, you sit up slowly, trying to reorientate yourself amongst the unfamiliar bedsheets. The duvet covering you is thick and cosy. The pillows behind you have been fluffed to perfection. There’s the lingering scent of Aleksander’s cologne and you pick up one of the pillows, clutching it to your chest as you breathe in.

The sound of footsteps has your attention zeroing in on the door to your right. A key slots smoothly into the lock, tiny mechanics moving into place as the door is opened. Aleksander stands in the doorway with a soft smile on his face and a glass of blood in his hand.

“You’re awake.”

You nod tentatively as he approaches.

He sits down beside you; instantly you collapse into him. Aleksander catches you easily, curling his arms around you to cradle you against his chest. The scent of him is stronger at the hollow of his throat and a soft whine escapes you after inhaling a deep breath of him. Nuzzling into his body, you attempt to bury yourself in his arms, perhaps hoping to meld the two of you together permanently.

He kisses the top of your head and you feel his shoulders loosen with the strength of his sigh. Without thinking, you stretch out towards his glass, which he moves smoothly out of your reach.

“Sasha,” you whimper defeatedly. He hushes you with a kiss to your forehead.

“Your stomach can’t handle human blood types yet. It’s best to feed from your sire.”

Ignoring how your stomach flips at the sound of Aleksander referring to himself as your sire, you pout and continue to gesture weakly for the glass.

“But it smells good.”

“As it should.” He swills the liquid around in his glass, swirling enticingly as he inhales the scent. “This is a vintage. 1536.” He turns his attention back to you, smiling indulgently. “Far too strong for a little fledgling.”

“But Sasha, I feel much better.”

He regards you carefully.

“You do?”

You nod. With a small sigh, he relents.

“One sip,” he says sternly. “And only one.”

He grips the back of your head, holding you rigidly in place as he lowers the rim of the glass to your mouth for a sip. The moment the blood touches your lips, you understand what Aleksander means. The richness is cloying on your tongue, heavy as it moves down your throat into your stomach.

Nevertheless, you instinctively attempt to follow the glass when he withdraws it.

“Not yet, milaya.”

“I’ve been turned for a little while, haven’t I?”

He nods.

“Just over a month.” At that, your eyes widen. Has it really been that long? “But fledglings tend to feed from their sires for the first ten to twenty years - sometimes even longer.”

Pouting, your cross your arms.

“I’m not a baby.”

He laughs softly.

“Yes you are. Are you forgetting how much older I am compared to you?” His expression turns teasing. “Or do you just like being reminded of it?”

Placing the glass down, out of your reach, Aleksander loosens his hold on you, stroking his hand down the back of your neck, tracing down your spine. His eyes assess every inch of you intently, pushing the covers back to examine the fading bruises on your thighs.

“Does anything hurt?” he asks.

It takes a long moment for you to reconnect with your body well enough to understand his question. It’s often dizzying - how quickly he shifts from teasing to doting.

“My teeth ache a little.”

He tilts your head back, one hand holding onto your chin as he gestures towards your mouth.

“Open.”

His hand guides your head back even further, showcasing the top row of your teeth to him. He examines your teeth, pressing the pad of his fingertip against each of your canines.

“Your human teeth are coming loose. It shouldn’t be long before your fangs settle in.”

He retracts his hand from your mouth the moment you wince.

“For now, we’ll continue cleaning your teeth with the soft brushes and-” He cups your jaw on both sides, thumbs stroking just beneath your cheekbones, before he rubs soothing circles over your cupid’s bow. “-give your cheeks a little massage twice a day… just like that.”

You melt beneath his touch.

“Is that better, milaya?” he coos. Eyes fluttering closed as the pain eases, you nod. He smiles indulgently, a pleased twinkle sparkling in his eyes at the thought of being able to spoil you again now that you’re awake. “Will some ice cream make it even better?”

“Ice cream?” you repeat, a childlike hope clinging to your words. A yawn interrupts whatever question was going to follow. Aleksander chuckles.

“Tired, milaya?”

You nod sleepily, eyes growing heavy.

“How about a little nap before your treat?” he suggests. Another sleepy nod from you and he breathes out a soft laugh as he tucks you against his chest. His praise is murmured into your cheek as he kisses it, guiding the two of you down onto the mattress. “You’ve been doing so well.”

Blinking dazedly at him, you struggle to recollect the last few days - the last month - that you’ve spent in this room. Exhaustion hangs heavily over you, attempting to drag you back to sleep.

“I have?” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

He hums in approval, tucking the covers protectively over your body.

“I’m very proud of you.”

A small hum of acknowledgment warms in your throat as you nuzzle your face into his chest.

“Thank you, Sasha.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there for a long moment as he breathes in the scent of your body, feeling the texture of your hair against his face. He listens intently to the sound of your heartbeat, now fully revived by the venom in his blood. He counts each breath you take, until they even out as you sink into slumber.

He kisses your forehead again, watching your lips lift into a small smile as you sleep.

“Thank you, my sweet girl.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

[crystaljellie]

I’m doing it I’m yapping.

Okay so my life series fantasy AU

Basically Joel and Jimmy were isekai’d into this fantasy world. Everyone else is already part of the world. Jimmy basically wake up with Grian standing over him (Grian is a parrot Avian in this as per usual) and Jimmy totally freaks out.

And all I know from there is that Jimmy and Grian overthrow Ren and Joel heads to the feywilds and meets Lizzie. Oh and flower husbands meet and kiss by a lake, I’m sure there will be angst I’m getting there

So now actually about the guys

Bdubs

Moss spirit

He lives in the forest and loves to cause chaos

But also he helps people get in an out of his forest because it’s dangerous at night

Being a moss spirit Bdubs body is basically just made up of moss

Bdubs and Grian have issues, and when I say issues Grian causes problems and Bdubs has to deal with the aftermath

BigB

BigB is a fae who lives outside of the fae wilds

He has a bakery in the main city of the kingdom Ren and Martyn rule

He frequently speaks to the royal order something something maybe suspicious things

He’s best friends with Tango who he met through Skizz

Etho

He’s an Arctic fox

He lives in the ice realms which are relatively near the southern realms which is where the kingdom is

Jimmy breaks into his house by accident at some point and Etho just is like

‘This guy is my kid now’

Jimmy has no idea how to escape forcibly assigned son

Scar

A desert elf (desert duo ref)

Scar used to live in the kingdom before moving to the desert realms with Grian (they’re boyfriends)

Scar is a falcon tamer, usually he just tames regular falcons but was called into the city square to deal with a particularly pesky boy which is how he meet Grian

He also still has a wheelchair but it has like magic powers, Scar used his desert elf powers to make it so his wheelchair can drive across sand.

Grian

A Parrot Avian

HE CAUSES PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE

He has little bird legs and he likes to fly onto Scars falcon brace

And he takes shiny things from shops in the kingdom

He’s the one who recommended Scar go back to the desert

Impulse

A Sun Imp

There are lots of different types of Imp’s

Depends which realm they were born it

Impulse was born in the sun realm

Martyn

He’s a wood elf

And he and Ren have issues

Ren and Martyn learn to stop tyrannic ruling

I’m gonna get the watchers involved somehow

He’s being given instructions and visions

He tries to follow them but it only leads to dead ends

Or death

Lizzie

She’s a Fae

And the High Queen of the fae

So she lives in the feywilds

Do her people lowkey kidnap Joel?

Yes but that’s a separate issue

Mumbo

He’s a vampire :3

But instead of drinking your blood he’s more like

Sunburns…

And can’t enter a building without permission

Sometimes you’ll just see Mumbo walking around with an umbrella

Everyone knows he’s a vampire

Sometimes they offer him blood he always says no though he thinks it’s rude of him

Skizz

Skizz is an angel

But he’s also the most unlucky person in the world

He was the first person to buy from Tangos shop and they became good friends because of that

Skizz is aware of the watchers due to his angel origins

Scott

Scott is actually a star born

But he disguises himself as a Sea elf

He lives in solitude behind a waterfall in a flower meadow

He has long elf ears and coral in his hair that looks like it’s arranged slightly like a flower crown

Starborns have the ability to take the magical abilities of their surroundings or their friends, so Scott has magical powers relating to water and flowers, but this can change based on his surroundings in which he can gain additional powers (Water and Flower related powers will not change because he’s lived in the meadow for so long)

Something with him and Acho (his brother) having an argument, causing them to split from each other and adorn disguises heading down to the over realm

Scott has spoken to the royal counsel before but they do not like each other which is why he did not choose to live in the city, He is courteous with them but only really visits the city to speak with Impulse who he made friends with while living in the city.

Starborns being a rarer and more hunted but also very powerful species and kept track of by the royal order so he was mainly there to fill out paperwork

Tango

Tango is a fireborn

Fireborn do not have parents they spawn from fire and are only found in the Nether realms (Not to be confused for the Nether World) At the age of 16 Fireborn creatures will leave the Nether realms to find a home for themselves. The only fireborn who reside pass the age of sixteen are those who are unable to leave or caretakers of fireborn young.

So when Tango was 16 he left to the southern arms to set up a mechanics shop

When Tango gets angry his fire hair goes blue

Tango also had a mechanical arm :3

Pearl

Pearl is a lunar moth

She and Grian are siblings

They cause problems together I love them

I sadly don’t have much for anyone else right now :(

I’m working on it, but they’re my sillies and I can’t wait to make this a fic it’ll be so fun

[archangeldyke-all]

HIIIIIII !! just thought of something else for sevika and vampire reader AHFBAFAFLS

since vampires and humans are quite obviously different, how would sevika react if the reader were to study her and how would the relationship be because of the different characteristics that vampires (nocturnal) and humans have?

black reader if possible pleasee <33 i love how you wrote it last time!

oh cute cute cute cute!

same disclaimer as last time, just incase this gets a new reader: i'm white! so i'll try to make it an obviously black reader, but if i get anything wrong lmk and i'll be happy to change it!

men and minors dni

the first time she wakes up to you watching her, she freaks out.

"what the fuck are you doing?" she asks. you shrug.

"watching you sleep."

"...why?" she asks, slowly sitting back down from where she snapped out of bed at the sight of you hovering two inches above her body, lovingly looking down at her.

you shrug again. "i like watching you. you're pretty." you say. she blushes a bit, and you grin, and she shakes her head.

"go to sleep." she grumbles, pulling you down to the bed, wrapping her arms around you. you laugh.

"i don't really sleep." you say. "just kinda close my eyes and wait for a while."

sevika pouts. "doesn't that get boring?" she asks. you shrug again.

"not when i can watch you." you say. she groans and you kiss her nose. "go back to sleep. i'll keep watch." you say with a wink. sevika scoffs.

sometimes, sevika will try to bring you home 'dinner.'

it's just road kill she grabs by the tail, smacking it on the counter with a grin as she presents it to you.

you don't have the heart to tell her that the blood you drink has to come from a relatively fresh kill. you just smile, kiss her, throw out the poor animal, and disinfect the counter for her.

i think sevika would generally keep the same hours as you, actually. she's probably pretty busy at nights, since that's when the last drop is open, so that's when she's working. it's kinda nice, because on the rare day that the sun aligns so it actually streams down into the depths of the undercity, you have to stay in the apartment, and sevika's always there to entertain you.

she'd be shocked to find out that garlic doesn't bother you.

"you're fucking kidding me!" she groans. you chuckle.

"why are you so upset?"

"i've been avoiding eating garlic for months for you!" she says. you burst into laughter. "do you know how fucking bland my food's been?" she asks. you just giggle and pull her in for a kiss.

"you're cute."

one night, as you're finishing up your skincare routine, lotioning your legs, sevika hums from where she lays in bed. you look over your shoulder at her.

"what?"

"i thought vampires were supposed to be all... pale and gray." she says. "how're you still so bronze and glowy?" she asks.

you burst into laughter and tackle her to the bed.

"that's just a stupid myth." you say. "we all keep the same skin tone we had when we changed."

"oh." she says, slightly embarrassed, blushing again. you pepper her face with kisses, laughing at the way she cringes.

sevika's kinda obsessed with your fangs. you'll catch her staring, a sparkle in her eye, and each time you do, her shoulders shoot up to her ears and she blushes as she looks away.

one day, you come home with just a bit of blood on your chin. sevika wipes it off for you, gasping when you lick it off her thumb. you blink up at her, and she gulps.

"is it... does it..." she tries. you're patient as you wait for her to gather her words. "i read once that s-sometimes... vampire feeding can feel good for the victim?" she asks. you grin.

"sometimes." you say, nodding. "if i want it to. i can inject a bit of... i dunno venom? into their bloodstream. makes 'em all hazy-- it's meant to be so they don't struggle, but a lot of people really like it." you say, giddy at the way sevika's eyes grow wider and wider with each of your words. she gulps.

"is that... i mean... do you ever think about...--"

"about drinking your blood?" you ask. sevika blinks. "all the time. you smell fucking divine, and i already know you taste good." you say, trailing a finger down to flick at her pants' button. "i'm sure your blood would be delicious." sevika's heart is beating so fast you worry she'll pass out. you just laugh and press a kiss to her cheek. "but i don't want to do that to you yet." you say.

"wha--why?" sevika pouts. you laugh.

"'cause i like you. don't want you with me just because you're addicted to the feeling, want you with me because you wanna be with me." you say, shrugging. sevika melts a bit.

"but you... you already know i'm in love with you." she mumbles. you blink.

"you are?" you ask. sevika blinks up at you, a shocked look on her face.

"you didn't know?"

"n-no!" you say. "you never told me that!"

"i thought you could read minds!" she says. you laugh.

"where the hell'd you get that?"

"my books!" she cries, a blush creeping up her cheeks. you grin.

"you need some better books, babe." you say, swooping forward to kiss her cheek. she sighs in embarrassment.

"i love you too." you whisper against her cheek. "though you probably already figured that out from the stalking and love letters and stuff." you say, chuckling. sevika smiles.

"i hoped so, yeah." she says. you laugh. "so does this mean you'll bite me?" she asks. you laugh again.

"not today." you say. "i wanna make sure it's perfect. gotta make sure i won't take it too far, either. we should probably start with, like, slicing your palm, before i drink from your arteries. i get a bit... primal, when i'm feeding." you say. sevika just shivers at the description.

"fuck." she mumbles. you grin and kiss her again, biting her lower lip between your teeth. she shudders as you tease your fangs against the flesh.

"but someday." you promise her. she gulps and nods.

"someday." she agrees.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[atrueneutral]

Can I ask for Raphael or Haarlep having a 'Wait, why am I jealous?' realization of their romantic feelings for Tav? (For the record, Tav is interested in him, too)

Because I think romantic feelings for Raphael need a little more foundation, I leaned into the development of his jealousy. I hope you like it regardless!

---

When it came to provoking ambition, nothing could compare to jealousy.

The first time Raphael saw the pair together was when he introduced himself to the adventuring party on the bridge outside Moonhaven.

It was fresh back then, the relationship between his mouse and the vampire spawn - budding in the sense that they had only recently met and were learning how to navigate each other’s nature.

With his mouse being the designated leader, the vampire spawn and the two others stayed some feet behind with their hackles raised. He had seen it in the pale-elf’s red eyes; there was no love in that gaze - not yet. Similar to him, the spawn was calculating how best to weasel his way into the mouse’s good graces - learn what she valued and become that value.

When Raphael next met them at Last Light Inn, his mouse valued the spawn, and, judging by the warmth that had settled in those red eyes, the spawn had come to value her as well. The companions standing in her bubble were relatively relaxed and composed (as much as they could be when tadpoled and in the presence of a devil playing lanceboard), and the spawn was close enough to the mouse to grab her hand if need be.

Their relationship was blossoming, but was no cause of concern for him… or so he had thought.

Outside of the Temple of Shar, it started to become irritating that the pale-faced, ‘charming’ vampire spawn was always at the mouse’s side. Raphael did well in not letting his irritation show, and he superbly performed his practiced poem to the audience. They were then given a suggested directive regarding the orthon, and he sweetened the pot with an offer to help Astarion in learning the significance of his scarred back.

An offer he would regret.

True to his word, with Yurgir taken care of and back in his House of Hope, Raphael had materialized on the edge of his mouse’s camp, and that’s when he saw it - sickening, romantic gestures that boiled his heated blood. Embracing outside the spawn’s tent, his mouse playfully mussed the spawn’s hair before planting a brief kiss on that roguish mouth. Before she could remove herself from him fully, the spawn pulled her back in and deepened the kiss, cutting off her melodic laughter…

A kiss that Raphael swiftly interrupted, to his gratification and to his mouse’s embarrassment.

Love had bloomed between the duo - and it was then and there when the devil conspired to one day weed it out.

Presently, Astarion was at the appointment in his Devil’s Den because of course he was. Ideally, his mouse would have arrived alone, but her companions had grown too fond of her - too protective to let that happen…

But, unexpected and delightful developments had arisen! Curiously, as they stood gathered in his suite listening to him recite a most appealing offer, in the depths of the vampire spawn’s protective, red gaze was jealousy.

Oh, the restraint Raphael needed to not grin and gloat in the moment of realization that Astarion was jealous - because of him! Of how his mouse was enamored by him - mischief and desire alight in her alluring blown-wide eyes as he ingratiated himself to their hope of survival.

How had he not noticed his mouse’s interest before? Had it always been there but he concentrated too much on other things? It mattered not; he was now made perfectly aware, and he would set into motion his scheme! He would rip the root of the flower from the dirt! He would see to it that their love withered and died!

Once the mess involving illithids passed, once he had the Crown (she will sign!), his mouse will belong to him, and him alone!

His mouse!

His!

[cherrycheolcoups]

seventeen fic recs - werewolf au [hyung line]

started: 05/14/23

updated: 05/15/23

doing these by aus first lol. link to my overall fic recs masterlist here: unavailable for now. working on posting the masterlist

BY MEMBER:

choi seungcheol:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | cheol's series: chains

pairing: werewolf!seungcheol x human!reader | summary: according to what he has heard from previous alphas before him, leaders should be strong, initiative, confident and not back down from whatever it is they are being challenged with. he also knew that when it comes to you, he suddenly feels as though he is chained up and being tortured due to the fact that you wanted to deny him as your mate; but why? | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. cheol's is titled chains

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | cheol's series: alpha, alpha part 2, alpha part 3

pairing: werewolf!seungcheol x human!reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, college au, fluff, angst, mild violence but like super mild | word count: 4,999 | summary: seungcheol's pack doesn't always fight with each other, but when they do, they make sure to blow every possible secret they can in the process. well, except for the fact that you're supposed to be his mate. he has to figure that one out on his own.

spotlight by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!seungcheol x human!reader | genre: fluff | warning: none | word count: 2,219

huff, puff by @thepixelelf

pairing: human!reader x werewolf!seungcheol (hints of reader & vampire!jeonghan) | word count: 1.1k | warnings: descriptions of blood, a bullet wound, and injury. kissing. implied desire to go further but it doesn't happen lol | synopsis: when an injured vampire shows up at your door, you're of course there to help. but your werewolf partner is more than a little wary of this vampire's intentions.

tales from the pack series by @gamerwoo | cheol's series: stubborn

pairing: werewolf!seungcheol x human!reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, kinda thief au, fantasy, angst, slightly fluffy??, drugging but it's not in an evil context i promise | word count: 2,281 [this count is for the first fic] | summary: you've heard the stories your relatives told you about werewolves when you were younger, but you always thought it was just a scare tactic to make kids behave. well, up until you woke up in a den full of werewolves

untitled fic by @97-liners | cont.: here

pairing: werewolf!seungcheol x vampire!reader | word count: 1k | just domestic fluff

yoon jeonghan:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | jeonghan's series: palace

pairing: werewolf!jeonghan x alpha werewolf!reader | summary: jeonghan felt the pull that you were alluring out into the atmosphere as you had found out about vernon and his mate's meetups. he didn't expect for his mate to be an alpha whatsoever, but he knew that if you also found out about your mate bond with him, you wouldn't be so happy either as you had to decide whether you wanted to keep your throne or be with your mate | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. han's is titled palace

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | han's series: rare, rare part 2, rare part 3

pairing: werewolf!jeonghan x human!reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, college au, some angst, fluff at the end, a little crack, smut (oral, fem receiving), unprotected sex, choking, begging, dom!jeonghan | summary: jeonghan hates studying. he hates class, and he hates college. he doesn't understand why he even thought it was a good idea to enroll four years ago. but then he met you, and while you were cold to him at first, it only took a few days without you for him to realize why

night life by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!jeonghan x human!reader | genre: fluff | warning: set in a nightclub | word count: 1,221

hong jisoo:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | shua's series: broken hearts

pairing: werewolf!joshua x human!reader | summary: after years of being in relationships that he knew weren't right, joshua already gave up on the idea of finding his mate, until you came along. his ideas of finding his mate made him feel even worse as he came to learn that you and him were merely doing the same thing to fill the void of the broken hearts you each had. however, the question unknowingly lingered between you both as you thought, what made the other like this? | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. shua's is titled broken hearts

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | shua's series: two timing, two timing part 2

pairing: werewolf!joshua x human!reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, fluff, crack, slight angst but u gotta squint to even notice it | summary: you loved being with josh; you loved everything about josh, actually. you had a few minor bumps to work out - and one big one - but sometimes, it was nice to just ignore everything and be together for a while

the healing place by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!joshua x human!reader | genre: fluff | warnings: this whole story takes place in a hospital, mentions of falling, concussions, blood tests and blood | word count: 1,536

tales from the pack series by @gamerwoo | shua's series: second chance

pairing: werewolf!joshua x werecoyote!reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, possible character death, a little bit of fluff but it's like angsty fluff | summary: after his mate died, joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. however, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that's quite the opposite of him. he insists he doesn't want a new mate - nobody's even sure if he's ready for a new one - but he can't ignore his instincts.

wen junhui:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | jun's series: attractions

pairing: werewolf!junhui x female reader | summary: there was something suspicious that was in junhui's mind when he found you as he was merely grocery shopping in the city. although you seemed as though you were innocent and kind, there was an instinct inside of him that was telling signs of a duality you might hold, and he was ready to figure out what that feeling was as he wanted to know you more. | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. jun's is titled attractions

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | jun's series: hate me not, hate me not part 2, hate me not part 3 | china line's: ours, ours part 2, ours part 3

pairing: werewolf!junhui x female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff and some crack at the end, smut, angry/jealous sex, dom!jun, unprotected sex, a lil overstim | summary: jun had imprinted a while ago, but he just never told anybody and kept his distance. you were a seemingly quiet girl who only ever studied in the library on campus, but junhui still constantly went out of his way to impress you whenever he saw you. he just didn't know that his actions were doing the opposite of what he intended

a little bit personal by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!jun x female reader | genre: fluff with a lili-speck of angst | warnings: none | word count: 2,409

kwon soonyoung:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | hoshi's series: inflamed

pairing: werewolf!soonyoung x female reader | summary: the both of you were almost the same individual, if you were put in rooms that were conjoined to one another; except the only conflict was that you both resented each other because of the past that you both shared. attempting to avoid your mating bond was almost impossible, up to the point where their passions of annoying the other was much more enjoyable. | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. hoshi's is titled inflamed

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | hoshi's series: two is better than one, two is better than one part 2

pairing: werewolf!soonyoung x female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, a lot of crack in the beginning, fluff, angst but it ends fluffy i promise, beastiality jokes because soonyoung pretends to imprint on a chicken | summary: all soonyoung wants is to find his mate, but he's starting to lose hope. it feels like all of his brothers are imprinting, and he's left alone and feeling an emptiness he can't shake no matter how much love he's surrounded with. but then when he finally imprints, he completely messes things up, and he's afraid he can't fix it. the only help he has is a three-year-old that seems unfazed by everything

smile! by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!soonyoung x female reader | genre: fluff | warning: mentions people's mouths and braces | word count: 1,218

tales from the pack series by @gamerwoo | hoshi's series: imperfect

pairing: werewolf!soonyoung x female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, a little humor at the end, lots of mentions of sex, lots of mentions of death, a couple implications of suicide but it never actually happened, depression, slapping | summary: soonyoung has always been desperate to find his mate, often going out into town at night to fill the void of imprinting that he craves so much. then suddenly, you (quite literally) appear in front of him. he'd always dreamed and fantasized about what having his mate would be like, but the reality is nothing like he expected

jeon wonwoo:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | woo's series: fragile you

pairing: werewolf!wonwoo x female reader | summary: wonwoo didn't expect to find out that you, one of his long time best friends, was his mate. the only thing that was stopping him from actually telling you that the both of you were mates, was the fact that you vowed to him that you wouldn't fall in love with another werewolf, even if they were your mate. he understood what you meant and why, remembering all of the events that happened in the past with your ex. | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. woo's is titled fragile you

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | woo's series: perfect, perfect part 2, perfect part 3, perfect part 4

pairing: werewolf!wonwoo x tall!female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, college au, fluff, angst, crack, some suggestive comments but it's really tame don't worry | summary: as a mate, it's wonwoo's job to make sure you as his girlfriend are protected, healthy, and happy. therefore, he's always there to constantly remind you that he loves everything about you; including your long legs, and weird shenanigans that you always get sucked into by his pack mates

photogenic by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!wonwoo x female reader | genre: fluff | warning: none | word count: 2,049

by the moon by @wonwoonlight

pairing: werewolf!wonwoo x mage!reader (ft. seungcheol, jeonghan, jisoo, jihoon, minghao, chan) | genre/warnings: fantasy au but i kinda just make my own universe, angst, fluff, hurt comfort, a little action?, suggestive at the end, mentions of blood and kidnapping, implied sexual activities (no smut) | word count: 18k~

tales from the pack series by @gamerwoo | woo's series: protector

pairing: werewolf!wonwoo x female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, slight angst | summary: if there's one thing wonwoo hates, it's feeling helpless; like there's nothing he can do to stop somebody he loves from getting hurt. it's happened to him once before, and he swears it'll never happen again. especially not after he meets you

untitled fic by @kimkiyum

pairing: werewolf!wonwoo x female reader | word count: 598 | warning: breeding

lee jihoon:

moonlust series by @sunlightwoo | hoon's series: easing in

pairing: werewolf!jihoon x female reader | summary: it wasn't easy being someone's mate knowing that they were someone that jihoon was going to have some sort of difficulty with because of how different they were in personalities. breaking down walls and emotions are easier said than done, when in reality its unraveling stories and secrets that could've been tampered with or hidden for different reasons. | this is a 7 part series within a series. each member has a different masterlist. hoon's is titled easing in

imprinted series by @gamerwoo | hoon's series: scarred, scarred part 2, scarred part 3

pairing: werewolf!jihoon x female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, college au, angst, mentions of an abusive relationship, jealous jihoon, mentions of blood/bleeding, smut, angry sex, sorta semi-public bc it's in a closet, unprotected sex but his pullout game is strong, jihoon trying to be a dom but reader being stubborn, fluff at the end tho | summary: you'd had enough experience with werewolves for this lifetime, but another one waltzes right into your life and, quite literally, grabs your attention. all you want to do is stay as far away from him as possible, but there's just something about him that has you going against everything you promised yourself you wouldn't do

coffee break by @a-mixers-serenity

pairing: werewolf!jihoon x female reader | genre: fluff, angst | warning: food & drink | word count: 2,205

tales from the pack series by @gamerwoo | hoon's series: unfamiliar

pairing: werewolf!jihoon x female reader | genre/warnings: werewolf au, familiar au, fantasy, kinda angst but kinda not???, a lil fluffy ig | summary: jihoon's never really been considered a warm or affectionate person. his pack teases him about what it'll be like when he finally gets his mate, but he doesn't worry about it. little do they know that his mate is a lot closer than they think

[shy-blue-blossom]

Wolf

Jacob Black

Au - Speed up timeline and some details are changed.

Y/n doesn't know if she would still be friends with Bella Swan if she knew what she did now at the start of their friendship. Becoming relatively good friends not long after Bella moved there after her.

She found out about Vampires when one had killed her dad. It destroyed her. Both in knowing vampire excise and one killed her dad. The only person she had left. The Clearwater's were a close family friend and they took her in. It also helped that her friend Jacon Black was they to help her through the loss. This was when Bella found out Edward Cullen was one and had to share that information with Y/n. She was always wary around Edward after and tried to be in public if she had to talk to him.

"I would love to stay and chat more but Sue is expecting me back soon. I don't want to worry her," Y/n told Jacob after they had spent most of the day together.

"Noo," He whined as he held onto her. "Stay the night I can get Dad to talk to her."

"Tempting but I promised Seth I would play video games with him," Y/n said smiling at him as she tried to pull his arms from around her. "God you need to stop working out." She joked when she couldn't get out of his arms.

"No," Jacob grumbled as he let her go. She kissed his cheek when she walked out of his room. He heard her talk to his Dad for a few minutes before shouting goodbye to both of them. Grabbing a book to read while he waited for her text to say she got home. However, a scream hung in the air. The book was thrown somewhere in his room as he ran outside, stopping by his Dad. His heart dropped when he saw y/n's car door open with blood on it.

Rage and anger were the only emotions he could feel coursing through his body. It felt like his skin was ripping apart, all his bones snapped at once. Standing in his place was a wolf. Billy had managed to wheel away before he was caught in the middle. He calmed Jacob down before they made their way back into the house. The house phone rang before Billy could dial the police's number.

It was Bella letting them know that Victoria was after y/n because they had killed her vampire mate, James. Jacob's body was shaking in rage. He managed to hold it in long enough for them to make a plan. They met at the border, Jacob as his wolf.

This was the only time Edward would ever have permission to cross the border. 

Jacob used his nose to sniff y/n out and they soon found her tied to a tree, bandages poorly wrapped around her arm. Victoria was kneeling in front of her and by the looks of it was trying to torment her with information about the way her father died. Edward uses this opportunity to throw Victoria away from y/n. While Edward was fighting her, Bella made her way to y/n and got her out of the restains. She jumped when a wolf charged at Victoria and ripped her head off her body. Edward burned her body as Bella looked at the cuts on her arm. 

"I'm glad they are not deep," Bella said breaking the silence. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess." 

"I don't know how to respond to that," Y/n started at a tree. "Who's the wolf?" 

Jacob came from behind a tree after she asked the question. He froze when he saw her. Y/n jumped up and ran towards him. He caught her in a hug and pulled her close. He had no idea what was happening but hoped his dad had some answers. 

"Thank you for the help Edward," Y/n said as she looked at him. 

"Friends?" He jokely questioned already knowing the answer. Accepting the step forward. 

"Acquaintance," She smiled at him before looking at Jacob. "Can we go not?" Jacob picked her up and made his way back to his house. He would have to get his dad to call Sue and Harry to explain what happened. They were surprised to see Harry there along with Sam Uley.

"Is she okay?" Harry asked Jacob.

"She's asleep. We will have to check her arm but no physical harm," Jacob told them as he walked into the house with her in his arms. 

"Did she see your wolf?" Billy got a nod as an answer. "What's wrong?" He asked noticing how his son was watching y/n's every movement.

"I saw the future," Jacob said as he chuckled at how silly that was. "I mean that's not possible." He looked towards the three men but noticed the look they shared. 

Before they could say anything, y/n began moving. Jacob was quick to help her sit up and smiled at her when she looked at him. 

"You're the wolf," There was no room to argue so he nodded as he started to move away from her. He didn't get far as y/n was holding onto his hand tightly. Jacob sat down next to her as Harry, Sam and Billy began to explain everything they could about the legend and what Jacob saw. It was a lot of information for them to take in. They went to his room to talk. 

"How do you feel about the imprint information?" Jacob asked after they had talked about everything else. "Do you want to stay as friends?" He hid the whine he wanted to release. 

"I want to be more," y/n confessed as she looked at her hands. "I have for a while but I didn't-" Jacob cut her off. Her eyes shot open wide before closing as she relaxed into the kiss. 

"I want more too, even before I knew about the imprint stuff," He spoke softly against her lips. "I'm glad my wolf chose you too." She smiled big against his lips before they joined in another kiss. 

They cuddled up together enjoying their time with one another before all the questions tomorrow. 

The end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

[steviewashere]

There's something so beautiful, so appealing, yet so sad about vampire Eddie Munson and normal dude Steve Harrington as a pairing. Cause like—

Just walk with me. Imagine Eddie turning into a vampire spawn, not Kas, just a normal fucking vampire spawn. A vampire spawn who exists by the normal rules of vampirism.

He can't go in the sun. He isn't invited into places unless otherwise told. He must stay in the dark, hidden away. And, the worst part of his new form—

Eddie Munson, the man who was supposed to die saving the people that mattered, is immortal.

He's immortal. He makes friends. He works alongside annoying coworkers. He lives with his wonderful uncle. He falls in love.

And slowly, over time, he watches as everybody around him ages. The finer wrinkles, the grey hairs, the knobby joints, and collapsing postures. Their fragile voices and softer bellies, as they grow accustomed and comfortable with life. Life after violence.

But Eddie gets older, sure. He turns twenty-five. And thirty. Fifty-five. Seventy. His hair remains a dark brown. Face forever twenty. Body as lithe and malleable as it was before the Upside Down. And yet, for all that he's sacrificed—

The biggest sacrifice is the people he eventually loses.

Uncle Wayne dies peacefully in his sleep. And Eddie's forty-four, Wayne would've been eighty-three. That's normal. That's a normal death. A normal age. Except that Eddie is still...twenty.

Dustin Henderson and the rest of his friends, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Argyle. They all die, too. They go grey and they gain soft bellies. They have crows feet. Grandchildren that look the exact same age as Eddie. They think that Eddie is a really young cousin, they think he's some lucrative relative.

The one that hurts the most, in the end, is the loss of one Steve Harrington. Who stole Eddie's heart. Red and raw between his hands. Kissed the tender outside with his beautiful, charismatic mouth. He was what sustained Eddie's dire cravings, blood and skin and tender moments. Steve shared many nights with Eddie in the dark, under the stars, in the glow of the moon. He shared interests, poked fun at Eddie, loved Eddie. He loved Eddie. And Eddie...God, he loved Steve.

Loved him so bad, that when Steve died, Eddie knew he lost himself, too. Because nobody will be as lovely and as young and as...and as lovely, as Steve Harrington. You don't grow to love a boy with golden skin, somebody who can go under the sun and bring home sunflowers. You don't grow to love the boy who knows your worst trauma and all your messy secrets. You don't just grow to love a boy. You come to love the man, the spirit, the hole that he leaves.

And Eddie Munson is immortal, cursed by his vampirism. He may have helped them defeat Vecna, he may have been able to aid his friends and his lover to their beautiful life-long end—seen them age and grow comfortable and happy. But, he assumes that the true sacrifice wasn't his death, it was his liveliness.

How is he supposed to continue on without the ones who know him best? So Eddie Munson is immortal.

You know what they say kills vampires. Does Eddie do it? Or does he reign himself to a million lifetimes of friendships and warm dinners, yet the loneliness at the mere fact that nothing can ever be replicated? Does he reign himself to a million lovers, hoping that in one instance, Steve will be the reincarnated body next to him in bed?

Or does he join the tender souls of his loved ones? Stake through the heart and a thousand new stories to tell.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

1000 follower special!

So I decided to make this huge headcanon post for Yandere ocs(since my Yandere stories are part of why I got so many followers). I’ll probably do a part 2 later. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read my pieces of writing.

Yandere Jock🏈🏉

Brad is horny. He will literally beg you to let him have sex with you.

Luckily he does have every contraceptive and pregnancy prevention medicine possible.

A new oral birth control comes on the market, he gets it for you. You want to get an IUD? He makes an appointment.

As you get further in the relationship, eventually he will get therapy for himself because he got sick of seeing you so embarrassed whenever he tries to fight other guys who look at you back in your college years.

Thankfully said therapy changes him for the better.

Pre-therapy Brad would’ve been happy that you got pregnant and wouldn’t even think of an abortion.

But with therapy, when Brad finds out you’re pregnant, he immediately asks if you’re ok, do you want the baby(Cus if you don’t he’ll pay for the abortion and take care of you afterwards)

If you choose to keep the baby, he’s putting his marriage Pinterest boards to use.

If you thought bridezillas were bad, then you haven’t met Bradzilla.

“I can’t stress my fiancé out with all the wedding stuff! She’s pregnant and I can’t risk her and babies health!”

He makes sure everything is perfect and even buys a new house for you and the baby.

Brad waits on you hand and foot. Literally watches all the Instagram reels for baby hacks.

Yandere Vampire🦇🩸

Nos feels guilty about the wedding.

He literally tries to make up with your grandma and family.

Let’s just say you had to pull your grandma and every male relative off Nos.

Nos’s family treats you wonderfully.

They even help you through your vampire pregnancy.

Meanwhile, your family eventually accepts Nos and tolerated what he did to you.

Nos is rich af and he treats you like he is.

Even though you’re married, you’re going on midnight dates.

You are wined and dined.

He even cooks meals for you

Nos makes strawberry sorbet mixed with blood of your choice.

He is definitely a kiss man. Literally loves kissing your cheeks and neck.

Nos does apologize for scaring every boy away from you. You had to understand it was so he could marry you and your village wouldn’t be destroyed silly-

Guides you through being a vampire and even helps you get powerful enough to be in the sunlight.

Which pleases you greatly because you loved your village’s summers.

Yandere Werewolf 🌕🐺

The switch between Aaron’s personality when he’s a human vs a werewolf is like night and day.

The minute Aaron goes back to normal and sees you, NAKED, in his cave….oh boy…

“Aaaahh! I’m sorry I glanced at your body!”

You almost start to miss the werewolf him. Almost.

Aaron’s semi traditional values kick in and he immediately proposes and starts wedding plans so it will look like the baby was conceived AND born in wedlock.

The good side is that with marrying Aaron you get the amazing villa out in the French countryside surrounded by beautiful flowers.

The bad side is that Aaron has free reign to control his werewolf abilities.

And that’s when his shy personality becomes more dominant.

I mean you find it hot, but the amount of body hair he sheds makes you irritated.

At least he takes good care of his hair and washes it. And he goes through the effort of waxing and shaving his legs just to appease you(take that body standards!)

He gets even hotter when living in the woods because he lets his hair grow out.

Aaron even lets you pull his back length hair during sex.

He’s also a great father. He will chase and play with pups while you rest up.

Your children love their papa and mama. Aaron lets the pups climb on his hair.

Aaron also teaches you how to breastfeed, change diapers, etc.

He actually took a parenting class before he got bit.

Aaron also took care of you during the pregnancy. Literally snuggled, gave you food, took you to appointments, fed you prenatal vitamins. He even acted your body pillow.

[sissylittlefeather]

One Shot Masterlist

I decided to gather all of the one shots into a list together with descriptions, so you know what you're getting into before you read it!

What a Lovely Way to Burn

Two words: Angry Elvis. You're at a party together and he catches you talking to another man. Needless to say, he's less than pleased.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! There's some dirty smut here, kissing, fingering, oral (both receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, lots of cussing, Elvis and reader yelling at each other a lot, him grabbing reader's arm and being a teensy bit violent (if you squint), reader calls Elvis "daddy" in a sexual context at one point...

You're the Boss

You show up in Elvis's room after a show and show him who's boss. The mirror belt plays a starring role.

Warnings: this is absolutely 18+ only, MDNI!!! Cussing, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (with a stranger), swallowing, teasing, and the reader being pretty dominant. I hope that's everything.

Devil in Disguise

In honor of Halloween, a spooky story featuring army Elvis and you, a vampire who's looking to feed on a young, vital man. But, you need a little help from a friend to really get what you're looking for.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!! Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), a little girl on girl action, threesome (MFF), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also vampire bites and blood drinking

Power of My Love

You and Elvis are out for a drive when you are overcome with desire. There's only one way to get what you want, and Elvis isn't complaining.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI SMUT, kissing, cussing, oral sex (m receiving), public sex (road head), fingering, teasing, dangerous driving, etc.

Hot for Teacher

An AU where you and Elvis teach together at a local high school. You have a crush on each other and everything is fine until you chaperone a student trip to Fort Lauderdale together.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation, also some baby talk during sex kinda?

I Can Help

Your husband, Elvis, has been rehearsing late into the night for his upcoming Vegas show. One night he comes home early and finds you in the process of missing him.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this is pure smut, kissing, cussing, fingering, masturbation (f), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Make Me Know It

It's 1960 and your boyfriend, Elvis, is just home from the army. However, you know he's been a bad boy in Germany, so you intend to make him sorry for messing around.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, teasing, reader being a little dom, foot action, masturbation (both m&f), references to oral sex, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and I think that's all

A Little Less Conversation

This isn't your first time acting, but it is your first time acting with Elvis Presley. He takes you aside to calm you down and is surprised to find it has the opposite effect on him.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Baby, Let's Play House

You're stuck in a bad marriage, but your sweet neighbor, Elvis, has no intentions of letting you suffer alone. What starts as an innocent yard work arrangement turns to much more when your husband takes things too far.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, infidelity, domestic violence (happens "off screen", Elvis is not violent), mentions of infertility

Viva Las Vegas

You've grown up as part of the mafia in Las Vegas. Elvis is relatively new to the game, but he doesn't hesitate to dive in deep when he falls in love with you, the daughter of his biggest rival.

Warnings: SO MUCH SMUT AND VIOLENCE 18+ NO MINORS, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, swallowing, ejaculation, creampie, ALSO GUN VIOLENCE

[evita-shelby]

The Red Room

For @zablife based on the prompt and theme of their 2k follower celebration

Tommy has eloped with a young bride the family has deemed untrustworthy from reputable sources. The couple has just returned from their honeymoon in Paris and now the new Mrs. Shelby would like to meet those closest to him. The couple spares no expense for their lovely housewarming party, but it's ill-fated from the beginning as those Tommy holds near and dear try to run her off with tales of horror. Every room holds a surprise and each guest a secret, but what could they be?

Cw:mentions of ghsots, vampires, dubious consent, mentions of sex, murder, horror

Despite being married for several weeks, Thomas has not married you in the true sense of the word.

In Paris he said he wanted to wait until the two of you were home and now, he said that he would like to wait until after you have met his family.

You have met his children. Charles and Gabriel are charming and close despite a five-year difference and being as different as the night and day, baby Florence is quiet and adores her father over everyone else, but Diane with her left blue eye and right brown eye refuses to accept you as her new stepmother.

“You will never replace my mother; the little girl had said as she proceeded to continue playing with what you are very sure is a Ouija board.

It was still recent; the late Mrs. Shelby had only been dead for six months when you met Tommy and out of the blue the two of you eloped to Paris. You had been working in an art gallery when the two of you struck up a conversation over a painting of some dead relative of his that ended with fine wine and dinner at his hotel and before you knew it you were arriving in Birmingham as Mrs. Shelby.

His sister sounded appalled when he told her about you over the telephone, his brothers looked concerned when they saw you and his aunt only said ‘Ah, I see’ when you met her while he was at work.

Now you were to host a party in this house that leaves you with a chill and the uncanny feeling of someone watching over your shoulder. You are allowed everywhere except the old master bedroom across yours.

You had caught glimpses of it, of Tommy and the children and the maids who sometimes go in there. Tommy goes there to think, the children to pretend their mother is just in there and not in the immaculate mausoleum he built for the two of them and the maids to keep in in the state it is.

At night you cannot sleep. Or rather you do and have this continuous dream of his late wife just watching you as she lies between you and your husband. She wears red like blood and feels cold to the touch as she cups your face and kisses you like you wish your husband would kiss you.

You are perfect, Mrs. Shelby, the dead woman whispers as you lie spellbound under her icy fingertips.

Feels shameful to think you have had more action with your husband’s ghost than with your husband. Same husband who kissed the ghost’s neck and even made love to her while the ghost made love to you with her cold hands last night.

You had prayed this morning, sought a way to cleanse yourself from such madness at the chapel only to find Polly Gray in it.

God doesn’t live where the Devil rules, sweetheart, she had said before sending you on your way.

“Have you finished, Tom?” you ask as he fiddles with the buttons on his cuffs.

“Just need my cufflinks, love. I think they were still in my other dresser.” He said and you wondered if you could take this chance to see the red room forbidden to you.

“I can go if you like.” You suggested and he shook his head in response.

“No, you don’t have to. Ask Brigdette for them, she was cleaning up the bedroom after Diane had her tea party there earlier.” He shoots down your offer and you wonder why the hell he won’t let you in there.

But you ask Brigdette to bring you Mr. Shelby’s cufflinks from the red room and when she returns to it you see the bite peaking from the high collar of her dress.

She was the late Mrs. Shelby’s ladies’ maid, a pretty young thing who adored her mistress and was in charge with caring for her room as if she were still alive. Poor thing even leaves out the lady’s clothes on the bed.

“What happened to your neck?” you ask, and she looks pale, as if she’d seen a ghost. You had seen bites like that hidden underneath her long sleeves and on both sides of her neck. You had seen it on Sandra, the maid your husband sacked for fucking a man in his office, yesterday.

“My boyfriend likes to get carried away, ma’am.” The maid says and you at once know she’s lying.

That is the last time you see Bridgette, but your husband assures you she’s only taken the rest of the day off to visit home. How would anyone leave in this weather, it was only the first of December and yet the snow was coming on heavily outside.

The fact that this god-awful weather would serve as the backdrop for your first gathering as Mrs. Shelby and your first time with your husband seemed like rotten luck.

You put it out of your mind and wear white, white like a bride. Tommy had chosen the dress for you, said it made you look as pure and clean as fresh snow, but when you tried to pair it with the golden crucifix your mother gave you, he told you such things were not allowed in his house.

Crosses, bibles, holy water, garlic and sharp wooden objects weren’t allowed here. You had joked and asked if Count Dracula was in residence only for him to joke back and say, ‘no, only his bride does’ and gesture to the magnificent painting your father had painted of his late wife.

“If I were you, I would run, dear.” Polly Gray whispers as the party begins.

“Why would I run?” you ask, wondering why everyone here wants you to leave.

Every guest shares her feelings about you. You knew they didn’t like you and that they viewed you as a cheap replacement for the woman before you, but you had married Tommy and if they didn’t like you then boo fucking hoo.

“Eva never liked sharing, even now she won’t let him touch another woman.” She answered drinking wine you found looked as red as the blood in your veins.

“How did you know?” There was no way anyone would know he had not touched you like that. There have been kisses and some touches, but he refused to make you his.

You sometimes wondered if he wanted a woman to raise his children and warm his bed than a wife.

“I’m a witch, sweetheart, I know this and so much more.” Polly Gray said with a dark laugh. “At midnight, go into the Red Room and you’ll find out why he won’t fuck you.”

And you go. You lie and make up some excuse to go and see what the so-called witch said was the answer to your problems.

But Tommy beats you there, sits in the red divan by the fire as if he was here with someone. You smelled her perfume and felt her presence so strongly that it was as if Eva Shelby was still alive.

“Why are you here?” he asks, drinking whiskey and not looking at you as if you were an intruder and not his wife.

“Polly said I would know the truth here if I came into the Red Room at midnight.” You answer feeling yourself shrink from the intensity of his gaze.

“You lie, and badly, love. Polly’s been dead for a long time. I told you that in Paris.” He scoffed and you wondered what the fuck he was on. Polly was as real as the two of you, you had touched her and found warm flesh. She lived in Stratford with her daughter, Anna, and visited John regularly.

“I just spoke to her, your aunt in the pink dress.” You shook your head hoping he was just pulling your leg. “And your cousin, Anna, was playing with Diane earlier.”

“Anna’s been dead since she was sixteen, died in Australia. Have you been drinking my whiskey?” he said as if he were being perfectly serious and you were mad.

“I am not mad, Tommy. Do not make me think I am losing my shit, when we were just there with them downstairs!” you feel yourself lose your patience with him. Next thing he’d ask what party it was as if you hadn’t been preparing for it since you returned from your honeymoon.

“I told you she was perfect.” A woman says coming from behind you.

You had heard your voice in those dreams, where she wears luxurious nightgowns and tonight wears a magnificent black robe over her very naked form.

It was impossible. The woman was dead, you had seen the tomb, the papers and the altar to her in her sitting room downstairs.

“Talks to ghosts, who would’ve thought?” Tommy speaks to her as if you have stopped existing and you know you must run.

Where, you do not know.

And you do, you run as fast as your feet can carry you, but it’s not enough. Eva Shelby is too fast and takes flight after you as you run past the driveway in the direction of the church.

It is snowing terribly, and you fear you will die buried in it by the time you reach it. Your dress was not suited for such weather, and you prayed to God he’d save you from the demoness chasing you in the form of a bat.

But you get there. The doors are closed, and you cry as you hit them with your fists for someone to open them and let you in.

You can feel her behind you as you try to pull and push the door handles with all your strength and you begin to pray hoping it will stop her.

As if by magic, the doors are opened wide, and you run to the altar knowing vampires cannot step on holy ground.

Only you are wrong. The dead woman walks like a queen as the church comes alive with all the ghosts who inhabit it.

Her victims.

“God doesn’t live where the Devil rules, sweetheart.” It’s not the vampiress who says it. It is your husband who appears in the chancel with you and holds you tightly, so you won’t run again.

“Really, Tommy. You could have locked the doors of the house, instead you have your poor wife work for her birthday meal.” Eva flirts and touches your cheek just as she’s done these past nights.

“Where’s the fun in that, Evie?” he quips as he takes a good whiff of you as he nuzzled your neck. “She’s ripe for the taking, haven’t had a meal like this since our anniversary, sweetheart.”

“Virgins with a touch of magic are so hard to come by these days, Tom. Either they are frauds, or they are sluts. Oh, but this lovely lady, is just so perfect. I don’t even know how you managed to bring her back here without a taste.” Eva licked your neck for effect. “A shame defiling her would ruin the taste, she made such lovely sounds last night and the taste of her on my fingers was just sublime.”

They act as if you are food, and yet with the way they touch you and under the gaze of her intense dark eyes, you find yourself resigned to your fate.

“Happy 127th birthday, love.” Tommy kissed his wife before the two of them sank their teeth on both sides of your neck.