#i have a pair of those clip on vampire fangs
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The most amicable guest at the party.
here it is folks, the promised Vampire Zhongli smutfic for halloween w only 45 minutes left until mariah carey herself defrosts.
it do b kinda rushed feeling, sorry ;;
Vampire Zhongli x Afab reader
NSFW, Modern setting, Vampire AU, Hypnotism, biting/blood drinking, zhongli's stupid long tongue, some aphrodesiac, all of it is consensual dw.
3K Words, not proofread.
It wasn’t often you let yourself be dragged to one of these silly halloween parties by your friends.
They knew you hated things being sprung on you, you were a ‘three to five business days notice’ type of person, not a ‘three to five minutes’ to prepare.
Yet here you were, dinky set of cat ears clipped into your hair, with some fruity, alcoholic beverage in your hand, your friends long since splitting away from you to mingle with the other people here that you didn’t know.
Your silly little cat costume was certainly on the more…modest end of things here, considering the little clip-on ears and tailed-belt had been thrown at you in the car on the way here, but not like you were complaining. You’d seen a couple other ‘cats’ when you’d talked in that were far more…ahem, exposed than you would ever be comfortable with.
Heck, since your friends abandonment, the only companionship you’d managed to find and enjoy until this point was the party-hosts actual cat, a fluffy, grumpy looking creature that seemed to hate this experience just as much as you did.
That is until you spot a pair of enchanting, amber eyes from across the room.
They belonged to a man. He was tall, with dark hair and sharp, stupidly handsome features. It doesn't take long for him to confirm you are in fact, looking his way, and he silently moves through the crowd and towards you. Somehow, and you’re not quite sure how, but he manages to pull of the vampire costume with grace, even with the stupid, high collar and the tiny little fangs poking from beneath his lips as he smiles softly at you.
“Ah, I see you’ve found the most amicable guest at this party.” He comments teasingly, motioning his glass of wine towards your feline friend.
“So it would seem.” You agree, giving the cat another scratch upon the head. “I do say he’s certainly pulling off my costume better than I am…perhaps I should go home and change.”
The new stranger chuckles, regarding your slapdash costume “I take it this party was thrust upon you with little warning?”
“Quite literally as I had finished my shift at work, yes.” You sigh, taking another sip of the drink your friend had thrust into your hand before vanishing. “If I’m being honest, I’d much rather be at home watching some shitty vampire movie- oh! No offence.”
The stranger laughs, warm and hearty and wow, those are some sturdy fangs, he’s even able to speak without the telltale lisp that come with the shitty plastic ones.
“Oh none taken, to be honest I was thinking about leaving myself as well…if you would like, I can always give you a ride home?”
You have never said yes to jumping into a strangers car so quickly in your life.
—
Zhongli was his name, and after some amicable talking and a quick trip through the drive through for a much needed coffee (which he paid for and refused to accept your cash even though he purchased nothing for himself, chivalrous bastard), plans take a decidedly flirtatious turn.
“You know.” He muses as his fingers thrum against the steering wheel “My apartment is closer…you said you were a fan of vampire movies, yes? I happen to be a bit of a vampire aficionado if the costume didn’t give it away…would you like to join me for a movie instead?”
Internally? You’re screaming, you’re crying, you’re throwing up. This is the single most handsome specimen you have ever encountered on the planet and he’s just asked if you’d like to netflix and chill.
“O-oh Only if it’s not too much trouble Zhongli, I wouldn’t want to impose…”
His gaze flicks to you a moment, soft and warm like honey and you want to faint; how the hell had you gotten into this situation?
“I would not have offered it if I hadn’t wanted you to say yes, darling.” His words are all but a low purr and you need to tamp back the urge to squeeze your thighs together like the hopeless, horny idiot you were. “Plus, my apartment is a ways off the ground floor, so It’s not like we’ll be disturbed by trick-or-treaters.”
Oh, potential sex without the fear of being interrupted? Sign you up.
–
When he said his apartment was off the ground floor, you had not expected the penthouse, but then again, the fancy black car should have also been a dead giveaway that he was loaded if his face didn’t scream ‘i'm rich’ already.
Even now, he opens the car door for you, and even invites you personally into his home, a lavish apartment with all sorts of interesting, historical knick knacks and pretty shiny rocks, you had asked on the way here what he did for a living and he was apparently a geologist, which judging by the immaculately labelled gemstones…yeah, that checked out.
You sigh with relief, finally reaching up to pull those stupid ears from your hair and unclasp the belt, shoving both away into your bag, turning to watch as Zhongli shrugs off the silly vampire coat, revealing an immaculate vest and trouser combo beneath that made your mouth water just a little too much.
“You’re not gonna spit out the fangs?” you ask as he approaches; his smile only widening as something more sinister flickers across his gaze.
“Oh, my darling, these are very much real.”
In the blink of an eye, Zhongli’s handsome face suddenly radiates something else, something predatory and something you cannot escape from as he reaches out for you, one hand curling around your waist to pull you close, and the other to wrench your head to the side.
“You have no idea how starving I am.” is all he whispers before his fangs sink sharp and quick into your throat.
You expect to cry out in pain, to scream and to sob, at the very least you expect to struggle.
It seems neither you, nor your attacker, are expecting you to moan, and neither of you are expecting your body's sudden jolt as you cum, untouched, right there in the middle of the living room.
Apparently it’s surprising enough to have your assailant pull back, your blood still dripping from his fangs as he blinks down at you. You, who is caught somewhere between horribly ashamed, and horribly upset that he’d stopped.
“Did you just…?”
“I did nothing.” you huff, looking away from him.
“You did, you did just-”
“If anyone did anything, it’s you!” you hiss “You’re the one who bit my neck like some crazy fucking vampire!”
Zhongli is silent for a moment, eyeing you with confusion, you don’t even have the reaction time to stop him when his hand quickly delves beneath the waistline of your pants and underwear, two fingers smearing through the slick mess you’d already made of yourself.
“So, you’re telling me, you did not just orgasm from me attempting to feed off you?” He teases, warm tongue gently lapping across the bite mark he’d left on your throat, and humming when your thighs clench around his hand.
“A-and you’re telling me you’re actually a v-vampire?”
“Are you always going to answer my questions with more questions?”
“That depends on if you’re going to answer me or not…” you were doing your best to keep up a brave face, you really were, but how long had it been since someone had touched you like this? Fuck you can’t even remember.
Zhongli quirks an eyebrow at you, golden eyes dark and swimming with curiosity and lust in equal measure.
“And…if I said I was, in fact, a vampire?”
“I would ask you a lot more questions…”
He hums, leaning in close once more, fangs grazing against delicate skin.
“And the question at the top of that list is…?”
“Do I…still have to invite you in if it’s my body?”
Oh, well that certainly got a reaction, what a delightful little shudder that pulls, something you can only savour for a moment before his grip on you tightens.
“You.” he breathes, ragged already against the shell of your ear “You little minx…I’ll admit, you’ve very much caught my interest… it’s been a good century since I last bedded anyone, let alone a mortal… you have one last chance…if you say no, I’ll have my meal and leave you on your way come the morning…”
Chivalrous, even with that rather impressive-feeling hardon pressing against your hip.
Perhaps you should feel frightened, perhaps you should really reconsider your life choices if you’re very much considering fucking a real vampire…
Oh well, that was going to be a problem for future you, present you was far too horny to care that tonight might be your last night alive.
—
The feeling of your blood slowly being pulled from your body is one you’re not sure you’d ever get used to, but there's something so…delightful about the feeling.
Zhongli tells you it’s rather atypical to enjoy it, but he’s not exactly upset by this development either.
His fangs slowly retract from your flesh as he’s finally had his fill pulls with it a small gasp, letting your head slump back against soft sheets as he sits back to simply admire.
“My, what a wonderful development…hm…I do hope you’ll enjoy tonight just as much as I will, little kitten.” His voice seeps into your mind, words weaving through your very soul and making you keen for more.
Seems more is exactly what Zhongli is happy to give, once he’s cleaned his mouth of your blood, you can see the way his eyes spark with rejuvenation right before his mouth descends upon yours, lips pressing together with fever. It’s easy to ignore the taste of iron on his tongue when you’re more preoccupied discovering just how long said tongue was. Prehensile and slippery, dominating and mapping out every inch of your mouth before he pushes even more, to the back of your mouth and beyond, pushing towards your throat.
Only then do you struggle, afraid you may gag, but a soothing hand pressing against your forehead eases your movements, before his voice invades your mind.
‘Shhh, hush darling, bear with it a moment longer, this is so I do not hurt you later.’
His lips don't move, you supposed if the blood drinking hadn’t been proof enough of his status, the fact he could speak telepathically was. He croons against your mouth as you whimper, trying your best to keep still, you’d trusted him this far somehow, just a little more wouldn’t hurt.
‘Good, very good darling.’ his words echo through your mind again as you feel…something, some kind of liquid? Thick and viscous, slide down your throat, warming your body on it’s way down before Zhongli finally pulls away, his tongue retracting from your mouth with a slick click of a noise. “Give that a few minutes and you’ll feel amazing.”
“W-what was…that?” you hadn’t realised that you’d been holding your breath through that entire process until you’d finally been given access to air once more, leaving you a gasping, panting mess as you watch Zhongli slowly, but carefully begin to undress you. First your shoes, then socks, leaving one in it’s respective shoe, before he moves on to his own, seemingly taking his sweet time to let…whatever he’d just done, do it’s work.
“An aphrodisiac.” He enlightens “Not that you need it for arousal…but it will help your body be even more…perceptive.”
“I…don't think I need help with that either…” You point out, but he simply shoots you a look that does nothing but scream ‘just you wait’ as he shrugs his vest from his shoulders. You’re not sure if he’s intending to make this a show for you, but you appreciate it either way. He’s methodical, one piece from you, one from him, each folded neatly and left on the ottoman at the end of his bed until you’re both left in nothing but your underwear.
(Not like your panties weren’t already soaked through, leaving nothing to the imagination, how embarrassing.)
Finally he puts his hands back on you, smooth and warm, certainly not what you expect from centuries old.
“Look at me.” He murmurs, sliding between your legs and leaning forward, hands spreading up your torso. His gaze is warm, like dripping gold, predatory and lustful, and as you gaze up at him, you swear you can see the colour in his eyes shift, slow and mesmerising, to the point you can’t tear your gaze away, your mind slowly clouding, like a haze that left nothing but Zhongli and Zhongli alone.
“That’s it, nothing else matters right now, just you and me, hm? Like I said, perceptive.”
“What…what freaky vampire thing did you just do to me…?” your words feel slow and slurred, just like the rest of the world as Zhongli smiles down at you.
“A little bit of hypnotism, nothing more. You still retain yourself, but everything feels just that little bit more…vivid.” At first, you don’t know what he means, but he’s quick to elaborate, brushing his thumb across a single, pert nipple and the resounding shock of pleasure that it brings leaves you reeling as he chuckles above you “see?”
God, you were in for a long night.
—
It had been entirely too long since your last foray into bed with someone, you weren’t exactly a novice with this but damn.
Damn did Zhongli blow all your previous partners out of the water.
He left nowhere untouched, no patch of skin escaped his hands or his lips; soft in their touch, but intent clear. He drinks in your pathetic noises as his previous ministrations leave you strung out, hot and desperate for him; made worse by his loving croons and coo’s of praise.
You don’t realise just how long his tongue is until it works its way deep inside your aching sex; his hands gripping your hips firmly, keeping you stuck in place despite your desperate cries and attempts to shift, craving more of his tongue, more of his touch, more of him.
“L-li..” You manage to choke out one of the few words your brain can even muster, and are rewarded with a hum, which does nothing but send glorious vibrations up his tongue and right against your most sensitive spots.
You can feel his fangs grazing against your pussy, reminding you of the danger, of the situation you’ve found yourself in, yet that added note of danger, of predator and prey? The thought still has your mouth watering, especially because as of yet, he’s yet to test his fangs anywhere too sensitive.
Even with his mouth occupied, his stupid telepathy meant no escape from his words, praise marred with filth, promises of all that he wanted, and what would be happening to you that night.
He doesn’t remove his face from between your legs until he himself is satisfied. Greedy in his pleasure, and the lower half of his face glistening with slick, mesmerised once again as he slowly licks his lips with a pleased, predatory hum.
You had absolutely been prepared for the whole ‘invite him in’ spiel when he finally frees his cock from the straining confines of his boxers, but he doesn't even give you the chance. Grabbing one of your legs and throwing it over his shoulder before he rolls his hips forward and all but spears you in half in one hot, wet slide that has you screaming for him.
He’s not gentle, he’s spent too long being gentle with you and honestly? You’re tired of gentle. Both his clawed hands grip your thigh tightly, pulling your body down and into his deep, brutal thrusts; moulding your insides to the shape of his cock so wonderfully, the stinging burn of the sudden penetration lasting only a moment before it’s replaced by pure, euphoric pleasure.
It’s here, when you’re both caught in the throes of pleasure, that you see him truly come undone. Talons flexing into your skin, eyes glowing bright gold and fangs glinting dangerously, this man truly was a creature to be feared and admired.
With the apparent stamina to match, after over an hour of pushing you over the edge so many times and neglecting himself, you’re really not surprised when he climaxes first, filling your belly with liquid heat that spread down your limbs and numbed your brain even more than it already was.
He only needs a moment to catch his breath, head slumped against your knee, before you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes right before he shifts, manhandling your body like it weighed nothing, barely even pulling his still-hard cock from you as he all but holds you up against the wall, unable to touch the floor.
He takes this in stride though, ramming his dick all the way back into you and swallowing your squealing moan with his hot mouth pressing over yours as he continues to rut against and bully your insides.
You lose count of how many different positions he takes you in that night, how many more orgasms he managed to pull, but when you finally regain consciousness the next…day? A quick check of the clock on his bedside confirmed, yes, definitely the next day, almost nearing noon in fact; The room is still dark.
Thick, heavy blockout blinds cover every window, and the lump of sleeping vampire beside you shifts, reaching out with one, groggy hand, groping at your place in the sheets until he finds you and pulls you right back in, snuggling right into your chest like a pampered cat.
“Don’t go…’ll drop you off tonight…bu’ stay f’now…” He mumbles into your boobs, and you can’t help but giggle quietly, smoothing your hands over his ragged hair. “Or…” he supplements “y’could stay f’rever…I’d like that too…”
Forever, eh? Now that’s a tempting offer…
“I’ll have to think about that one…I kinda like garlic pizza though…”
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Subway Bosses + Detective!Reader - Happy Halloween!
Author's Note: A late conclusion to the Halloween month. Definitely on the longer side of things. I hope ye enjoy!
“Happy Halloween!”
A werewolf and a vampire.
You’d be hard-pressed to think of a more appropriate pair than the two standing in front of you right now.
“Well, don’t you two look all nice and terrifying for the evening. Are you headed to Elesa’s?”
“Not yet,” Ingo says. A set of bone-white fangs sticks out at you with every word he speaks. “The party’s not for another hour. We simply wanted to stop by and see you off before your patrol.”
“And to show you our costumes. Cool, huh?”
“Very cool,” you nod in agreement, though your eyes keep drifting up to Emmet’s wolf ears and you can’t help but wonder how soft his hair would feel if you were to reach up and give him a head-pat. Perhaps you can ask another day. He cocks his head at an angle and looks you up and down, the trails of fake blood going down his face suddenly looking far too angular to be natural.
“So, did you decide to wear a costume?”
“Yep!” you open up the beige trench coat you bought to show off the rest of your ensemble. The set of clothes would be right at home in an old 1920s film. You even found an old holster to clip your Pokeballs onto.
“Wonderful work, Detective! You look as though you just stepped off the set of a noir! Bravo!”
You smile and button up the coat. “All I’m missing is a flask of whiskey and a cigarette.”
“There’ll be drinks at the party. Perhaps you can still make it. When does your shift end?”
“Midnight.”
You give a resigned grin and shrug.
“Sorry guys. If you’d like, we can walk around the shops before you have to go. Think of it as on-the-job training.”
They share a glance and you can’t blame them for being hesitant. But that reluctance dissipates as Emmet links an arm with you.
“Very well, Detective!” Ingo laughs, “Lead the way!”
Many of the stores and streets are still getting ready for the influx of people, but a couple buildings have already closed up shop. Today, that means turning all the lights on and keeping the doors wide open for the trick-or-treaters that’ll be flooding the streets. Families with especially young children are already out and about, fawning over all of the decorations and costumes. As the three of you walk down the street, a few people notice Ingo and Emmet and ask for a picture of them (and sometimes with you). Younger children drag their friends and family along, going from door to door with buckets and sacks of candy, happily chanting out those magic words that guarantee at least one piece of candy.
All in all, it’s a pleasant way to spend an hour before the two have to depart. You just might have continued walking with them all the way to the party, were it not for a road blockade that had been placed to section off the street for civilians. It also serves as the boundary of your patrol route.
“Well, end of the line for me.” You smile and take a step back, “Enjoy the party- Oh! And tell Elesa I said hello.”
“Will do!” Emmet smiles, waving goodbye as he and his brother continue down the street. The farther away they become, the more your smile drops. Behind you, you can hear the noise and music slowly growing louder as more people spill into the streets. The thought of heading back into the fray on your own has you rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. Ingo and Emmet disappear down the street and out of sight.
“Let’s just… get back to work.”
Despite the roads being freed up for more space, you still bump into someone every few steps. A couple of the shops recognize you from last year’s patrol and toss you a piece of candy; it’d be wise to save those for later, since you’re not going to be eating for a few hours. Screams and laughter alike fill the air. It’s chaotic and busy, but everyone’s happy.
BZZT-BZZT!
The streets are so full of music and noise that you can’t even hear the sound of your phone going off. It’s only when you feel the buzz in your pocket that you take a look at the screen.
Elesa?
It’s probably nothing. You should just ignore it and continue with your patrol. There’s still another three hours before your shift is over, and a lot can happen in an unchecked crowd. She’s likely calling to wish you a Happy Halloween, anyway; it can go to voicemail.
You’re busy; she’ll understand, right?
The device continues to buzz in your hand as you step into an open store. Braviary’s keeping an eye out from the rooftops; you’ll be alerted if anything happens. With that rationale, you tap the screen and hold your phone up to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Happy Halloween!”
You grin. Intuition pulls through yet again.
“You know I really shouldn’t be talking to friends when I’m in the middle of work. Gotta keep an eye out for any criminal activity,”
“Is it busy over there?”
“About the same as last year.” you poke your head out the doorway and scan the street, “The worst I’ve had to deal with so far is some light vandalization and a couple of cases of public indecency.”
“Sounds about right for Halloween.”
Over the cacophony of voices, you can faintly pick up the sound of music playing. From the street or from the call, you’re not sure.
“How’s the party? I’m not going to come back to the station and see you all in the holding cell, am I?”
“Haha! No, it’s been pretty chill,”
You would know if you actually bothered to show up.
Your smile lessens just a little.
“Look, about tonight, I didn’t mean to blow everyone off. Or, I mean I didn’t want to?”
“Hey, I get it. Work comes first. We’ll just have to find another excuse to party.”
Is it too early to suggest meeting up for New Year’s?
“Well, tell the guys I said ‘Hi’ and all that,”
“Wanna talk to them?”
“Probably shouldn’t.” As much as you’d like to, “I still have a job to do, remember?”
“Yeah, I’ll let you get back to it. Again, Happy Halloween!”
“Happy Halloween.”
You hang up and take a breath before stepping outside and back into the crowd.
Some people get a little too carried away, whether they’re drunk off the spirit of the night or just plain drunk varies from person to person, and you have to step in to keep the peace. The more brazen offenders ignore your warnings, only to immediately sober up once you show them you’re very real badge and very real handcuffs. At least you don’t have to shove anyone into the back of your police car.
What are the others doing right now? From what Elesa said, it sounds like they’re having a good time. Lots of people, loud music, enough snacks and sweets to the point of sickness. Would the night be any different if you’d accepted her invitation? At least you’d be with friends.
As the hours drag on, the streets begin to clear up. People leave on their own, in groups, and some of them while dragging their intoxicated friends along. The doors close and lights click off. By the time the eleven-o-clock struck, it was as if you turned the corner and wound up in a completely different part of Nimbasa.
The closed off streets were packed with so many people you could barely feel your own feet against the pavement, only to be completely deserted. All the music and delighted cries have vanished into the air, leaving just the soft sighs of the wind. Candy wrappers, decorations, and bits of costumes litter the ground with bright colors that stand out even in the flickering streetlights. At least the Trubbish will eat well tonight. A quick check on your phone shows there’s still half an hour until your shift’s over, not that anyone’s still around to cause trouble.
At least, that’s what you think as you look up from your screen and see a familiar face standing under a streetlight.
“Emmet?”
“I am Emmet.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you. You're done with work soon, right?”
“Just about. I still have twenty-five minutes of patrolling.”
Twenty-five minutes. That should be more than doable. He’s lasted this long, so no point in backing out now.
“Excellent. I will join you and then we can walk back to the station together.”
“You’re joining me?”
With the way the words come out, it’s hard to tell if you’re questioning his choice or reason.
“Yup!”
“This isn’t a walk in the park, Emmet. I’ve got to be on the lookout for crime.” The words carry a very real warning to them. Is the smile you have because it’s funny or exciting?
“Then you should have backup if you see any.”
“And you’re volunteering to call them for me?”
“I will make sure everyone reaches their destination safely.”
You look him up and down, then chuckle and shake your head. Before Emmet can ask, you turn on your heel and start walking back the way you came. His confusion twists into panic after a few steps when you look over your shoulder. The collar of your jacket and brim of your hat hide most of your face, save for one eye gazing back at him.
“Well,” you nod towards the road ahead, “Are you coming?”
The sound of his rapid footfalls and your laugh echo down the empty street. You start walking on the roadside once Emmet’s caught up with you.
Clouds of steam form with every exhale. The Autumn air’s been getting colder with each passing day, but the chill from this afternoon has spiked to frigid. Thankfully the cold hasn’t affected Emmet’s ability to keep up your pace, but he should’ve worn a heavier jacket. He digs his hands into his pockets, pulling the material closer. The tip of his nose is starting to sting, with only his breath keeping his face warm. The fake blood is like ice against his skin.
“If you think this is bad, you should see what it’s like during the holiday season.”
Your laugh disrupts Emmet’s train of thought. Although you’re still looking straight ahead, you’re staring at him out of the corner of your eye. There’s a slight curve in your lips that betrays your otherwise neutral expression.
“Regret coming along?” Have you always been this… playful?
Emmet laughs back and a puff of steam comes out, though not as apparent as originally. A gust of cold wind hits his back, making his teeth chatter.
“N-Nope!”
He locks his smile into place when you stop walking. Your smile flattens.
“Emmet?”
You remove one of your gloves and take his hand.
You’re warm. Your skin is warm and soft, and for a brief second Emmet can easily see himself pulling you into his arms and holding you close. Close enough for the feeling to seep into his own skin. Then you look up at him with clear concern.
“Emmet, your skin is freezing! How long have you been out here?!”
Too long.
“…Longer than twenty-five minutes.” Technically it’s the truth, but you frown at the answer. You let go of him, letting the cold take your place, and he has to fight the urge to reach back for you. You hastily shuck off your coat, before shoving the item into his chest. It’s the cold that makes his legs falter and forces him to take a steady step back; that’s what Emmet tells himself.
“Here, you can wear this for now.” You’re kidding, right? He opens his mouth to protest, but you beat him to it. “I’d be a sorry excuse for an officer if I let my partner freeze to death.”
Your partner, huh? He kind of likes the sound of that. He especially likes the way you said it. The words play over and over in his head as he throws on the coat and follows beside you.
“Ingo?”
It feels almost criminal to not perform a sweeping bow in this costume, but even the empty streets are too out in the open for that. Besides, you’d probably think he’d look silly.
“Good to see you again, Detective. I hope you had a pleasant evening. Not too much trouble with the crowds.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” you say with a shrug, “So, what’s up? I assume you’re not just lurking on street corners for fun.”
Your smile walks that fine line between impish and innocent, and Ingo can only hope any redness in his face can be excused by the chill in the air.
“The streets can be quite unsafe at night. Even for a capable officer. With your permission, I would like to come aboard for the final leg of your patrol.”
There’s no point in dancing around the question, but it still feels as though he’s said too little with too many words. Your smile lessens, but doesn’t fully disappear, and you look down to the shining wristwatch on you. Have you always worn that, or is it just part of your costume?
“That should be fine. I’ve only got a few more minutes, and it’d hardly be right of me to ignore a concerned civilian.” you look back up at him and grin, “Right then. All aboard, as you say.”
He smiles and follows beside you.
“So…How was the party?”
“A bit more high-octane than what I’m used to-“ A yawn cuts Ingo off mid-sentence, “-but still quite pleasant. Though I did have to stop Emmet back from devouring all of the candy.”
You laugh. A soft, carefree sound that bubbles up and floats through the air. “Why did the mental picture of you physically holding him back come to mind so easily?”
“Vampires versus werewolves; truly a conflict as old as time itself. From what Elesa told me, it sounds like you’ve had quite the evening yourself.” Another yawn forces its way out of Ingo. He covers his mouth, though it does little to muffle the sound.
“What can I say, people will take any reason to cut loose.” You pause and scoop up a discarded mask on the ground, “Though I’m sure the thrill of hiding who you are plays some role in it, too.”
You toss the mask in a passing trash can.
“Do you have a busy day at the station tomorrow?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as I’m aware, and hopefully the schedule will not require any unexpected stops.” He looks over and meets your stare, “Is my fellow all-nighter going to scold me for staying up too late?”
“I’m just saying, for a creature of the night, you look like you’re about ready to pass out.”
He’d argue if it weren’t for yet another yawn interrupting him.
“I’m parked a couple of blocks away. If you’d like, I could give you a lift home.”
Ingo blinks once. Twice. The words play over in his head but the weight they carry doesn’t fully sink in. In one ear and out the other. It’s not until you hold up a set of keys, that he finally grasps the concept. Confusion turns to realization, which turns to embarrassment. Perhaps he’s more tired than he previously thought.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m grateful for the offer, but I shouldn’t derail your patrol route.”
Your smile falters for a second, only to pick back up into a laugh.
“My shift ended three minutes ago. C’mon. Let me do this for you, please?”
You look up at him with nothing but sincere kindness.
He said it best himself: the streets can be quite unsafe at night.
A couple blocks later, you’re holding open the door to the passenger’s side of a lone police car parked on the side of the road.
“The back seat wasn’t exactly designed to be comfortable,” you explain, “Besides, the neighbors’ll get the wrong idea if they see you in the back.”
True. Though the thought of Emmet seeing his brother being wheeled around like a common crook might just be worth it. Perhaps another time, Ingo thinks to himself as he slips into the car. He watches you dash around the front of the car and hop into the driver’s seat.
It’s easy enough to direct you. Turn left here, take this ramp, switch lanes and get on that exit there. You offered to put the directions into your phone so he could get some rest, but Ingo quickly declined the offer; the thought of you waking him up had him sinking further into his seat. Eventually, the car slows to a halt as you pull over to the side of the road.
“Welp, here we are.” you sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Or, I guess it already is tomorrow; I’ll see you in the morning.”
The doors unlock with a click, but Ingo stops just before he grabs the handle.
“Would you like to come inside? Perhaps have a drink before you leave?”
It’s only polite to ask, isn’t it?
“Going to bed early and inviting people into your home…” when you laugh, there’s an almost heavy note that follows, “You’re a one-of-kind vampire, ya know that?”
Whatever response Ingo could’ve come up with dies in his throat as you lean a little closer. “I’d love to, but we’ve both got work in the morning. Why don’t you ask me again on Friday?”
He silently nods, one hand fumbling for the door handle while the other undoes his seatbelt. The cold air greets him like a sobering slap to the face, though he still nearly trips on the curb.
“Try not to stay up too late, okay?”
With that last piece of advice, you wave goodbye and drive off, the lights of your car growing smaller and smaller until they disappear into the night.
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@stingslikeabee // SENT FROM HERE.
65. shushing your lover as they try to kiss you, telling them tonight is all about them, not you (for either verse but y'know 8D fanged girls are living rent free in my head)
❛ ❤ ⋯
Okamura stretched out leisurely on the plush piece of furniture, blonde tresses splayed out around her. Her outfit consisted of the usual : a glittering rose gold gown that flowed down her figure with a plunging neckline ; sparkling stones at her ears and throat ; and a lily - shaped piece made of rose quartz that pinned a portion of her lengthy locks back when she stood. A champagne flute made of crystal and filled with a chilled, dark red liquid sat near. She was almost comfortable enough to forgo this body altogether ; if it wasn’t for how sweet her nails were ( cherry blossoms, one of the two floral patterns she would tolerate ), they would have long ago been traded for curled claws. Okamura nestled back into the soft silken pillows behind her with a pleased sigh. Melissa was elsewhere in their home, enjoying the peace afforded by recent events finally coming to a close. The princess could feel the queen’s stress melting away. It would be a gradual process, she was sure, but it pleased Okamura to feel her lover relax.
The world, it seemed, was settled. Akiyama was transformed and thriving, which had given Melissa the opportunity to invite Daigo to sit with her. Rule with her. With the burden of those two unique individuals off of their shoulders and the co - leadership of their coven solved ( incoming reforms aside ), the two ladies could now rest. For Okamura, that meant lowering her hackles for the first time in months. She hunted nonstop for her love while Melissa faced the difficulties of leading the coven alone. There was not a night that the blonde wasn’t running since Katsura’s death : to ensure Akiyama and Daigo were safe, like a tucked - away dark secret ; to coax her queen’s favorites back to their chambers to give Melissa fresh food ; to clip any murmurs or unsavory whispers in the shadowy, grand places that vampires liked to flock before they became too powerful.
Maybe she napped, maybe she didn’t ― time was impossible to fathom after the initial handful of centuries and a necessary lack of windows in the pair’s home didn’t help when attempting to judge it. Nonetheless, Okamura’s eyes remained closed at the feeling of a mouth being pressed to her own. She slipped out of her elegant pose and entwined a slender hand in the other woman’s hair. There was no question who this was. Okamura knew her better than she knew herself. A content note left her shimmering lips.
❝ Hello, Lily, ❞ the younger woman breathed at their parting. Her fingers fell back onto the bedspread then. Impeccable lashes fluttered open to reveal the scarlet underneath. RED. Red like the sustenance sat nearby. Red like her least favorite color, which she refused to wear unless it was some kind of expensive jewel. Thankfully, Melissa remembered Okamura’s original eyes. Their fetching emerald once gave her strength from across court.
❝ How was your sleep, my love? ❞ Melissa asked, sitting back up. With how still Okamura had grown in her head, the royal had expected to find a large cat sprawled out in her favorite warm spot in the main room. Instead, she was greeted with a princess positioned beautifully in bed, breath stolen and slender form draped over the rich purple and gold of their sheets. Melissa smiled at the sight. Okamura hated the comparison, but the older woman always thought of her as the maiden from Sleeping Beauty when she fell asleep like this. Even in a state of unconsciousness, Okamura couldn’t help but appear straight from a fairy tale.
❝ Mm, ❞ the princess stuck out her lower lip as she thought in a characteristic pout. ❝ Awful, monaka. I missed you. ❞ Her almost childish reasoning issued, Okamra propped her body up to kiss Melissa again with a dazzling smile. Before she got too far, the brunette slipped a fingertip over her lips to stop her. Okamura huffed in complaint.
❝ Hush, Guinevere, ❞ Melissa whispered gently. She cupped her mate’s chin affectionately and stroked her thumb across Okamura’s cheek. ❝ Let me spoil you for a change. ❞ At the younger woman’s raised brow, Melissa elaborated. ❝ You’ve done so much for me lately. Food, comfort, information we needed. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. ❞
❝ Monaka . . . ❞ Okamura murmured. ❝ I love you. ❞
❝ I know. ❞ Melissa leaned down and nestled into her mate. She breathed in her scent. The queen’s hands curled tightly around Okamura. ❝ Come with me, Gwen. ❞ At her love’s nod, Melissa smiled.
Traveling by smoke was something that Okamura had difficulty wrapping her thoughts around. Her forms were far more grounded, and she didn’t posses a state in between like most members of their kind. Being vanished into her queen’s smoke was unsettling, but Okamura didn’t protest. She trusted Melissa. As the blonde was not the smoke itself ( by definition, she was cargo ), she was not aware of where they traveled or how far. Her awareness picked when Melissa willed them to change. The princess gasped, figure pressed into Melissa. It was only after a moment had passed that she felt able to step away.
They were on a rooftop under the full moon. In front of the vampires was a makeshift bed of pillows and blankets. Strings of lights, yellow in color so as not to irritate their sharp vision, were strung about the setting. A white sheet had been meticulously hung up, and a projector awaited on standby to play the stack of romantic movies that Okamura loved to laugh at next to it. Melissa watched her mate explore the little oasis she had made for them with a tender expression on her face.
❝ This reminds me of Paris, ❞ Okamura said eventually. ❝ Do you remember, monaka? ― we were so spoiled on stage productions, but that night we saw our first moving picture. You and I talked about it for so long . . . ❞
Melissa grinned. ❝ This is a date, Gwen. Tonight is all about you. It’s just us. ❞ She could feel the blonde’s emotions churning in her mind. Gratitude, adoration, and a wealth of love.
Knowingly, Melissa braced herself. Okamura changed in the span of a blink, and a large lioness leaped for the queen. It was lucky that Melissa was a vampire. Her strength could match the impressive feline that tackled her back onto the padded ‘ bed. ’ The older woman laughed at the great head that nuzzled into the curve of her neck. Okamura purred when Melissa kissed her snout fondly. She was used to this, rather, enamored with it. The blonde vampire tended to favor this half of her when she was overwhelmed. As a lioness, she was safe. Melissa scratched deeply behind the animal’s ears, reveling in her soft fur, until Okamura calmed down. There was a sensation of the environment being altered in which the weight over Melissa shifted. Her beloved mate reappeared then, straddling Melissa on all fours.
Melissa hummed at the wild glint in Okamura’s eyes. ❝ You’re beautiful, ❞ she uttered.
#ooc. Have some fangy cute.#<3#❝ verse. ⋮ a love one thousand years long 01#stingslikeabee#❝ ic. ⋮ ask
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Day 28: Monster Mash
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Claire says flatly as Dean opens the door of his house to admit her and Jack.
Jack’s six-year-old arms sag with the weight of his bag of trick or treat candy.
“What?” Dean asks, lipsing slightly around the unwieldy vampire teeth.
“What the hell are you wearing those for?” Claire demands, waving an accusatory hand in the general direction of his face.
Dean spits out the plastic with a small, “blegh,” and grins. “My real teeth scare the kiddos,” he says, flashing a bit of his actual fangs for effect. He pretends to snap at Jack, who giggles in his green dinosaur costume.
Claire rolls her eyes. “You look like an idiot.”
“At least I’m not scary,” Dean says as he crouches down to get at Jack’s level. “Did you clean up this year, bud?”
Jack proudly holds out his bag for Dean to inspect.
“Yup, you got a good haul,” Dean says as he pokes around and takes out a fun-size Milky Way. “But you gotta pay the candy tax to come inside.”
“But Dean-”
“Nope,” Dean says, already peeling it open. He pops it whole into his mouth. “Already gone.”
“You’re such a leech,” Claire says as she shoulders past him and into the house. “I’m gonna get some water.”
Dean clearly was put in charge of their small Halloween get together playlist. “Monster Mash” is playing in the background because Dean Winchester wouldn’t know subtlety unless it snuck up on him in a dark alley and brained him with a giant wooden cross.
Claire recognizes a few of the people milling around the first floor of the house, friends of Dean and Cas who she met while babysitting Jack. In the kitchen, she pours herself a glass of water, eyeing the bowl of scarlet punch on the table with interest. Dean and Cas wouldn’t really mind, would they? She already fulfilled her babysitting duties, so she wouldn’t be putting Jack in danger by having one drink.
“Claire, hey!”
Sam is ambling towards the punch. “You and Jack back already?” he asks as he tips a ladleful into a plastic cup.
“Yup,” Claire says. “His legs are pretty short, so he can’t walk very far for very long.”
Sam laughs, turning to face her. “You clearly haven’t tried to give him that many baths.”
Claire chokes on her water. “What the fuck is on your face?”
Sam reaches up to ruefully touch the large googly eye stuck fast to the middle of his forehead. “Dean insisted on costumes, so…”
“That’s a costume?” Claire gapes.
Sam shrugs. “I’m a psychic,” he says, completely seriously.
“You’re just as bad as Dean,” Claire accuses.
Sam smiles wryly over the rim of his cup. “Whose idea did you think it was?”
“At first,” Garth says as he strides into the kitchen, empty glass in hand, “I said he should borrow a few of my nana’s dress scarves, and get some clip-on hoops, but Sam told me that was racist. I’ve been wracking my brains for the past forty-five minutes tryin’ to think up something better.”
“The classic fortune teller look relies on racist caricatures of the Romani,” Sam says primly while Claire stares at the furry ears sitting on top of Garth’s head.
“Are you seriously dressed up as a werewolf?” she demands.
“You got it!” Garth says happily as he turns on the tap to refill his water. He reaches behind him to smooth down a fluffy faux-fur tail clipped to the back of his belt.
“It’s not that hard to get, dude,” Claire says faintly.
Sam laughs. “Dean’s got a spare pair of ears, if you’re interested.”
“No, thank you,” Claire says forcefully as she dumps out her water in the sink and goes for the punch instead. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself,” Sam says with a shrug as he heads back out in the direction of the living room where most of the guests mingle. “By the way,” he says, pausing on the threshold, “You’re going to do fine on your physics test next week, but your best friend, Alex, is going to get dumped by her boyfriend on Monday. You should enjoy your weekend while you can.”
Goddamn psychics.
Claire wasn’t even that worried about the test.
Now, where the hell is Castiel?
As if on cue, her phone buzzes with a text.
Castiel 6:12
I’m upstairs with Jack.
Not a cue - a prayer.
Grumbling to herself, she marches past Dean, Garth and Sam, and Kevin (if she guesses who’s under that bedsheet correctly), and up to the second floor with all the bedrooms. The light from Jack’s room spills out into the hall as well as the low murmur of Castiel’s distinctive voice accompanied by Jack’s light giggles.
“Hey, kid,” Claire says, knocking on the open door as she leans against it. “Did you hide all your candy from Dean already?”
Jack, wearing his prized spiderman pajamas, nods vigorously from his position on the bed, the family iPad propped up against Castiel’s knees.
Predictably, too-small, fluffy, white wings jut out from Castiel’s back, the elastic digging into the shoulders of his button down shirt. Instead of a halo, Dean found an old neon green glow stick who knows where and latched the ends together to make a circle. It sits, askew, on Castiel’s head.
“I didn’t peg you for a Halloween type of guy,” Claire says, nodding at his getup.
Castiel laughs lightly. “How did you know?”
“Dean?”
“Of course it was Dean,” Castiel scoffs as Jack gestures her closer
Sighing silently, Claire pushes off the door and perches on the edge of the bed next to them. “What’re we watching?”
“Hocus Pocus,” Jack reports.
“Isn’t that a little scary?”
“I’m not scared,” Jack says, stubborn as Dean and Castiel combined.
“Alright,” Claire says with a smile. “I mean, there’s not much to be afraid of with two werewolves, a vampire, and an angel in the house, is there?”
“No,” Jack says cheerfully.
Over his head, Castiel sends Claire an alarmed look. “Is it?” he mouths.
Claire shrugs and kind of prays at him a highlight reel of the scariest parts.
Castiel’s mouth purses. Evidently, he judges the scenes scary enough for Jack because he lets the movie play on.
“I guess it helps that there aren’t any witches downstairs,” Claire says in a low voice.
“It is the busiest time of year for Rowena,” Castiel agrees as Jack flaps his hands at them and hisses, “Shh.” He clearly has been spending way too much time with Sam.
They watch in silence for a few more moments.
“Cas?” comes from downstairs.
“In here!” Castiel calls
Dean pops his head in holding his usual mugful of blood mixed with whiskey, judging from the smell. “I thought you were setting Jack up with a movie,” he says through the fake vampire teeth.
“We are,” Castiel says defensively.
“Uh huh,” Dean says, craning his neck to catch sight of the screen.
Max, Dani, and Allison let out a scream as Billy rises from his grave.
“You’re like twenty minutes in!” Dean says, laughing incredulously.
Castiel shoots him a pleading look.
Dean frowns.
Castiel’s brow furrows, his gaze unblinking.
Dean rolls his eyes, “Fine. But you gotta come downstairs the minute the movie’s over and Jack is in bed, capisce?”
“I capisce,” Castiel says solemnly.
Dean tips back his mug, muttering under his breath. “C’mon, Buffy,” he waves Claire closer, “I’ll get you all squared up, and you can get on your merry way.”
Claire smiles down at Jack and leans down to give him an awkward one-armed hug. “Don’t eat all the candy at once, you hear me?”
“Yes, Claire,” Jack says dutifully.
“Goodnight.” She nods at Castiel and follows Dean out of the room, into the hallway. He hands her his mug of blood, mostly empty, to peel off two twenties and hand them to her.
“Thanks for tonight,” Dean says, still lisping around the plastic chompers. “I know you probably had plans.”
Claire shrugs. “Not this early in the night. I have a Halloween party later, though.” She lets out a loud sigh. “I have to ask, why the teeth?”
“They’re hilarious!” Still, Dean takes them out of his mouth, wiping off the extra spit and traces of mug blood on his black shirt. Gross.
“Why are you dressing up as a vampire?” Claire asks. “Sam as a psychic, Garth as a werewolf… I don’t get it.”
“It’s because today is the one day of the year we don’t have to dress up,” Dean says with a little shrug.
“But you are anyway.”
Dean makes a face. “Only a little bit. I wanted to show Jack that all the stereotypes really only work on one night of the year. One day to play them up. Otherwise, they're just as useless as the googly eye on Sam's forehead.”
The door to Jack’s room widens as if pushed by a breeze - the angel equivalent of blatant eavesdropping.
“I don’t bite people. Cas doesn’t keep his wings out. Sam doesn’t have some weird body horror situation going on. What humans fear - it’s a joke,” Dean adds, glaring at the door. “And I guess it’s freeing, a little bit. Telling everyone and their kid I’m a vampire as I hand out snickers and reeses pieces.”
Claire shifts her weight to her other foot. “I guess it must be.” She turns to go, biting her lip until she makes up her mind “Hey, Dean?” she asks.
“Yeah?”
“Sam mentioned you had a spare pair of wolf ears. Are they still around?”
Dean grins. “Hell yeah, they are.”
#suptober21#destiel#fanfic#destiel fanfic#established relationship#vampire dean winchester#psychic sam winchester#baby jack kline#alternate universe#castiel is jack kline's parent#rae writes fic#outsider POV
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Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!
for @theamazingbard (:
Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.
He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.
Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.
He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.
As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.
No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.
Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.
Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.
“Uh. Do you need any help?”
“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.
“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.
Geralt squints. “I...guess?”
“Oh, thank you!”
Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.
“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.
“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.
There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.
Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”
Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.
Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”
“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.
“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”
“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.
Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”
“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.
Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.
He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.
Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”
Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”
Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.
Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.
Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.
In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.
Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.
-
Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!
Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.
She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.
Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.
Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.
-
When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?
It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.
Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D
Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?
He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.
Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.
There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.
-
His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.
He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.
Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.
They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.
Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.
Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.
Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.
His phone pings with a text. Outside!
Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.
-
Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.
Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”
Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.
-
Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.
Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”
“Hmm.”
“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”
“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”
Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”
Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.
When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.
Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?
As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.
Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.
He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.
When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.
He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.
Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.
“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.
A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.
“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.
Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.
When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.
-
Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.
Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.
Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.
“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.
Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”
Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.
Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.
Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.
Maybe Geralt’s just shy.
Well. Jaskier can work with that
-
Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.
Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.
Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.
The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.
Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.
But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.
Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.
Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.
He lets himself focus on that a while.
-
Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.
He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.
“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.
Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”
Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.
The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.
“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.
When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.
He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.
“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”
Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.
Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.
The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“I’m not,” Geralt says.
Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”
Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.
“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.
“You love us,” Lambert says.
“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.
Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.
“What?” Geralt demands.
“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”
Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.
“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.
Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”
Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”
“What?”
“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”
Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”
Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”
“Fuck off.”
-
It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.
-
A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.
As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.
Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.
His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.
Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.
-
Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.
Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.
Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.
Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.
Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.
He walks up the door and knocks.
He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.
“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”
Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”
“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”
Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”
Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”
“That I’m a vampire!”
“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”
Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.
Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”
Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.
“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”
Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”
Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”
Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”
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utopic desire finale — jjk
Plot: Under an elist system of Vampires, Jungkook is torn between his old values and the lowest ranked Vampire he begins to fall for.
Pairing(s): Vampire!Jungkook x Vampire!OC
Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+
Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Series
Genre: Supernatural/Vampires | Angst/Fluff/Smut
Tags & Warnings: discrimination, explicit smut, angst, coarse language.
Authors Note: this is a repost after my break since I’m not really going to convert this one to original fiction. So enjoy to those who missed it! I’m doing it in parts cause posting big posts on Tumblr sucks.
A week passed since Belle closed the curtains on Jungkook but she still remembered how flooded his eyes got when she broke their ties. However loose and frail they were, it left a stain in her memory that didn’t seem to wipe off easily.
The sky faded into a deeper shade of purple welcoming mid evening. Belle walked through the campus courtyard to her car, books hugged to her chest tight like a shield. It became a habit whenever she felt it getting dark and she was walking alone. As she came close to her Centenario, her heart dropped noticing a group of boys hanging around it and laughing to one another.
Belle took a deep breath and kept padding casually to her car until one of them turned her head to face her. She felt her stomach twist when recognition smacked her like a brick. Jung Hoseok standing near the passengers’ door caressing the top of it with his eyes flashing red. “Can I please get into my car?”
Hoseok scoffed as loud as he could muster erupting more chuckles from the group. “You expect me to believe this is your car?” His gaze flickered up and down her body in both judgement and slight interest.
“It was a gift.” She mumbled.
“Ah…” He nodded. “…yes you’re Min and Park’s fuck toy.”
“They’re my friends.”
“Of course they are, sweetheart.” Hoseok gave her a mocking pout while more snickers echoed in the air. “I also heard you’re Jeon slut now too, aren’t you?” He began to take a few steps forward.
Belle stayed frozen in her tracks, stomach lurching and twisting as she tried to figure out what to do. “We don’t know each other.”
“Right…” A wide, toothy smirk spread across his lips. “It’s funny ‘cause he told me—you had the tastiest blood he ever tried.” Hoseok leaned forward and took a faint whiff, humming a little in delight when he found something very sweet lingering in his nostrils. “Kind of want to see if that theory is true.”
“Please…” She finally started backing away, running back to Taehyung’s dorm or calling someone but Hoseok kept walking forward. “Please leave me alone.”
“I will.” The pure blood nodded still moving closer and closer until he completely towered over the girl. “As soon as I get a little bite.” Hoseok leaned into her without hesitation, mouth parted and fangs baring.
Belle didn’t know what else to do. She could have ran but he would be just as fast as her. So she raised her hard cover book and swung it across his face. A thud echoed in her ears as Hoseok groaned and fell back against the side of the car. Eyes widened when she noticed the blood trickling down his nose. “Stay away from me.” She tried to warn with the hardest voice she could possibly muster until her tongue clipped when the group began surrounding her.
“You’re gonna pay for that, breedling.” Hoseok growled, pupils completely red as his fangs were still bared. He snarled at the girl and lunged forward but was harshly tugged back causing the group to scatter.
Before Belle could gather her bearings and blink away her blurry tears, a figure towered over Hoseok with his back facing the girl. She would have expected the group to fight back against him but they only backed away further looking a little worried.
Vision finally cleared and her heart jumped seeing familiar dark curls and a raspy voice laced with pure fury.
“I could squash you on this pavement right now and no one would blink twice.” Jungkooks’ deep crimson pupils burned into Hoseok’s battered face. “Don’t ever touch her again.” He gripped onto the male’s collars, nails ripping into the fabric as he pulled him back on his feet despite his light stumbling.
Hoseok spat blood out on Jungkook’s shoe with a clear grimace on his bruised and cut face, eyes almost permanently red. “Your father will hear about this, Jeon. I’ll make sure of it.”
Jungkook tightened his jaw, body still burning with so much anger he wished he could throw more punches to relieve himself. “Get out of my sight.” He seethed.
Nothing but a sharp glare shot towards Belle, Hoseok walked away down the pavement with the group following him like little puppies.
He turned around and walked over to Belle examining her for any injuries. Expression softened so quickly when he focused on her movements. “Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.
“I’m fine.” Belle muttered, shaking her head. “Why did you do that? He’s going to tell your father, he’s—”
“I’ll take care of it.” Jungkook replied simply giving her a weak smile. “I promise. Just go home.”
“Jungkook—”
“Go home, be safe.” The pure blood muttered before walking the same direction as Hoseok and his group leaving Belle in a deep pool of confusion and concern.
I’ll take care of it.
How?
-
Five days went by and Jungkook was nowhere to be found on campus. Even when Belle tried to peek at the groups Vira or Hoseok were in, he wasn’t there. Not in class. Not in the courtyard or even in the bars. He was gone. She hated counting how many days but it was officially the sixth day and Jungkook still wasn’t in campus.
“Why are you looking so sad these past few days?” Jimin asked breaking her out of another trance. He forgot all about his assignment to notice the girl’s face looking blank for long minutes at a time before freezing on her readings.
Belle shifted in her seat with a significant pout on her lips. “I’m not sad.”
“Concerned then? About what?”
“I—” She sighed in defeat. “I’m just worried about Jungkook.”
Jimin’s face hardened almost immediately as he glared down at his assignment.
“See that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“No, it’s fine. Look he didn’t attend a few days of school.” He shrugged, scratching a few doodles on the corner of his paper. “It’s no big deal.”
“Jimin…”
“What?”
“He beat Hoseok up.”
A silence spread between them that made Belle uncomfortable. Usually she would expect a jab about how Hoseok deserved it or the two pure bloods were just having a dick sizing competition of some sort. Unfortunately when she searched Jimin’s expression, she saw reluctance and the same concern she saw in the mirror for the past few days.
“Why did–why would he do that?” Jimin leaned forward resting his elbows on the table.
Belle gulped down lowering her gaze for a moment. “He—he tried to feed on me.” When she met the original’s gaze, she immediately noticed the long fade to pitch black as his face hardened again.
“You never told us.”
“Then you’d kill him.”
“He would’ve deserved it.” He spat, the full black hue of his eyes unable to wipe away.
Belle reached out and held onto his tightened fist hoping to ease him somehow. “Nothing happened to me.”
“What if Jungkook didn’t come around? You really think Hoseok was going to just feed on you once?” Jimin winced feeling his breathing growing heavy and ragged. “Fuck, Belle he could’ve—”
“He didn’t.” She emphasized the words as sharply as possible even though the original didn’t look like he was going to let Hoseok live after this new knowledge. Not that Belle cared much about the ordeal. “That’s not what I’m worried about. Jungkook protected me in front of them…Hoseok told him that he was going to tell his father. A-and then Jungkook told me he was going to take care of it.” The more Belle voiced what happened that day, the more her stomach began to lurch again so harshly she couldn’t even look at her iced coffee without feeling nauseous.
“We’re usually the exception to protect you but—Jungkook’s father is not a tolerant man.” Jimin shook his head.
Dread travelled up to the middle of her ribcages squeezing into a tight ball as Belle let out a shaky breath. “You don’t think—” She almost winced. “You don’t think he’s being punished, right? For—for me?”
Jimin took a deep, drawling breath finally opening his fist and holding onto the girls’ hand. This time attempting to give her some comfort. “I can’t say for sure.” He spoke honestly. “But whatever happens…it’s not your fault, alright? I know Jungkook won’t want you to blame yourself for his decision.”
“Why are you talking like he’s not going to come back?” Belle pressed her quivering lips together, tears burning at the brim of her eyes like a dam had been shattered behind them.
“I love you…so I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. Pure bloods and originals don’t have to go to universities or schools, they just do it for their own enjoyment.” Jimin sighed. “If I know our culture accurately, he might be forced to stay at his apartment for a few months until he is welcomed back to the mansion.” He held onto her hand as firmly as he could to ensure she didn’t pull away but tried not to hurt her skin. “Then he’d have to train there until he’s ready to run the Jeon’s respective community.”
Belle hung her head slightly, sighing. “Is that the whole punishment?”
“I really can’t say, Belle. I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry too, she tells herself as an possibly dangerous decision passed her mind.
-
Deep in the dead of night, a Lamborghini Centenario parks in front of the luxury apartment buildings specifically for well off vampire students. They usually tried to keep humans and vampires separate unless humans don’t really care or prefer it that way. Belle turned the car off and padded quietly towards the apartment room number she got from Yoongi who ‘convinced’ Hoseok to blurt it out.
“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Belle asked.
Yoongi scoffed with a bitter smile. “I fucking wanted to…but Kiku promised me something in exchange for keeping him alive.”
“What kind—”
“Don’t ask.” Jimin shook his head with a grimace. “I did…don’t do what I did.”
“When you have someone, you’ll understand the appeal.” Yoongi pointed at the younger male.
Up the elevator to room 418, Belle stood in front of the door observing the numbers for a moment. She hadn’t truly prepared on what to say coming this far. If he even was still here. What would the punishment have been? Would Jungkook’s father really hate the lower classes so much that he would hurt his son for protecting them?
Letting out a detached sigh fingers curled into a loose fist and rapped on the wooden door a few times. Feet continuously shifting from one side to the other to shake off the anxiety bubbling up from her toes to her head. She really shouldn’t be here. If anyone saw her walking around and recognized who she was, Jungkook might get into more trouble. Before she could think more into it however, shuffling sounded from the other side and the door opened.
Hair tousled and curlier than ever, eyes slightly bloodshot and his lips extremely pouty with his torso completely bare like he had just come out of a nap. Jungkooks’ brows were furrowed when he tried to see who disturbed him but immediately his expression softened.
“Belle?” Jungkook peeked out of the door to see if anyone else was with her before gently guiding her inside and closing it behind him. “What’re you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Belle winced lightly. “You can’t just break the rules like that and disappear for days on end without a single warning.”
He peered through his fringe noticing how much she was shifting around on the spot. “Were you worried about me?” Jungkook walked closer away from the now locked door.
“Well I’m not horrible.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You helped me. Even though you were going to get punished for it. I thought—” Belle sighed averting her gaze to look at the couch setting on her right. “I thought you were gone.”
“But you didn’t want us to see each other anymore.” He shook his head despite the light warmth spreading through his belly. “Why were you concerned about me?”
“Just because I told you we can’t see each other doesn’t mean I wanted it.” Belle turned to look at her left this time, eyes stopping on the things resting on the dining table. Her brows furrowed when she recognized the gauze and antiseptics with towels soaking red tinged water.
Jungkook stammered rushing over to the table. “Sorry I was just—”
Whatever kept squeezing in her chest from time to time now tumbled down into a dark abyss, endless and terrifying. Belle’s gaze paused on Jungkook’s back as her fingers began to tremble from a dangerous brew of dread and anger. Deep red lashes broken his skin in different directions, some of them still freshly bleeding while others were taking their time to heal.
“Jungkook…” She whispered in a light sob. Belle walked over to the male who tried to face her with his torso again so she wouldn’t see but she wanted to. Somehow a part of her felt like it was her responsibility to see. See what happened to people who protected her. Holding onto his arm, Belle gently turned him around again and her features contorted, tears burning in her eyes as her shaky hands hovered over the angry markings. “I’m sorry…I-I’m sorry, why did—why didn’t y-you walk away?”
“Walk a—Belle, he was going to hurt you!” Jungkook argued, wincing turned to meet her teary gaze.
“I can take hurt when it’s directed to me!” She sobbed out. “This…I-I don’t want other people getting h-hurt ‘cause of me.”
“You could’ve been at any level of the system, Belle. I’d still beat the living shits out of anyone who hurts you.”
“If I was in any other part of the system, you wouldn’t be punished.”
He wanted to keep fighting off as much as he could. To remind her that people should still rise up and protect people in need no matter where they stand in some kind of messed up system tradition created. “It’s done now, okay?” Jungkook softened his voice, reaching out and cupping her cheek so she could look at him instead of the lashes. “Besides I should be saying sorry.”
Belle didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “No—”
“I do. I don’t fucking know why I couldn’t say it at the yacht but I’m sorry.” He brushes his fingers gently through her hair. “You’re not an abomination, you’re not dirty, not even close.” Jungkook closed their distance a little more, relishing in the heat radiating from her body again after staying away from it far too long. “You’re so fucking warm and sweet.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I love being around you.”
She tried so hard to respond with the words swirling in her head but they all faded into short, trembling breaths as tears trickled down her cheeks. Something lifted from the abyss back up to her chest, bursting with flowers and butterflies as they soared across her body.
“You know how I told you that the yacht made me feel free?” The corner of his lips curled up a little.
“Mhm…” Belle sniffled.
“The moment you walked into it was I felt free.” He curled his fingers around a few of her hair strands reminding himself that this wasn’t some sick dream from the wooziness. “When you left, I felt trapped again.”
Belle nudged her nose against his, a small smile creeping on her quivering lips. “Feed on me again.” She muttered in a low voice barely audible but it caught Jungkook’s attention with barely any effort.
“What?”
“I want you to feel free.” She whispered. “It’ll help you heal completely if you feed on me.”
Jungkook pulled his head away to meet her gaze properly. “Blood doesn’t work. They laced the whips with something…makes it harder to heal.”
“They gave you human blood. A few years ago I gave Yoongi some of mine in a bottle and it healed his wound from a silver bullet.” Belle wiped the stray tears away from her jawline. “I didn’t tell him it was mine at first but it works—Jimin explained that original vampire healing powers mixed in with the human immune system creates these…really potent cells in the blood.”
“Belle, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t…take from you.” He still thought about the first time he did it. How selfish he was to just take from the girl knowing she couldn’t really blurt it out to anyone. “I did it once and I—treated you like nothing, I just indulged.”
“It’s not taking, I’m giving.” She reached out and gave his bottom lip a featherlight brush from her fingers. “I—I liked it when you fed on me.”
Jungkook wanted to relish in her soft fingers for a moment, pursing them to almost resemble a kiss. Then her words threw him over the edge and brought him back to reality. “You what?”
Belle gulped down before lowering her head and putting her fingers down. “It made me really excited.” She admitted shyly. “I en-I enjoy it when it hurts a little.” Her cheeks ignited with a deep heat that didn’t seem to cool over any time soon. Anything to ensure Jungkook was convinced it wasn’t wrong to feed from her if she consented and liked it.
“You enjoy pain.” His own voice and words swirled in his mind like a potent drug as the heat from her body coated the air around them. Jungkook leaned in to brush his nose against her hair when she had her head lowered in adorable shyness. Her sweet, thick scent floating and filling his lungs to the brim where he could almost taste it on his tongue like honey.
Her hands absentmindedly pressed against his stomach gently, feeling his skin on her warm palms. “Only when you do it.” Belle had to close her eyes, allowing her body to succumb to the heat and the satisfying heaviness forming in her lower belly. “No one else.”
Whatever wall they tried to build between them practically melted as Jungkook placed his fingers on the underside of her chin to lift her head. Leaning in, he pressed a warm kiss on her lips, cupping her cheek firmly to push her into him deeper. Tongue pushed through Belle’s teeth, exploring every inch of her mouth taking whatever remanence of her taste he could get almost selfishly.
Belle let a hum into the kiss sliding her hands up his torso to his rising chest, fingers tracing his collarbones as their tongues danced against one another in messy but beautiful sync. She felt him pull away from the kiss, immediately moving his lips down to her jawline, licking down her neck to find the best spot.
Jungkook nibbled on one particular area, kissing and licking it making sure Belle felt as comfortable and loose as possible. Then his fangs bared sinking into the soft skin. His ear pricked when he heard a small gasp. But feeling her hand grip at his roots and gently push him further in, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to let the warm, sweet liquid touch his tongue and travel down his throat.
A growl emitted under his breath vibrating on her skin as he drank in more, gulping it down with such enthusiasm. Head spinning with bliss and the ache on his back fading away completely.
“Kook…” She whispered, tugging at his roots a little.
Pressing his tongue flat against the wound, he closed the intrusions up in seconds before moving to press his forehead on her hers again. Breathing heavy and ragged but his whole body felt a thousand times better now compared to the past five days.
Belle moved away from his grasp even though the male tried to tighten his hold on her. She peeked at his back and let out a sigh of relief seeing only blood stains on healed skin. “It worked.” She walked towards the towels in the bowl of water and wrung the cleanest one before moving to Jungkook’s back again.
Despite the injuries completely healed, she still carefully cleaned the leftover blood stains until all she could see was his glistening bare skin. “Does it feel better?”
“Much better.” Jungkook murmured turning around and taking the towel off her to put back on the table. As his strength reeled back to him, he took her lips again, hands trailing down her chest and slowly unbuttoning her cardigan.
She shrugged off the thin clothing letting it fall to the ground before wrapping her arms around his neck. Distance closed between them, bodies pressed taut against each other as their tongues began their dance. Belle felt his fingers grip at the hem of her dress. “Take it off.” She requested in a whisper.
Jungkook didn’t hesitate to pull the dress over her head, smiling at her hair completely covering her face. He brushed away her soft locks before kissing her again.
Belle moved her hands at his hips, pushing down his sweat pants letting them pool around his ankles before he kicked them away. She felt him walk forward forcing them to stumble and hit a wall behind her, soft moans jolting out of them. Unclipping her bra from the front, she pulled it off along with the other clothes scattered across the floor.
Jungkook’s lips travelled down to her neck, nibbling until he could see blood rushing to the surface forming a gorgeous redness to the skin. Kissing the valley of her beautiful breasts, middle of her ribcages right down to her clothed more, knees rested on the floor for her. He pressed a hand over the slightly soggy clothing with a smile tugging at his lips. “You really like being fed on, don’t you?”
Belle let out a mixture of a whine and a giggle, hips swaying against his hands lightly brushing against her throbbing clit. “Only when it’s you.”
“Good.” He hooked at the hem of her panties, pulling down to her ankles slowly letting her walk out of them before sliding them away. Jungkook pushed her legs apart just enough for him to lean in and taking her clit between his lips.
Letting out a shaky sigh, her fingers came up to bury themselves in his hair watching him move his head up and down. Toes curled in against the wood. Hips jerked a little into his mouth trying to get more friction from his tongue. Though the action earned her a firm slap on her bottom, her walls clenched around nothing, inner thighs glistening with wetness. “Do it again.”
Jungkook pulled away from her core with an excited smirk brightening his features. Standing up, he turned Belle around.
Cheek pressed against the wall, Jungkook kept one of his hands on the back of her head to keep her still.
Belle let out a breathy giggle, curling her back so her ass poked out in front of him.
Jungkook caressed her soft peach with his free hand. Kneading the soft flesh before giving his first swing. Palm slammed on her delicate skin, light blush forming a few seconds after.
She gasped at the first impact. Fingers curled against the wooden wall, trying to shift but the grip on her hair prevented her from doing so. Another slap came down making her ass jiggle.
Jungkook moved his fingers down to her sodden entrance, pushing in two digits carefully and curling down to find the rough spot inside her. The sweet scent so thick and intoxicating as it mixed with arousal and sweat. The more she moaned, the faster his fingers thrusted into her, faster and harder until he could feel her juices sputtered out on his hand. “You’re so hot, baby.” He leaned in and pressed a hot kiss on her shoulder blade.
Belle hummed in delight at his words before immediately whining when he felt his fingers pulled out of her. In a second, another harsh slap hit her ass again. Over and over. Jungkook’s drenched digits leaving remnants of her arousal on her blushing skin. Slap. Slap. Slap. Entrance drooled and dripped down her inner thighs. Slap. Slap. His fingers pulled at her roots just enough for her eyes to close. Slap.
It looked like a beautiful work of art seeing the deepening red marks on her skin, raw and fresh. Jungkook traced a finger over the darkest patch hearing a light hiss from the girl. He pulled his hand away and turned her back around again, raising one of her legs up to hook under her thigh. Wrapping another hand around his aching member he gave it a few slow strokes before positioning it at her leaking slit. Jungkook pushed through her with ease, walls hugging and clenching around him with such enthusiasm he could come done right there and then.
Ruby encrusted eyes fixated on how focused Jungkook looked when he moved inside her. As if getting all that he wanted but being careful to give her pleasure at the same time. Belle cupped his cheek, gasping a little as he slowly slid in and out of her, steady thrusts hitting deep, brushing against her sweet spot. With a light smile tugging at her lips she brushed her thumb across his knitted forehead.
Her core completely swallowed every inch of his length causing a groan to vibrate in his throat. Jungkook kept with his steady thrusts, flickering his gaze up to Belle as her lips parted allowing more choked moans to pass through her. “Feels good?” He breathed out, noses nudging against each other as they trembled where they stood.
Belle nodded frantically, another whimper stopping at the roof of her mouth. “So good.” She felt her leg aching a little as it pressed down against the floor while other was still locked under his arm. “Go harder…” Her voice came out in a faint whisper against his lips.
Jungkook’s eyes faded into a deep crimson red. Not a flash but complete transformation, growing darker and darker as her words sunk in. He hooked her other leg under his arm and dug his fingers into her hips until he could feel her bones. In mere seconds, Jungkook began his onslaught of thrusts slamming her back down harshly while the room filled with her pleasured cries.
Every time she was pushed down, Belle could feel him hitting the soft walls of her cervix sending her over the edge. Toes curled into themselves tightly as her fingers gripped at his hair, messily kissing his upper lip before she was bounced up and down again. The impact caused a sting on her reddened bottom as her throbbing clit rubbed against his lower belly. The tight ball coiled beyond its control, so ready to come undone every time his tip slammed deep inside her. “’m c-close…” She whimpered.
Despite the curdling heat ready to rush to his tip at her words, Jungkook pulled out of her smirking at the pleading cry she uttered. “Not yet.” He loosened his death grip on her hips soothing the dented skin before carrying them over to the bedroom.
Jungkook laid her down on all fours, placing one of the pillows under her hips not bothering to turn the lights on and leaving the moonlight from the windows to shine through. It didn’t take a second before he noticed Belle slowly grinding on the soft pillow to gain some of the lost build-up back. He swung another slap across her beautiful bruised peach, relishing in how she whimpered so desperately.
Knees sunk into the soft surface of the bed as he wrapped one hand around her neck, bending it back so she could look up at him. An ache tugged at the back of her neck from the stretch but it immediately drowned into a tremble of pleasure, his length filling her sloppy pussy once again, twitching for more. Belle whimpered, ragged breathing hitting Jungkooks’ face like a waft of fresh air. He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss against her puffy lips.
“You like being held down, don’t you, sweetheart?” The vampire growled into the kiss, hips pressing tight against hers so she could feel every inch of his length deep inside her. “Fucked like a hungry little animal in heat.”
Belle hissed in response, trying to swivel her hips but her knees were so far apart she could barely move. Her mind melting into a submissive state. Allowing the senior vampire to do as he pleased in his own pace. Sweat drizzled all over their writhing bodies, a few beads dropped from the ends of Jungkooks’ raven curls softly landing on her cheek.
The room was dark but couldn’t match the pitch black taint of lust in his orbs. “I asked you a question, kitten.” Jungkooks’ voice rasped. Pulling his hips back down, he applied full force to slam it back against her raw, reddened ass coaxing a shaky cry from her.
Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes as the ache from her neck further mixed in with the impact against her g-spot. The insane mixture of pain and pleasure made her shake, both in anticipation and desperation. “Ye-Yes—Yes…”
“Yes what?” He whispered but it still exuded the most delicious amount of power. Enough for it to crawl under her skin and further her lust fueled insanity.
“I—” Belle tried to take a few breaths. “I like—” A hazy smile tugged at her lips, staring up at him. “—getting fucked—like an animal…”
“Good girl.” With that praise, he pulled his cock out until only the tip filled her. A light hum emitted under his breath feeling Belle clench desperately around it. When she clenched tight enough Jungkook pushed it back in relishing in her sweet whimper. “Good girl.” He whispered again softly as he slammed inside her again. And again. He began his onslaught of thrusts releasing her neck from the lock.
Belle felt a slight relief from the back of her neck as he fucked into her, skin slapping against her raw ass. She dropped down to rest her cheek against the pillow as the heaviness in her belly coiled, tightening so hard that her head began to spin. The bed creaked a little, headboard hitting the wall at every thrust.
Jungkook dipped down, burying his head into her shoulder as his thrusts grew sloppy as he felt her walls pulsing around him. “I can feel you cumming, sweetheart.” He whispered with an intoxicated smirk against her skin as he reached one hand in between the pillow and her core, roughly rubbing her clit. “Let it out.”
Fingers gripped the sheets so hard, it pulled out from where it was tucked. Heat coating her aura closing on her as the only thing she could utter were a string of pleasure infused cries. Her entrance burned, coil tearing up at the seams until it completely burst, juices sputtering out of her in a soft sprinkle soaking Jungkook’s hands and the sheets underneath them. Belle’s legs trembled trying to close but her knees were still so far apart.
He moaned in excited desperation feeling how much her release spewed out of her before the heat rushed to his tip. Heaviness inside him emptying and spilling into the beauty as burning ecstasy spread through his veins. Jungkook kissed her shoulder softly, pulling out of her carefully before pulling her legs so she could lie on her stomach in a more relaxed way. “You did so good, baby.” He brushed her hair away to kiss her cheek. “You’re not an animal.” Jungkook whispered against her skin as he moved down her back, staining the words on it so she could always remember. Even if she didn’t, he could spend more nights constantly reminding her. “You’re a blessing.”
Belle let out a small, breathy chuckle despite the tears brimming at her eyes from how warm her belly felt at his words. She reached behind her and weakly brushed through his hair where she could catch it before feeling him kiss her fingers.
“I’m gonna clean you up then we can sleep, okay?” Jungkook soothed over the reddened patches on her bottom trying not to rub too hard.
“Okay.” She sniffled lightly, a smile almost permanently plastered across her lips.
Grabbing a wet cloth, Jungkook wiped the excess from her body before helping her get out of bed to the bathroom. A quick lukewarm shower involving the two stealing kisses from one another as their chuckles echoed against the tiled walls. He draped her in one of his T-shirts and some comfortable shorts before they walked back to the bedroom to change the sheets.
Finally they were settled under fresh blankets with Belle resting her head on his chest and nuzzling her nose against his jawline. Pleased hums emitting from under her breath as Jungkook’s traced up and down her arm.
“Say it again.” Belle murmured in such a tiny voice, he almost didn’t catch it.
“What?”
She kept her gaze on his bare chest, tracing circles on his left breast. “That thing you said before.” Her voice kept dwindling down in her shyness. Cheeks burning a little as she snuggled more into him.
“Blessing.” Jungkook smiled up at the ceiling feeling her body warm up so beautifully coating them in comfort. “You’re a blessing.” He brushed his lips against her hair. “Want me to say it again?”
Belle giggled completely hiding her face in his chest making Jungkook chuckle. “No…it’s okay. Thank you.”
“Thank you too.”
“Why me?” She looked up to meet his gaze.
“You came to see me.” Jungkook grinned, moving his hand from her arm to her cheek brushing his fingers against her warm skin. “No one’s visited me ever since that day. You were the only one who checked on me.”
Belle’s heart dropped thinking about the few days Jungkook had to tolerate and treat his injuries alone without the help of any of his ‘friends’. The moment he was seen going against the system, they all walked away without a second thought. “I’ll always come and check on you then.” She wrapped an arm around his torso as an attempt to hug him. “All the time.”
Jungkook fully embraced her with a light giggle under his breath. “Or you could just stay here.”
She grinned to herself. “Or I could stay here.”
“My blessing.” He whispered one last time before they drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.
-
Morning broke in warm and comforting as Belle snuggled into the soft surface of the bed. She adorned in the soft T-shirt while shifting under the blankets. Her whole body wanted to just stay in here all day. But when she slid her hand to where Jungkook slept, something emptied inside her when there was nothing but a free space. Opening one eye to peek at the side, Belle whined a little.
Though eventually her annoyance faded when she smelled faint waft of berries in the air, fading the exhaustion as her eyes opened completely. Belle pushed off the bed slowly, fixing herself up as best as she could despite the clear thrilling bruise marks on her neck that made her body flutter in glee.
Walking out of the bedroom to the kitchen, she saw Jungkook pouring some hot water into two cups. The liquid was almost pitch black aside from the reddish tone glinting in the light.
Jungkook’s eyes flickered to see the girl, hair a little disheveled and lips incredibly pouty when she walked towards the kitchen counter. “Onyx tea.” He slid one of the cups towards her. “I forgot I ran out of coffee so this is all I got.”
“It’s okay.” Belle smiled down at the cup, blowing off some of the stream before taking a small sip and her tongue tried to push the bitter taste back out. “Little pungent.” She attempted to hide her grimace.
“Oh yeah it tastes disgusting.” He chuckled. “But apparently it helps in relaxing the muscles.”
She remembered the slight soreness between her legs and continued drinking past the putrid taste. Part of Belle wanted to keep dragging on the comfortable silence just for a little bit longer but nothing good came with holding back reality into a tiny box for it to burst. “Jimin told me what happens when you break the rules.”
Jungkook’s smile faded at the mention, gripping at the edge of the counter with a deep sigh. “You don’t have to worry about it.”
“But I do. You can say that it was all your doing but it’s not going to change anything.” Belle tightened her grip around the cup when she remembered the marks on his back again. “I want to help.”
“Help how?”
“Maybe if I ask Yoongi to take you in like he did me.”
The vampire scoffed immediately, shaking his head. “I highly doubt that.”
“We could go talk to him and Kiku. Jimin–Jimin’s gone through something like this before, I know he’d understand.”
“The last time your friends saw me, they all wanted to kill me.”
“Because that’s what they do.” Belle got off the stool and walked closer to the male, caressing his forearm. “They protect the members of their group. Please…” She held onto his hand and hugged it to her chest. “Please let me do this for you.”
Jungkook stammered lightly trying to come up with an excuse or an argument that could convince her otherwise. That this system was impenetrable and his punishment was going to be inevitable. But the way the rubies in her eyes glimmered so brightly, he was reminded of the things Belle must have gone through. Despite all of it, she still stood here trying to convince him that good can come out of their suffering. Jungkook found it hard not to be swayed. “Alright. We’ll talk to them.”
-
Dawn brightened into midday when Belle escorted Jungkook to her group’s regular café hangouts. The colours were oddly cutesy with its mint and pink colour scheme when it served the best desserts and coffees for vampires. However no one really liked a horror themed café in the morning. She already noticed Kiku sitting near the window in the last booth while Yoongi shyly kissed her cheek.
Her arm hooked around Jungkook though his steps were slower than normal. Belle looked up to see the male gulping when he noticed the group.
“Are you sure about this?”
“It’s gonna be fine.” Belle muttered. “Besides we’re in a public place so they can’t kill you in front of witnesses.” She couldn’t help but giggle when Jungkook gave her a look of disapproval.
Jungkook couldn’t be mad for too long when the girl leaned in to press quick kiss on his cheek.
“They’re not horrible people, Kook, they’ll understand. And your plan might even make them like you.”
“Or trust me even less.”
“Well…on the bright side, this café has the best crimson macarons.” Belle smiled already feeling her mouth-watering at the thought of having it again.
“I’m here pissing my pants scared and you’re thinking about cookies?”
“Macarons, silly.” They walked into the establishment feeling a cool air rush though their clothes before stepping to the counter. “And try not to actually piss your pants.” Belle murmured under her breath but enough for Jungkook to hear.
Belle ordered her macarons and a red latte while Jungkook ordered a ruby black with two extra shots of blood. She felt a small tingle in her belly when he absentmindedly placed his hand on the small of her back.
“Did they all have to be here at once?” Jungkook rubbed her back, somehow oddly giving himself comfort by doing so. “Can’t I do it one by one?”
“They kind of always come in a unit nowadays so no.” Belle patted his chest. “I want you to talk to them properly, Kook. So you can at least be civil with each other in the long run.” She held onto his hand and finally led him over to the end booth.
Immediately Kiku noticed the girl and waved with a wide grin. However Yoongi managed to see someone else coming behind her causing a significant frown on his face.
The couple stood in front of their table while Jimin and Taehyung also joined in to shoot sharp glares at Jungkook leaving him in more of an uncomfortable position.
“No one freak out.” Belle muttered glancing at his friends. “But he’s here in peace.” She picked up a chair and placed it at the table so Jungkook could sit down albeit reluctantly. Belle opted to sit down next to Jimin while Taehyung observed the window outside.
Kiku hooked her arm around Yoongis’ when she noticed the anger radiating from him.
“His father hurt him a lot for protecting me.” Belle spoke plainly ensuring everyone knew why it was so important not to push him away. Especially with what their group stood for.
“He hurt you too.” Yoongi seethed.
Belle glanced over at Jungkook for a moment and saw him hanging his head. “He was ignorant…a lot of you were. Jimin, you cut off ties with Gaia because she was a human.”
Jimin’s head shot to face her. “That’s—That’s not the same.”
“Oh? Did you not feel weary about showing her off to your parents?” She tilted her head as the older male pressed his lips together. “Because you were afraid you two would get married and make someone like me?”
“Gaia was really heartbroken, Mini.” Kiku explained with a saddened expression. “It’s…kind of why she transferred to Tokyo.”
Jimin’s swallowed down the lump in his throat, blinking profusely before hanging his head.
Belle then looked over at Yoongi who had his gaze lowered in the thickening silence of the group. “Yoongi…you hated me when we first met. You wouldn’t even look at me until that day you got shot.”
The older male didn’t try to argue but he could still see that little glint of guilt spreading across his features as he tapped the side of his cup. “I love you now though.”
“I know.” She smiled. “And I want you guys to do the same to Jungkook. Maybe not now or even a couple of years from now but the system turned its back on him just like the rest of us.” Belle paused her words for a moment as the waitress came in with their orders, placing them carefully on the table.
“The Jeons are a little harder to sway when it comes to loopholes in the system.” Kiku explained while the other boys were trying to get their bearings after the walls Belle broke down between them. “Your father might not even care if you’re under our protection.”
“I can get my father to talk to him.” Jimin spoke up which caused Jungkook’s head to shoot up though the older male didn’t look over at him. “If he hears from an original, it might—at the very least—make Jeon weary of testing boundaries far too much.” He side glanced at Belle for a moment, shifting in his seat. “I will have to tweak the story a little, however and tell him you were protecting a half-blood or a turned to make it more uh—”
“Palatable.” Belle answered for him, giving him a reassuring smile.
Jungkook glanced over at both of them with a slight frown. “You’re going to lie for my benefit? I thought your parents hated lower classes.”
Jimin sighed. “Abiding by my parent’s beliefs has never gotten me anywhere good. I think everyone here can agree with that when it comes to their families.”
Belle watched Yoongi lean back against the booth couch, letting go of his cup with an unreadable expression on his face.
“You’ll need another place to stay.” Yoongi spoke, silencing everyone else completely.
“He can stay at mine.” Belle nodded. “It’s too big for one person anyway.”
“I gave you that penthouse as a gift.” He pointed at the younger female with a slight pout.
“And it’s lovely but there’s two spare rooms that are doing nothing for me so you can take one.” Belle smiled at Jungkook who whispered a small thank you.
Taehyung scoffed with a smirk, leaning his back against the window to face them properly. “Yeah, like he’s going to use the spare room.”
Kiku cleared her throat, giving the male a soft warning look before smiling back at Jungkook as she held onto Yoongi’s hand. A silent way to thank him for not pushing the boy away when he was in need. “So it’s decided. We remind Jeon not to enforce his beliefs on one of our own.” She looked at each member of the group.
Jimin nodded followed by Taehyung before Kiku turned to Yoongi.
The oldest male gazed around the group, stopping at Jungkook before looking over at the hopeful look on Belle’s face. “Always wanted to piss on the system one day, what the hell.”
Belle’s lips stretched into a wide grin as something fluttered in her belly when she saw Jungkook letting out a deep sigh of relief.
The air around the group lightened in a few minutes as Kiku started teasing Yoongi for being such a good caretaker. He would have looked annoyed usually if Kiku didn’t whisper something else in his ear causing a smile on his face. Even Jungkook began joining in on the laughter as they talked about how crooked Hoseok’s nose looked after he battered him.
Although Belle could feel a raging storm brewing in the future as they all did, it was a moment of small joy and comfort. In a world that wanted to shun them forever, they could still laugh and joke to show off their new freedom.
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#jungkook#bts fanfic#jungkook smut#bts smut#jungkook angst#bts angst#bts fanfiction#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fanfiction#tw: smut
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A Den of Iniquity (Part 2)
Pairing: Dracula/Count Dracula/Vlad Tepes x Female Reader
Warnings: Death, Murder, Blood, Gore, Injuries and Violence.
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Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
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Sleeping wasn’t exactly what Dracula did. He remembered sleeping. It was a warm embrace with something that proved restful and fulfilling. As the creature he was now, it was silent, a quiet rest with blackness yet no peace. He did not dream delights anymore, at least not like when he was human. The dreams were rarely joyous or fulfilling. As a young man he could remember waking with Elisabeta on his mind and the hardness between his legs. Those days were gone. The dreams of her he had now revolved around her death. A bloodied face haunted his memories along with the twisted nightmare of her burning away, her face rotting into the mud as she reached for him. In the nightmare he could never reach her before she dissolved into ash and smoke. Other dreams were of dying faces or fire on the battlefield. His nightmares haunted him often, but most of the time the daylight made his mind silent, his eyes closed but his brain aware of the passage of time as it slowly ticked by around him. This morning, however, his brain was rife with activity as he listened to the bin men take the household rubbish from his drive. The rubbish lorry thundered as it emptied the bins, men shouting before it moved on down the hill.
Dracula closed his eyes inside his resting place, pushing his fingers deeper into the soil from his homeland as he turned his chin upwards, towards the wooden floorboards over his head. The vampire gurgled, blood churning in the spittle of his throat as he found some respite from the noise in the world around him. This time, the dreams were odd. He felt the noise outside melt away as his chest froze, mouth open in pause as death held his muscles still and taut. As the world outside disappeared, a new one appeared before his eyes. He awoke with a gasp, the bright white light blinding to his eyes as he fell to his knees. The vampire gasped at the sunlight, covering his eyes with one hand, the other burying itself into the sand beneath him. Dust stained the knees of his dark trousers, his shirt billowing with the hot wind. He looked down at the sand through squinted eyes and held a handful of the pure white dust. Dark, curly hair obscured his view as the wind blew again, blowing the sand from his grasp as the heat burned every inch of his skin. It was oppressive. Dracula reached for his shirt and stumbled to his feet, only to realise that he was barefoot, his toes sinking in the hot, white sand as he took a step. It was like walking on hot coals, as he headed forwards, towards the searing sun.
Dracula watched as his skin blistered. There was no respite from the sun in the barren lands. He pulled himself on through the sand, as long as he could, before collapsing to his knees, breathing hard, panting for air he did not need in the bright white light. The sand stuck to his eyelashes and was gritty against his scalp as the wind whipped more of the white granules into his hair. With a snarl, he tugged his hair away from his face and peered back at the desert. Before him stood a woman clad in black silk. The dress billowed in a giant, night coloured wave, and floated above the sand with ethereal grace as she took a step towards him. A crown of sparkling gold sat on top of her head, yet her face was masked with a thick black veil. Nothing was visible except the outline of a nose. He peered at the figure and watched the crown, set with deep red rubies, sparkle brilliantly. Another step revealed a leg. His eyes caught the sight of naked skin and he reached a hand forwards in the white sand to snatch at it. A snaked hissed from underneath her dress. It’s pointed nose snapped towards him. It flickered a black tongue at his hand before it opened its mouth and hissed, spit clinging between huge fangs before it began its ascent upwards, curling in ribbons of green around the woman. Green scales glittered like jewels against the black silk as it weaved its way upwards, coiling around flesh tightly. It dipped around her waist and hissed again, laying its head on her shoulder. Lace covered fingers stroked at the head of the giant snake before it moved to rest its head in her crown, black eyes watching Dracula in the sand.
The faceless queen didn’t move. She stood, like a statue, stroking the green scales of her snake. In a sudden movement, she turned, silk billowing around her bare feet as she walked in the sand.
“Who are you?!” He howled into the dust as it blew, choking him and making him scrape at his eyes. She didn’t reply to him as he peered back at the blistering sun, protected from the heat in her shadow. He opened his red eyes, shaking in the sand as he blinked his vision clear. The snake dipped beneath her shoulder before he drew back in fear, watching as the sun was blocked, feathered shadows exploding from her figure. She turned again and stepped to the side, coiling her great snake around her arms as the shedding wings shuddered, feathers drifting down into the sand before the three pairs of grey wings spread wide over his body. They blocked the sun and shook once more before eyes opened behind curtains of feathers. The grey feathers parted as a myriad of rainbow eyes rolled in their sockets, gazing at him. The hunched figure hissed behind them.
“Not you.” He cursed as he pushed himself back in the sand, a great snarl escaping his lips, “What is the meaning of this? You cannot have me yet!”
The figure creaked as it stood before laying its hands on the Queen, clad in black. The snake struck at the bone hands, squeezing her neck in protective coils as the winged creature laughed, a hollow noise echoing off stone walls.
Bone hands stretched from tattered sleeves, wrapping around the woman, wings draping over her as Death teased the end of the veil. A million eyes peered at him from the darkness of the hood, twirling in their own orbits and shifting in the darkness before the creature pulled the veil upwards. Dracula flinched from the sight, his hand held up as he hid behind the curtain of his hair, staring back into the white dunes of sand.
“Look then, Dracul. Look, beast that defies Death, and see what I have offered.” Death’s voice came from behind his ears, a whisper on the sandy winds. The vampire turned his head slowly, not daring to peer at the image of the reaper before him. He avoided the thousands of eyes as he peered into the shadowed face. Darkness eclipsed them as he peered at what was behind the veil. His focus was drawn in as he pushed himself to his feet, hobbling to take her shoulders from Death’s grip. The veil rippled over his head, surrounding them as he looked into the nothing. As he shifted his gaze, he felt the jade snake wrap around his shoulders, binding them together with a snarl, fangs sinking into his arm as the darkness swirled and fangs snapped towards his own face from the void.
Dracula slammed his hands against the wooden floorboards in his shock, jolting awake, throwing soil over his mouth and chest as he beat the floorboards with a howl. Red eyes burned from the darkness as he took a gasping breath he didn’t need and looked around the hole he was in. He was alone. With a violent curse in Romanian he felt along the board and pushed it upwards enough to escape his hole, crawling from the dirty resting place. The dirt fell down his shirt as he peeled back the curtains to gaze outside. It was dark now, the sun having just set, the stars not yet twinkling in the sky. He was alone. Death’s words rang in his mind as he remembered the bloodied vampire fangs snapping towards his face and the snake’s paralysing bite in his arm. Black eyes and green scales flashed behind his eyes as he closed them, and with a growl, he threw the curtains back closed and turned to shed his comfortable sleeping clothes in favour or something more worthy of going out in. Death did not scare him, he told himself as he turned the shower on.
Not long after the party, and you were, once again, looking at the displays in the shop, wondering about the appointment you had arranged with Vladimir Székely. He’d sent an email the day after the party with times and dates he was available. Tomorrow was your meeting with the owner of Dracula’s Blood. The email was professional and concise, none of the flirtatious charm you’d seen at the party, but, you reasoned, that was exactly it. It was a professional meeting. Nothing more. You looked at the wine display and grumbled. It would have to do until you could get something more interesting for passers-by. Tourists would love something gimmicky. You had the London liquor display, but it was only so attractive next to the Italian wines. With a tap to your phone, you opened the online page you ran, looking through the small forum side as you set up an announcement about new stock.
The address lead to a small office block by the banks of the River Thames. The river, at least at this time of year, didn’t smell particularly foul. You looked at the building and back to your phone before walking into the small reception room. The elevator had the names of the assigned floors to businesses and you spotted Dracula’s Blood before moving into the lift and pressing the floor’s button. It was a quiet ride upwards, the sun beginning to set on the horizon as you stepped onto the floor now rented by Vladimir.
“Ah! Hello!” The secretary rushed over to greet you, her tablet clutched in her hand, her bright, red dyed hair bundled up in a fashionable bouffant, clipped and shined in perfection, “Welcome to Dracula’s Blood Offices. I’m Miss Westenra, Vladimir’s secretary.” She offered her hand for you to shake.
“It is lovely to meet you.” You offered a smile as you rearranged your coat and bag in your hand.
“He’s just finishing up a small appointment at the moment, but he won’t run too late, I assure you.” She walked you to a small waiting room where a coat hook sat, “I’ve let him know you’ve arrived. He’ll be through to collect you shortly.” Miss Westenra promised as you hung your coat and sat down in a chair, your bag sat in your lap.
Vladimir dismissed his appointment with a pinch to his nose, trying to soothe a phantom ache he knew he could not feel. His head pounded and he drew the blinds behind himself. The sun was beginning to irritate him. In the shadows of his office he soothed his head before rapping his fingers along his desk and standing, fixing his red tie before he dared to open the door.
“Ah, my friend.” He opened his arms in good nature, open and kind, before taking your hand, pressing a small kiss to the back of it before he drew back, “It feels like too long has passed. Welcome. Please, enter, enter.” He opened the door to his office, “Come freely. Go safely; and leave some of the happiness you bring.” The man joked as he let you pass him by, closing the door after you, “I apologise for the darkness,” Vladimir gestured to the blinds, “I’m suffering with a headache, you see. The light is not good for my eyes.” He pulled out the chair and smiled as you sat in it, pushing his dark hair from his shoulders before he sat himself down in his large, leather armchair.
“Thank you for offering me this appointment, Mister Székely.” You opened your bag to pull out your own notebook, your notes carefully written out of his sight-line.
“Please,” Vladimir smiled, sharp teeth on display in a billionaire smile, “Call me Vladimir.”
“Well, Vladimir, I’m still happy for this opportunity. As you know, I’m very interested in your products.”
Vladimir nodded and clicked a few things on his computer, the screens flashing bright. He reached to turn the brightness down on them before replying, “As am I. I believe that supplying your shop would do wonders for my business. Not only would it improve the accessibility, but it would support a local business. I like that idea.”
You watched his face for signs of a lie, “Would it now?” With a brief shuffle of your papers you moved to lay a price sheet over his side of the table, outlining the prices you had agreed with other companies similar to his own, “As you can tell, I’m open to discussion with pricing but…” You leaned towards the dark man, “I won’t be taken for a fool. I know what your product is worth, Vlad.”
Dracula felt his blood boil at the impudence, yet his gut twisted for another taste of the power in your eyes and to challenge it with his own, “You are a fine negotiator.” He observed the prices with a tip of his head, “Never before have I seen such…well, beneficial prices.”
“Well, I aim to impress.” You joked as you gently took the prices back from his manicured nails, “Even if you should be the one impressing me.”
A cascade of chuckles escaped Vladimir as he leaned back in his great office chair and looked at the screens before him. The vampire felt his gums burn behind the small smile he managed to curl onto his pale face. It was torture. His stomach churned and everything burned with the intense ache to feed. To consume the one thing that he knew he could. He watched your blood thump in your neck for a moment before he tapped his nails against the desk. One wave of taps turned into two, and then a third before Vladimir opened his palms to you.
“Then perhaps I can propose a favourable deal?” He reached for his own journals and pulled free a few sheets of paper, “I have prepared a couple of supplier contracts in advance with varying conditions of sale.” With a lick to his finger, he peeled the first offer free and waited, his others hidden behind his linked hands.
“I don’t believe I’m willing to offer shares in my shop, Mister Székely.” You placed the paper back on his side of the desk and smiled, “The option of my webstore, however, I am willing to negotiate that.”
Inside, the beast purred, watching as you took the bait for his little scheme. The monster purred deep in his chest, silent yet as he smiled with a human face, “I believe that is something I can arrange with you.”
A crate of every variety of brandy and rum, a casket of Vladimir’s suggested wine and a dedicated page on your website was not much of an asking for the price you’d been given. A lot of supply for now, and, in comparison, a small price tag attached. You looked at your signed contracts and traced the jittery cursive of his name.
“Get better soon, Mister Székely.” You offered back at the building before heading towards the underground.
Vladimir watched through the window as you left, his throat burning, before the sun was too oppressive, and the vampire recoiled back behind the blinds. In the shadows of his office, he touched his burning skin, yet felt only ice underneath his fingertips. He pushed a claw to the intercom.
“Miss Westenra.” He uttered behind sharpening teeth.
“Yes, Mister Székely?” She replied, her fingers moving across the keyboard at lightning speeds, the tapping echoing in the microphone.
“You are dismissed.” He let the intercom go silent.
“Goodnight then, Sir.” She said before moving to finish the last of his emails and leaving through the elevator. He listened to the clicking of her red heels grow quieter and sighed as he tore the shirt from his back, peering at his own skin as it grew paler and paler, leathery yet paper thin, cold, dead veins leering at him from his arms as he saw fit to toss his stack of papers to the floor. His hair dripped from his scalp in great swathes of brown as wings erupted from his back and his mouth tore at the seams. He lashed at the air before watching the area around the office blinds, waiting for darkness to eclipse the world outside. The nights sky eventually rolled over and the vampire snarled as he tore open the blinds and burst into the night air with a flap of his wings, fangs bared at the moon as hunger burned behind his tongue.
The bat like monster descended on the streets beneath an underpass, wings snapping before claws scraped along the tarmac, sending pebbles and dust flying as Dracula inhaled, smelling the retched air of London. Piss and stale, sour water. He peered at the bridge over his head and stalked towards the sour bodies laid, wrapped in thick blankets, shuddering against the cold and rain. Dracula grasped the two bodies from their sleeping bags and felt his jaw unhinge with a great howl at their faces. The man and the woman cowered before the woman reached to lash at his face. Her nails grazed his leathery skin but did no damage.
“What the fuck?!” The male screeched as he was released, scuttering backwards towards the wall of the bridge, stained with soot from pollution.
“Let go of me!” The woman shouted before Dracula’s sharp teeth peeled open her throat with a spray of blood. The spray speckled his cheeks as she gurgled, her hands falling limp over his shoulders before he turned on the male and snatched him from the pavement, fangs opening a great hole in his throat as he snarled and continued to drink his fill, smearing blood over his chin and cheeks. The blood tasted thin and weak, but two provided him with enough sustenance to replace the three days of starvation he had put himself through.
The cold bodies were great, dead weights under his arms as he carried them towards the woods around Buckingham’s Estate. Dracula flashed fangs at the sky before he dropped the bodies into the lake, watching them fall like sacks of potatoes before splashing in the water. The birds squawked awake, but he heard no other noise as he soared back into the sky and escaped beyond the clouds, the wind drying the blood that had congealed on his chest. The night was fresh and clean beyond the clouds, and Dracula breathed, a deep lungful of air he didn’t require. The night air gave him more than it could for any person. Smells of the city churned along his palette before the beast was drawn to other urges. A familiar smell. Burned spices and wooden crates. You. His burning eyes were turned in the darkness to the buildings below, and he swooped low with a snarl before bursting into a violent spray of mist. As a low fog, he trailed over the roofs of many homes, coiling over old pottery, and hanging guttering as he drifted his way downwards. The shop was beneath your apartment and the fog descended past the windows and towards the streetlamp. The black steel proved enough of a vantage point for him to watch from, fog coalescing into a heavy mist, red eyes leering from within the blackness as your body passed his gaze, and then back again, a black cat clutched in your arms as you span to a song he didn’t know.
The beast yowled, unfriendly and upset, until you released it to sit on the windowsill. The great black cat swished its tail before sitting, coiling the appendage around itself as it investigated the street below. Bright, smart yellow eyes looked at him, seeing his nature through the fog and darkness. With a smile from within the fog, he drifted down the lamppost and taunted the pet, stepping into the lamplight as a great hound, black fur bristling as it barked, a great thunderous noise from the tarmac. The cat yowled, claws against the glass as its own fur bristled, answering the cry as it danced back and forth against the windowpane. A consort of the devil. Cats were, in their nature, beasts of protection. Its protective gaze branded him with burning contempt and rage. You were that beast’s territory. It warded against the dark, as its kind had done since the burning of the witches in his own time. Dracula stepped back into the inky tarmac and melted into shadow as you reached for the spitting cat, peering into the gloom to try and see what had upset it so violently. His wolfish snout raised from the shadow before he bounded away from your little shop, howling at the moon, delighted in the prospect of discovering just what you were to him.
“Come on, Drac.” You cooed at your bristled tom cat, “Something just feels off about tonight.” You snapped the window shut and ushered the cat inside before looking at the streetlamp with one last curious stare. Darkness and yellow light looked back. You shuddered at the howl of some giant dog and tutted as you sat back down in your small couch, fingers easing down Drac’s spikey fur.
‘Two found dead in Buckingham Palace Gardens.’
‘Pound dogs driven insane. Outbreak of rabies with an unknown cause.’
‘Localised storm leaves Greenwich without power for five hours’
You rolled your eyes and slapped the newspaper back against the countertop in your flat above the shop. The toast was suddenly unappealing as you caught a glimpse of the bodies pulled out of the lake and you finished the slice quickly before dusting crumbs from your fingers and standing to put the breakfast plate in the sink. You rinsed the crumbs away and grabbed a pouch of food for Drac.
“Yeah, I know you, greedy monster.” You laughed as you squeezed the packet of food into his bowl, leaving the cat in peace as you wrestled your keys from the door and locked up, phone and laptop in hand. You intended to hold up your end of the bargain with Vladimir Székely. Creating a page with his listed products and website links on your own shop page wouldn’t take too long and you didn’t expect a very busy day with the thundering rain jumping from the floor outside.
‘Dracula’s Blood. Devilish brewing from the heart of Transylvania. This selection of rum, brandy and wines will have you looking over your shoulder at night! Grab your garlic and stakes!’
The tag line was suitable, and you smiled behind your hot drink as rain continued to lash outside, the window thumping occasionally with the mix of rain and icy hail. With a hum, you looked at the delivered stock behind your counter and back at the listed products before finding the email links Vladimir’s secretary, Miss Westenra, had sent you. There was a link to a small website which could be used to order the products directly from Vladimir’s warehouses in Transylvania. From what you could tell he was in the process of setting up brewing and distribution centres in the United Kingdom to cater a bit more easily to certain demands. You clicked the ‘About’ page and scrolled a little bit before coming to a video titled ‘The Brewery Bowels’. Curious, you clicked play, and watched as the video loaded with rapt attention.
A dark room was shown by torchlight. The man was speaking in very fast Romanian, which was thankfully, translated, at the bottom of the video.
“This is where the rum and brandy are matured for a number of years in wooden, Transylvanian barrels.” He walked around the room, showcasing the cases of non-labelled rum and brandy before turning and patting the great stone tomb in the centre of the room. The stone thudded dully with the movement and the man continued to talk about the castle, “This is the great ruins of the legendary Castle Dracula, where the man or vampire was said to have live.” He announced before a great thunderous crash sounded behind them. The narrator and the cameraman shrieked in surprise before the lens focused on the tomb in the middle of the room. The stone had slid away. A clawed hand appeared from within the tomb, twisting and twitching as it reached for the side of the stone.
“Jesus Christ! Turn the camera off you fucking idiot!” A hiss sounded, “Run! Run you idiot!” A shadow darted from the tomb behind the narrator before a scream sounded and the camera fell into the mud. The recording buzzed with the broken noises of the camera. Bloodied feet walked past the lens before it was smashed with a great bang.
You frowned at the video before looking at the comments and other writing on the page. It was called a hoax and a cheesy branding gag. You had to agree with them all. It was still in poor taste either way, and you closed the video before moving back to the crates of alcohol you now had in stock. You looked at the window display and smiled as you set to work laying out the new, expensive bottles of Transylvanian liquor on the stands. You followed up with some shredded red paper around the small crate display and hung a bat from the ceiling before laying a prop blood bag over the top. It was almost Halloween anyway; it wouldn’t matter all that much. If anything, it would be one less thing to change when the holiday did roll around. Taking a step back, you admired your hard work and nodded at the new display of expensive alcohol with admiration. It wasn’t a bad job if you did say so yourself. With a sigh, you looked outside at the pouring rain and took your bits of left-over display supplies back to the counter, tucking them underneath in the basket before tidying up stray pieces of shredded paper.
A boom of thunder made you jump. You were placing the last of the stock into the cubby holes when the weather took an even worse turn. You touched the corks on the bottles before hearing a barking whine from outside the door. A great black dog smacked its mucky paw against the window. It was a huge thing, the paw the size of your own hand nearly. It whined and slapped at the door again, streaking mud down the glass. You watched it continue to bark and whine before giving in and rushing upstairs to get a towel for the creature. You returned and watched the beast eye you as you headed to the door. You pulled the heavy door open and watched the hound step inside cautiously, tail and body low to the ground. Black hair bristled before you shushed it and gently laid the towel over its back. It seemed okay with the towel and gently, you began to dry off its fur, rubbing in circles up and down the dog. It was more a wolf, you observed, looking at the size of it, the immense amount of thick, black fur and pointed ears. People had a habit of breeding wolves with dogs nowadays, you reasoned. You rubbed the beast’s tail and whipped back just in time to avoid a snap of teeth. It grumbled at the tug and licked its front teeth, brown eyes burning as you took the towel away and watched it sniff the floor.
“You can stop here, just until the rain stops.” You scolded. There hadn’t been many customers all day anyway, so it wasn’t like the rogue dog would be doing any harm. It ignored you and moved to lay in the window, fur billowing with the heater as it seemed content to lay and be quiet. You shook your head at the dog but moved to finish typing a few emails and taping packaging for orders. The wolfdog watched you with one eye open as you pottered about the shop, dark eyes trailing after you.
Dracula licked his wolfish teeth as you leaned over to pet his head, the sight of your neck making his gums burn with the urge for blood. He controlled himself as you laid some beef in front of him. He snubbed the food with a huff before crawling into your lap, his great head pressed into your stomach. The beast was satisfied when your hands brushed over his thick fur, grumbling happily, dark eyes closing with happiness at the attention.
“You’re like the Hound of Baskerville. A giant black wolf dog. I bet you go running around the countryside eating people, don’t you?” You joked as you smoothed your fingers through his dried fur, “Or maybe you’re just a stray?” He grumbled again at your words. The vampire liked the attention. His ego soared before he could control himself as he laid a lick on your hand, tasting sweat and flesh before he laid himself down again comfortably. He’d watched in the rain as you’d set up your display and a childish sense of possessiveness crossed him as he admired his product in your shop. Dracula snuffled at your stomach as he wondered just what about you was so intriguing to him. The power? The snark? Perhaps he was once again drawn to some odd semblance of his dead wife. He peered up and knew she was not you, just as Mina was not her. The vampire closed his eyes again and felt a serene peace wash over his mind. The warmth of your lap sent him off to sleep before he could even wonder why he was so tired.
The stray was gone when you came back from dinner. The towel you had used to dry the poor thing was also gone.
Sales both online and in person, of Dracula’s Blood, had gone immensely well. You smiled at the figures on your laptop as you totalled up sales for the month. It was an impressive reception for something so new. It was stylish, tasted good and reasonably priced enough for most people, who were interested in finer liquors, to give it a try. The bell chimed over the door and you smiled up from your laptop at the customer. The dark, tall man entered with a mild look around, before smiling at you. Vladimir Székely bowed his head at you, shaking his dark coat free of the rain after he closed the black umbrella. He was dressed in a simpler outfit than usual. He unbuttoned his coat to reaveal a simple white shirt and black, heavy jeans with heeled, Chelsea boots. His wet hair was tied back in a bun at the back of his neck, tucked underneath his upturned coat collar.
“Good afternoon.” He drawled before hooking his umbrella over his elbow. The wooden heels of his shoes clicked as he swooped towards the cash register.
“Good afternoon, Mister Székely.” You gave him a smile with a raised eyebrow, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Vladimir smiled with thin lips, “I believe I said you could call me Vlad?” He shook his head with a chuckle, “I thought it prudent to pay my favourite client a little visit.” He gestured to the warm wooden structure of your shop, “And I wished to see your store for myself.”
The owner of Dracula’s Blood walked along the counter, black leather gloves dragging over the surface as he looked at the bottles, pretending he was seeing them for the first time as he headed towards the fresh displays you had set up with his products.
“You might appreciate the window a little more, I think.” You joked as you rested your elbows on the side and watched him walk over to the little hanging bat. The man laughed, a rich and deep noise, before he reached to flick the toy.
He ignored the blood bag and what it reminded of him, and turned back to you with a smile, his umbrella held tight in one hand, “I have to say, I am impressed, my dear.” Vladimir congratulated you as he eyed the drinks behind your head with calculating dark eyes.
“I can recommend you a good bottle of Italian red, if you want?” You turned and plucked the decently priced red wine from the cubby, offering it to him with a smile, “If you’re hosting someone special, I have a few that are a little more expensive.”
Vladimir smiled, gaze running over the neck of the bottle and ever upwards, over the lines of your torso, breast and neck- he drew his gaze away to your face and nodded, “Perhaps we could share one of those more expensive ones this next weekend?”
Your mouth opened like a fish, and the vampire felt joy in the ability to stun you to speechlessness.
“I can make a reservation?” He offered, “I have heard of these fancy Thai restaurants. I have never tried such food.”
You reached to take the wine back and shook your head, “I don’t think its very professional for me to consider this sort of thing, Vladimir. You are someone I technically work with.”
“Think nothing of it then. I simply wish to thank you for allowing my business to gain a foothold here. I promise, I bear no…lewd intentions.” The lies felt like honey in his mouth. He watched you consider before stroking the side of his dark facial hair with the back of his knuckles, “Perhaps my home would be a better venue? There none can see us.”
You held a more expensive bottle of wine and placed it on the side with a sigh.
He reached for your hand and squeezed the top of it with a flash of a white smile, “I swear to you. It will be purely work related if, that is what you desire?”
His words felt thick and heavy in your ears, yet you nodded once, to clear your head of them, and then again to consolidate the idea, “Fine then. If you can cook something amazing, then I’ll come and grace you with my presence.” You joked as you offered him the more expensive bottle of red, “I think this one is more worthy of such an occasion.”
Vladimir pulled free his bank card and smiled, “Then I will take it.”
#dracula x reader#count dracula x reader#vlad tepes x reader#vampire x reader#bram stoker's dracula#bram stoker's dracula 1992#bram stoker's dracula (1992)#dracula#vampire x human#dracula x female reader#count dracula x female reader#vlad tepes x female reader#vlad the impaler#my writing#fanfiction#fanfic#monster x reader
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Ch. 1
Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x Mina Van Gogh x Charles Henri Sanson
Tagging: @plumpblueberry @starry-starry-night24 @youreawizardharr (please let me know if you want to be tagged)
A/N: First new oc of the 12 Days of OCmas! Eventual poly-ship. All the Van Gogh siblings will make appearances in this fic!
The dark sky shielded all light from reaching the path outside of the city. Steady rain fell into her soaked form, seeping its cold down into her bones. Trudging along the cobblestones with water pooling in her boots, the young girl shivered. Winter weather wrapped in a rainstorm was not ideal for the long walk.
She exhaled, like dragon’s breath spilling from her mouth, it hung in the air. Mina’s steps sluggish with the numbness spreading across her frigid limbs. This was the only opportunity she’d been given to escape and get this close to the mansion.
Hesitating at the large double doors, she cast a worrying glance behind her. It wouldn’t be unrealistic to fear that someone might be following her. That’s how overprotective her eldest sister was, or rather, how controlling. If she found out, Mina didn’t know what punishment might await.
“How long are you planning on loitering at the door?” The harsh voice paired perfectly with narrowed violet eyes and an annoyed frown. He held the door at a crack, opposed to letting her in.
Mina only paused for a second. “I’m looking for Vincent.”
“Why?”
Why was this man so concerned? Perhaps she should admit that she was also a lesser vampire, but she chose not to. “I’m a friend of his. He’ll want to see me.” That was only half the truth, but it was enough to get her entry.
He demanded that she wait there, muttering under his breath as he walked away.
Alone, Mina investigated the entrance. The whole room warm and bright, like a real home. Not like the place that she lived, which was empty and dark. A stark difference. She let out a soft sigh, brushing her wet bangs away from her face.
“I heard we had a guest. What a pretty little skirt.” The curious man descended the stairs, sauntering up to her as if she were solely there to see him. A wicked grin grew on his lips. “Hello there, love. I’d be delighted to know your name.”
He was very close. Mina found it impossible to look directly at him. If she stared into those blue pools too long, she might absolutely drown. “I’m Mina.” Her voice failed her, barely above a whisper.
“Mina, I’m Arthur. It’s lovely to meet you. What brings you to our humble home?” He asked. She was nervous, pulse racing. Her gaze couldn’t settle. But no, he found no ill intent.
“I- well-”
“Broer, you shouldn’t meet with strangers. I can handle this.”
“It’s alright, Theo. They came all the way here. It must be important.”
Oh, she was not prepared.
All her psyching herself up sizzled out completely.
Arthur observed her behavior with mild curiosity. How interesting. “You’re familiar with Theo and Vincent, are you?” He kept hold of her hand, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. It must have been them that brought her here.
“Oh, Arthur, you’re here, too. Mozart said there was someone here for me,” Vincent said, his protective little brother right behind him. No one received visitors, so he’d been quite surprised.
Mina stiffened at his voice, one that she had terribly missed. But her fears overtook her. She needed a moment to calm down, that’s all.
“Oi, is that her?” Theo’s gruff tone did not aid in soothing her nerves.
She was so very grateful that neither of them could see her. Mina reached out a shaky hand to clutch Arthur’s jacket. Her head shook slowly. “I- help-please--” Her voice just loud enough for the mystery writer to hear.
He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but who was he to deny a lovely maiden in need. “I’m not sure,” Arthur replied to the brothers, tugging Mina forward protectively into his arms. “But this sweet skirt is here for me, and you’re frightening her terribly, Theo.”
“The hell did I do?” Theo asked, irritation laced in his voice.
“Well, I suppose it must not have been that important. I’m sorry we interrupted,” Vincent replied.
It hurt more than she realized. The dull ache in her chest turning sharp. Only once they’d gone could she breathe fully again. A gloved hand rested atop her head as a silent comfort. “Oh, I’m sorry-” She pulled away, heat flushing her cheeks.
“Let’s get you some dry clothes and then you can tell me all about why you’re here.” Arthur said, arm falling around her small shoulder, guiding her to his bedroom. What a curious situation he’d found himself in.
Only when the door to his bedroom close did Mina relax. My apologies, luv, but this is the smallest I could find. The clothes in her hands would be baggy, but she cared little when soaked to the bone. However, the trousers staying up would be quite the problem.
“Hmm, let’s try this,” Arthur said, still snickering at how tiny the woman looked in his clothes, and the hint of pink on her cheeks at his teasing was adorable. She’d be thrilling to play with, he thought. But first, he produced a pair of suspenders, clipping it to the front and back of the trousers and adjusting the length.
Mina was hyper aware of his hands occasionally brushing against her body. “Th-thank you. I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” She apologized. How embarrassing. He must think her some kind of coward.
The writer plopped on the chaise, patting the space beside him. “There’s no need for that beautiful face to have such a sad expression. I helped you because I wanted to, so there’s absolutely no reason for apologies. I am curious about your business with dear ole Vincent.”
His hypothesis currently was that she was a long-lost child. Her bone structure similar, and eye color the same cerulean blue. Physically, save for the raven locks, she fit the part. The only missing piece was that the author couldn’t fathom the gentle Vincent having a fling.
“No, I...” Mina couldn’t draw her gaze away from his, as if he were holding her there to peek at her darkest secrets. Besides, after all he’s done for her, lying would be rude. “I’m Willemina Van Gogh, the fourth child and youngest sister of the Van Gogh family, and I’m also a resurrected vampire, like my brothers and you.”
Arthur searched her but found no lies. She surely believed that she was a vampire, and it would account for how she managed to come to this mansion unimpeded. Most humans didn’t know this place existed. But what fun would it be to simply accept her word. A sly smirk spread across his lips. “Alright, then why don’t you just give me a little bite? You must be parched, after all.”
Mina flushed, surprised by his proposal. Since vampires were a well-kept secret, of course she couldn’t just say it was so. Something about his cheeky tone lit a fire of determination in her. “Alright. If you want proof, then I’ll bite you.”
“Ah, grand! No need to be shy,” Arthur teased, tilting his head to the side, and tapping his neck with his index finger. She was to do it, which absolutely thrilled the writer.
The room’s temperature rose. Mina leaned in slow, convincing herself that she’d be quick and not drink his blood. He smelled of ink and fudge, a strange but alluring mixture. A streak of smudged black ink showed some frustration from his work.
Deep blue irises studied the woman. “Something the matter, luv?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice, his adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke, drawing her in. Mina didn’t answer with words, instead sinking her fangs in. His warm blood coated her tongue, and a low moan escaped from the author’s lips, only making her desire to hear it more.
Mina could lose herself entirely with only a sample of his blood.
But she maintained self-control and pulled away, licking the last drops of the delicious nectar off her bottom lip.
Vampire bites were meant to soothe human prey. They stung, and then spread pleasure in order to subdue them into submission. It affected vampires similarly, except it tended to only make them crazed for each other.
Arthur was buzzing with desire. His features flushed, throat dry, and body burning with need for her blood. He hooked an arm around her waist, hauling her into his lap. Her cerulean irises begging for him to continue.
If only he’d locked his door before he’d begun this little game.
“Hey! Who the hell are you?” Theo had thrown the door open hard enough to knock it from its hinges. He’d heard from Mozart that there wasn’t two women in the mansion, only one.
Mina jerked back from Arthur’s embrace, falling promptly onto the floor. “T-theo!” She yelled in absolute embarrassment, forgetting entirely that he had little idea of who she was. All that swam through her mind was that he’d seen her so intimately with a man.
His eyes narrowed, trying to puzzle out why she knew his name.
One gentle but shocked voice covered all the others. Vincent hardly needed an introduction as he recognized her straight away. How could he forget his darling little sister of whom he’d been so close to?
“Will? You’re... alive?”
#ikemen vampire#ikevamp#ikevamp vincent#ikevamp theo#ikevamp arthur#ikevamp charles#ikevamp mina van gogh#ikevamp oc#new oc!
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Chapter five: newbies and Fangs.
Mekyle, Angelique,Xander And Ruthie were all new Shadowhunters and now new members of the New York institute. So when they were sent in there first patrol they were ecstatic. Covered in head to two gear the young nephalem took to the streets of New York. But after a hour they were very underwhelmed on the lack of action they thought they see. This is what brought them to the hunters moon.
The hunters moon was a downworld bar. It’s was a slow Not for the moon also the place was very empty only a few werewolves and a fay were there. “Man we should not be here,” Angelique says looking over the room.
“Chill Ange we are Shadowhunters we go we’re we won’t.” Mekyle says puffing out his chest.
“Dude that is so wrong just because we are Nephilim now doesn't mean we are God.” Xander replays. Mekyle just waves his hand and walks up to the bar. The man behind the bar was a seven foot tall bald black man with dark green eyes by the name Frankansens.
“Kid you lost?” Frankansnes asks in a low voice.
“Identify yourself Downworlder!” Mekyle demands. “I am a Shadowhunters and you must answer me” he adds. The whole bar busts out laughing all but the Shadowhunters.
“Kid your joking right. Run on home to your mommy.” Frankansens says laughing. Mekyle face goes red and in a flash his wrist was up and the claws were coming out of his gauntlet. The werewolves jump to there feet and their eyes start to glow as does Frankansens’s. Xander walks up and pulls Mekyle back throwing him on the floor.
“That’s enough! Ange get him out of here!” Xander snaps. Angelique nods and her and Ruthie drag Mekyle out. “I am sorry sir he should have known better. We are on our first patrol and he is just itching for a fight. That being said what he did was out of line and I will be talking to our Institute heads about what he has done.” Xander says holding out his hand to Frankansens.
“Tactfully said young one. I am Frankansens but you can call me Frank.” Frank shakes Xander’s hand. Xander nods and heads for the door.
“Hey kid if your looking for something to do you may want to look into the Vamps down on the pier.” One of the Fay says. Xander smiles and nods as he walks out the door.
As soon as Xander has come out the door and it has clicked shut. He finds a pair of claws in this face. “How dare you!” Mekyle shouts.
Xander quickly ducks down and sweep kicks Mekyle’s feet and in one motion draws one of his chakram’s and had it pointed at Mekyle’s throat with his left leg holds his one gauntleted hand down.
“I would do it again, you were out of line in there and you bet I will be talking to Jace and Clary about your lack of care! Now if you’re done acting like a mundane brat I got us a lead!” Xander barked.
Ruthie whistled “Wow man.”
“What’s it going to be?” Xander asks never taking his eyes off Mekyle. Mekyle slowly nods. Xander steps back and lets Angelique help Mekyle up.
“When did you get so good? You were not like this at the academy?” Mekyle asks
“Or maybe your just to cocky” Ruthie says with a giggle.
“What’s this lead Xand?” Angelique inquers.
“There may be some Vamp trouble down at the pier.” Xander replays and starts heading that way clipping his chakram back to his side. The others exchanged looks and run after him.
Back in the bar the group of wolves were leaping. “Eravon you now you sent them after some of Lilly’s clan right?” One wolf says. The Fay looks over at them and smiles evilly.
“Now they did not ask what clan the Vampires were from.” Eravon says.
Once the young Shadowhunters got to the pear there was two Vampires following some mundane fishermen.One Female and One Male Vampire. Xander hand signals for Mekyle and Angelique to Circle around. Ruthie draw two Adamas scalpels from her wrist bands. Xander nods at her and she movies in like lighting. Sagacity cutting the ackleys tendent of the Female Vamp.Ruthie quickly moves to the Vamps throat and holds one of her scaplees to it. “I would not move if i were you hunny.” Ruthie says with a smirk. At the same time Mekyle and Angelique attack the Male Vamp.
However the male Vampire did not go down so easy. He spun kicked Angelique and the stumic she dubbles over in pain and the Vamp world and attack Mekyle with a right hook. Mekyle flicked out his left wrist and his claw blades extinded right as the Vamps puch came at Mekyle. The claws sheared off the Vampire hand at the wrist. Mekyle was covred in blood. Reganing her composer Angelique sweeps the Vamps legs out from under him with her staff. The Male Vampire hits the Ground hard knocking the back of it's head the Vamp starts to bleed. Angelique place one end of her staff on it's throut. “Ok hold.” Xander says walking out of the shadows.
“Why were you after the fisherman?” Xander asks looking down at the Male Vampire.
The Vampire just stipes blood at him. Xander bends down on his knees and looks at the Vamp and with a clear face and a calm voice says. “Here the deal my friend. Mekyle here would like nothing more then to kill you and your lady friend over there. Now me I just want to get the answers I need and head you over to the clave. So the question is what do you want?” The Vampire looks form Xander to Mekyle and back to Xander.
“My Name is Drake and she is Helena.” Drake says.
“Oh man he wants to play nice.” Mekyle says with a sigh flicking his wrist and how clow blades reseed back in to his gauntlet.
“Now I will ask again why were you after the fishermen?” Xander says kindly
“Don’t tell them they have no proof we were doing something wrong.” Helena says with an evil hiss. Ruthie adds a little prasher to her scalpel and a bit of blood drops from Helena’s neck. Xander holds up his hand and Ruthie back off a little. Just then there is a blood curdling female scream and a young asian woman came running at them her Fangs bared. Xander jumped to his feet and draw his Chakrams but before the women can get to them there is a flash of white light and the Woman stops cold a Seraph blade at her throat. She looks over to see Jace standing there with a smile. “Now Lilly I think we need an answer form you clan members be for you kill my new recruits.” He says.
“Lilly…. As in Lilly Chan?” Angelique asks.
“Yes Child that is me and you are un lofly attacking two on my clan.” Lilly replays.
“No mam we are not there were stocking two Fishermen.” Xander Replayed.
“Darke Tell the Shadowhunters what you were reallying doing!” Lilly demanded. Darke looked at here with fear in his eyes and shook his head no. “You will answer the question!” She commanded.
“Fine we were hungry! That Bag shit is sick!” Darke shouted. Jace lowered his sword and looked at Lilly. “You see my Shadowhunters were doing there jobs and now we will hand them over to the clave over to Alec.” Jace says. Lilly sigh and nods.
“You can't!” Helena shouts.
“I can and I am you broke the law and now you must pay for that.” lilly says. Angelique pulls her staff back and Ruthie gets up off of Helena. Mekye cuffe’s them with manacles.
“Miss.Chan we will inform the Alliance once the Clave reaches a verdict.” Angelique says now holding on to Helena’s arm.
“Please call me Lilly and Thank you for not Killing them on the spot. You are one efficient team.” Lilly says with a fang filled smile.
“We are no team.” Mekyle smarts off.
“Oh yes you are I am officially Making you one. Ruthie you are the field medic I read your file and see that you are very adept at triage medicine. Angelique you will be the Institute ambassador.” Jase delegates.
“I will lead them.” Mekyle enterups.
“Like Hell you will. Mekyle you are a loose canon a major hot head. Xander will be your leader. I have watched you guys from when you entered the Hunters Moon. He is Calm under pressure and is strategic.” Jace explanes.
“Sir i am no leader I just do my Job as a Shadowhunter.” Xander says softly.
“Even more reason to Make you the team Leader. Those are me orders. Now get the fugitives back to the Institute.” Jace Orders.
“Yes Sir!” They all say and head back to the Institute.
“Not a bad Group you got there Jace.” Lilly says
“No no there not. Maybe they will fully take the Clave in the right direction.” Jace replays.
#shadowhunters#shadow world#jace herondale#clary fairchild#alec lightwood#magnus bane#izzy lightwood#simon lovelace#clary x jace#alec x magnus#simon x izzy#cool#epic
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Marshal’s Creed FFXV Fanfic
Summary:
Cor dresses up for the annual Halloween gala in hopes to win a bet. Can he beat out everyone else at the party with the best costume?
Notes:
I had a fun prompt from my friend @ragewerthers for Cor Leonis getting invited to a Halloween party.... but what in the HELL is he supposed to go as?! Do Regis and Clarus help him? Do the boys help him? Does he decide to go scary? Funny? Mythical?
I hope you all enjoy, I had fun writing this! :)
Work Text:
“What is he wearing?” Regis asked under his breath from where they were standing near the steps to the throne.
“Not so sure, but it seems pretty popular with the ladies,” Clarus admitted as he craned his neck to see better.
“Dear six, he looks half-naked!” spluttered Regis after a moment.
“Sorta, he’s got pants and maybe something someone would consider a shirt on.” Though Clarus was still clueless as to what Cor had dressed up as. The annual Halloween gala was always a fun event. However, the marshal never dressed up.
Ever.
It was only the quick thinking of Regis with the tempting draw of a bet that enticed their friend into wearing anything special this year. A hefty amount of 500gil sat waiting for Cor if he dressed up and won one of the sundry costume awards to be gifted that night. The prizes given out were little awards trinkets, and the bragging rights until the next party. Of course, Cor could care less about any of that, the only reason he’d even agreed, was to prove Regis wrong and maybe relieve him of some decent spending cash.
The king had figured Cor wasn’t creative enough to even stand a chance. Regis had merely snorted and waved him off when the marshal assured them he’d win something. Now, as Clarus watched their friend navigate through the crowd he was beginning to think Regis might have to pay up at the end of the night.
The squeals of impressed party goers only got louder as Cor approached, as did the flash of lights from photos being snapped. The crowds dispersed once he’d reached the king. Cor yawned once seemingly bored with the whole affair already. “You might as well give me the money now, Regis.”
“Never!” the king hissed, “You aren’t going to win, look at you! What is that, it looks like a pile of rags!”
Before Cor could answer a young staffer passing by interrupted them with a shout, “Awesome costume!” They left just as quickly as Clarus began to examine the outfit in more detail.
“I’m afraid I’m lost as to what you are, care to enlighten us?”
“Eh, this? I have no idea, Noct helped me pick it out. Said it was the best costume to wear and had Ignis go online and order me one before I could say no.”
“You asked my son to help you?”
“Nope, he found out I was going to dress up and he nearly flipped. How could I say no, he begged me to let him help.”
“Still what the hell are you?” Regis asked in exasperation.
“An assassin I think?” Cor supplied with a furrowed brow. “Honestly, the kid was talking too fast for me to catch the exact name, but he said it was from a game.”
“Why in the heck would an assassin wear that? Your entire right side is exposed, seems like a defensive nightmare.”
“I’ll admit it’s not exactly realistic but it’s comfy at least.” Cor offered with a shrug.
“I don’t know why you let my son talk you into this, you look ridiculous.” Regis was about to add more when another party-goer/staffer wandered by and started staring. They were of course after a picture of Cor. The staffer was young and blushing like mad but still managed to ask for a selfie.
“I’m sorry what were you saying majesty? I got pulled away to have my picture taken because I’m going to win.”
Regis sneered and turned around to walk away. Clarus couldn’t help but snicker at the sight. Regis was a sore loser so a part of him hoped Cor wouldn’t win, but he probably would. The marshal, though not a youthful twenty-year-old anymore, could hold his own in the looks department. He was only in his forties now but still trained just as hard. His well-defined six-pack was evidence of that. Clarus suspected that most of the girls wandering over were trying to get a better look at what he’d been hiding under his guard uniform.
Cor for once didn’t mind the attention and even smiled for a few shots. It was nice to see his friend out of his element for once. “Have you seen his highness?” Clarus asked, figuring Noct would have at least had to help Cor get ready. Otherwise, the man wouldn’t have known how to wear the costume.
“Yeah, he’s coming soon, he was getting picky about his nails.”
“What?”
“You’ll see, he’ll match grumpy pants over there,” Cor announced with a chuckle. “Regis thinks sporting little tiny fake fangs makes him a good vampire. He’s so wrong.”
“Oh dear,” Clarus could only guess what Noct had conjured up. Ignis would have been key in gathering his needed elements, but the idea was most likely the princes. “What are the others dressing up as?”
Cor barked out a laugh, “I only saw Ignis and Prompto but it appeared they were wearing matching black suits.”
“That’s it?”
“Almost, if you don’t count the wolf tail they both had clipped to their belts and the wolf ear headbands.”
“I’m so confused,” he sighed. However, right as he was about to ask for more details a sudden hush overtook the room. Looking up he noticed what had caused the reaction. Ignis, Prompto, and his son were stalking over towards them. They all matched and looked quite formidable. However, Noct seemed to be missing. The black suits had matching black shirts and ties to go with. One might take them all for security guards aside from the addition of the animal ears atop their heads. One thing Cor hadn’t mentioned was their eye color. Each had donned a pair of contacts that made their eyes look golden and cat-like.
As they neared, Clarus realized there was a fourth pair of legs hiding behind Ignis. This must be the prince. Waiting patiently as the group finally came to a rest in front of them, Clarus was treated to the reveal. A pale hand with amusingly long pointy black nails slowly crept out from behind Ignis arm. It reached out and pointed straight at him. Then in a move that had Clarus snorting with laughter, Noct curled his fingers and beckoned him closer.
“You’re nuts if you think I’m letting you near me with those daggers,” he laughed.
Noct merely shook his finger and carefully leaned to the side to show his face. The prince’s hair was slicked back and someone had drawn in an exaggerated widow’s peak.
“I see you’re taking your role far more seriously than your father.”
“I shall win,” was all Noct uttered before he hissed and retreated behind his bodyguards again.
With a quick bow, Ignis led the way back out into the party. The advisor was playing his part very well and looked like he’d snap a person in two if they even tried to talk to the prince. Prompto was fighting to hide a smile as they turned to leave. Gladio offered Clarus and eyebrow waggle and a wink before he left. They were having fun it seemed.
“So forgive me for being a little behind on my fantasy lore, why are they all wearing animal ears and tails?” Clarus asked kindly.
“He’s a vampire and he needs his werewolf pack to protect him.”
“Ah, I see. Noct basically thought up the perfect costume, ensuring he doesn’t have to talk with anyone.”
“Pretty much, he’s clever in that way, unlike his old man!” Cor teased as Regis joined them again.
Ignoring Cor’s comment, Regis stared at Noct’s retreating party and tilted his head, “Was that my son?”
“Yep you missed the reveal; he’s a vampire with a coven of werewolves.”
Regis simply smiled and straightened his shoulders slightly, “He takes after me in so many ways.”
Cor groaned loudly and rolled his eyes, “You wish, look it I’m gonna go mingle and get some more votes in my favor. I’m winning this contest tonight, be ready to pay up.”
Regis tried to whack Cor in the shin with his cane, but the marshal was quicker and leaped out of the way. He laughed and casually wandered away, complete with a smug look of satisfaction.
“He’s such a brat sometimes,” Regis huffed.
“He’s only five years younger than you.”
“Shut it; let’s go see if we can convince the judges to ban him or something.”
Cor did not get banned.
Clarus had the joy of watching his friend claim a very special award, the citadels’ sexiest costume. Apparently, the panel of judges was also distracted by Cor’s exposed right side and six-pack. The few other contestants in that category didn’t stand a chance. No manner of makeup could fake muscles or a square jawline.
Regis didn’t have to pout for long though when his son won the night's overall best costume design. The king was proud of his son and his friends. They’d banded together to create a memorable look. Noct stayed in character when he accepted his award and tried to bite one of the presenters. Gladio sprang into action and held him back. The room erupted in laughter and cheers.
Suddenly thankful they could all enjoy moments like this together; Clarus smiled and looked over to his friend and King. Regis must have had a similar reaction as he returned a warm smile of his own and a small nod.
The rest of the night was a blur; Cor had come playfully demanding his money. Regis denied him, but Clarus knew he’d pay up in the morning. His liege kept trying to accuse Cor of cheating since he was only wearing half a costume. The marshal would then wiggle his award in front of Regis’ face as a rebuttal.
The music soon turned up loud enough that they couldn’t talk anymore. Opting to retreat to the far corner of the room the three friends sat and relaxed. They spend the remainder of the evening commenting on the costumes and the terrible music.
The End.
AO3 link is posted in the comments.
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Throwback Thursday
Dust off those browsers, friends. We’re gonna travel back in time to the stories that brought us into the fandom or the ones that have stuck with you through the years.
Share your super old faves and reblog them, showing the authors their classics are not forgotten. Leave them a love note showing them how much it means to you.
Then reblog the first story you wrote for your current fandom or even the first one you wrote for each fandom you belong to. The world is our oyster. Let’s rediscover some pearls.
I'm not going to lie. This Ask made me a little bit sad. There have been some really great writers on this site that have left us for unspecified reasons, and some for the childish bullying that seems to be a daily thing.
One of my favorite blogs was @chocolatecherubs. They were a blog that was written specifically for black female characters in the Marvel Universe, with Steve and Bucky as the central love interests, particularly during the 1940s.
However, all is not lost! There are still plenty of blogs that I follow and love and can always count on to provide the most entertainment you can achieve without picking up an actual book. One of the blogs who always delivers on this front regardless of the subject matter is the beautiful and talented @avintagekiss24 . I've been following her for a year and it has been a nonstop rollercoaster of fun, excitement, surprise, and even a little bit of heartbreak.
@avintagekiss24 has so many stories that I reread over and over again, it's nearly impossible to pick just one. But...if I did have to choose a classic in a split-second decision it would be Night Shift. This was my first time ever reading a story about Andy Barber and since then I have not stopped!
As for my own forays into fanfiction, I've written for Twilight, Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Cruel Intentions, a few WIPs for We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Knives Out, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and that's not counting all of the stories knocking around in my head vying for attention!
Here is a VERY old Buffy the Vampire Slayer story I wrote.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Buffy/Angelus
Setting: 1700s, New Colonies
A/N: This story is a little different from the others I’ve written. This story is set in the days of Angelus’ life when Drusilla had just turned Spike. Bear with me if everything is not exactly up to par historically – I am not a history buff! NSFW 18+ Warnings for offensive language, subject matter, violence, blood, gore, and sexual abuse.
His features could not be termed uninteresting—there lay in them something bold and daring—but the expression on the whole anything but benevolent. There were contempt and sarcasm in the cold dark eyes, whose glance, however, was at times so piercing that no one could endure it long.
from The Mysterious Stranger (1860) – Anonymous
What is obsession? Is it the madness that consumes a man when he’s confronted with the one thing he knows he is not supposed to have? Is it the burning desire to possess the aforementioned object, ensuring that she will only think of him as he only thinks of her? Angelus paced back and forth in his chosen room of the mansion. Darla was still off reconnecting with Dracula and giving Angelus some much-needed breathing room. While she was off having her own adventures, he moved his childe and grandchilde to the American Colonies. They were in the colony named New York. Angelus loved the New Colonies. The women were not as sexually repressed, and the humans as a whole were more trusting. Since their arrival, government officials, writers, artists, scholars – everyone who held wealth and power had invited Angelus, his “sister” Drusilla and her husband William, to parties. There was nothing Angelus enjoyed more than drunk socialites.
And it was at one of these parties that he saw her. The object of his obsession. Elizabeth Anne Summers. Buffy, to those who knew her intimately. She had long, golden blonde hair, not unlike Darla’s, but hers had more of a silky texture. Her eyes were large and hazel, brimming with innocence. She had sun-kissed skin that seemed to glow underneath the moonlight.
Angelus wanted her. He wanted to bury his fangs and his cock inside her. Her scent proved that she was untried, but that would only last so long. Angelus found out everything he could about her. She was promised to the governor’s son. She lived with her parents Hank and Joyce Summers. She had a baby sister – Dawn – who caught pneumonia and died at the age of six. Her father worked as a developer for the colony and his wife owned a prominent boutique. She had two best friends, Willow Osbourne née Rosenberg and Alexander Harris, husband to the beautiful and licentious Cordelia Harris née Chase.
The first time Angelus spoke to her was at a party that was thrown by an oil barren. Angelus, as usual, found himself surrounded by three potential meals. Drusilla stood by William’s side, smiling proudly as he recited poetry. It was terrible, but the women thought it was the most beautiful thing they had ever heard.
“Do you hunt, Mr. McConroy?” one of the women – Mrs. O’Hara or something or another – said, pulling him from his thoughts.
Angelus flashed an enticing smile. “Why yes, Mrs. O’Hara. ‘Tis one of my many pleasures.”
She wet her lips and fluttered her eyes in what he was sure was meant to be attractive. “Well, in that case, you should come to my husband’s estate in the country. You two can hunt and later you could tell me more about your pleasures.”
“How can a man of sound mind resist such an enticing offer?” he said, kissing the back of her hand.
The woman continued to place unnecessary hints concerning secret rendezvous and Angelus almost lost control and snapped her neck on the spot until one of the younger women spoke up.
“There’s that Elizabeth Summers.”
Angelus’ attention immediately shifted, seeking out his dark obsession. She came in with her parents. Her large hazel eyes seemed sad, and Angelus suddenly wanted to seek out that which had caused her misery and destroy it. He wanted to be the sole source of any pain she felt. But he could not gaze upon his obsession in peace as one of the three women continued her verbal assault.
“How a strange girl like that was lucky enough to have a contract with Governor Finn’s son is baffling.”
“She is a strange one, Harmony,” Cordelia Harris vehemently agreed. “My husband says that she spends all of her time reading. Reading! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“Well, I hear that she wishes to become a writer! As if any respectable man would want anything written by a woman! A proper lady should spend her time learning to attend a household and concern herself with pleasing her husband.”
“Yes, well, we all know that Buffy,” she sneered the name. “Is as far from a lady as one can be. It baffles me why Alexander enjoys her company so. It’s embarrassing!” she glared as said husband made his way over to Buffy.
“I see nothing wrong with a properly educated woman, Mrs. Harris,” Angelus said, drawing their attention away from Buffy. “It would be refreshing to hear a woman contribute something to the conversation beyond how pretty the dresses are overseas.”
Cordelia Harris’ expression darkened so that if Angelus had been human, he might have been afraid. “Well,” she sniffed, highly offended. “It is upon the hour, and I believe I shall take my leave.” She stood and scowled at Angelus when he broke societal conventions and refused to stand when she did. “I bid you goodnight, Mrs. O’Hara, Harmony, Mr. McConroy.”
“Mrs. Harris,” his flourishing bow was meant and taken in all its mockery. He smirked as she huffed and stomped away. He watched her approach Buffy and Alexander, and used his enhanced hearing to listen in.
“…husband and I must be going,” she said in a clipped tone.
Buffy knew that her friend’s wife didn’t like her, but for Xander’s sake, she at least made an effort. “I am sorry that you must be leaving so soon. I hope you will feel well, Cordy.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, how many times must I remind you to call me Mrs. Harris?” she said tightly.
“Of course. I apologize.”
“Alexander.”
The dark-haired young man looked between his wife and his friend, wishing he could stay, but knowing he would never hear the last of it if he did. “Of course, dear. See you soon, Buffy.”
Her other friend, Willow, who had watched the scene from across the room, performed her usual damage control ritual. “You know I think one of these days he shall divorce her.”
“Willow!” she whispered, linking their arms. “You should not say such things.”
“Well, he should! I’m fairly certain the only reason he puts up with her is for the sex and we both know the pregnancy scare was the incentive for the marriage to start with…”
Angelus watched the two young women disappear out onto the gardens. “Ladies, if you will excuse me.” He left the woman at the table and sought out William. He didn’t have the same mental link with him as he did with Drusilla, but William could feel when his grandsire called him.
“You called?” he said, appearing moments later.
“Yes, I’m stepping out for a moment. Make sure no one sees Dru nibbling on the livestock.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s so special about this bird? I mean, she’s a cutie and all, but is she really worth our queen mother handing you your own arse?”
“What Darla doesn’t know won’t kill me.” Angelus knew William had a point. Darla was extremely jealous and possessive of him, but he was still sore around the edges where she was concerned, considering that she left him to die in a burning barn. Darla was his sire and that was a bond not easily broken, but nothing could reestablish the trust he lost for her. He glanced at Drusilla to see if she was keeping out of trouble and caught her thralling Harmony. “If you want the blonde as a party favor you should take her out of here. She’s as dumb as a post but has a pleasant peach scent to her.”
Angelus left his grandchilde to attend to Dru and followed Buffy’s scent through the large garden maze. She and her friend, Willow sat on a bench in front of a pond talking quietly.
“…says?”
“You mean when she’s not nursing a bottle? She blames me. She says even whores aren’t low enough to chase their own fathers,” she sniffled.
“Oh, Buffy, have you thought about telling Riley?”
“No, I can’t tell him, Will. If he thought for a moment that it’s gone further than a drunken fumbling, he’ll never speak to me again.”
“And right now, he’s your only way out,” Willow sighed in sympathy to her friend’s plight. “You know Oz and I will let you move in with us.”
“People will talk.”
“They’re already talking. One of New York’s most beloved sons married to a kike?”
“Willow!” Buffy admonished. “Don’t ever call yourself that.”
The redhead shrugged carelessly. “I have been called much worse. I am just telling you that Oz and I do not care what anyone else says about us.”
“I appreciate it. And if the wedding was happening later than next month I would say yes.”
“But what if he goes too far before Riley can save you?”
The unanswered question hung heavy in the air. Angelus seethed. He barely restrained himself from going back inside, grabbing Hank Summers and tearing off his worthless cock with his bare hands. It didn’t anger Angelus that the man was taking liberties with his daughter. It bothered him that his touch would not be the first she had known from a man.
“I should get back inside before Oz starts looking for me. Come with?”
“In a little while. I just want a little more time away from the noise.”
“Don’t take too long. Your parents,” she mumbled.
Angelus watched the Osbourne woman return to the party from his place in the shadows. He turned his attention back to Buffy realizing that they were finally alone. She leaned back, her hands flat on the bench and her face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her eyes were closed, and the subtle breeze disturbed the tendrils of silky tresses framing her face. Angelus had the perfect view of the golden skin of her smooth throat. His face shifted as he imagined sinking his fangs into her throat as her naked body writhed helplessly underneath his.
Buffy’s eyes suddenly snapped open. She stood and she looked around her as if sensing she was not alone. “Is someone there?” she called.
Angelus contained his excitement and returned to his human visage. “Just me,” he said, pretending as though he was simply out for a stroll through the garden’s maze. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Buffy stared at the man before her. She was certain that she had never seen him around before. He was tall, very tall. He had long dark hair that was bound behind his head. He had a wide mustache and she wondered if it was as soft as his hair looked. He had dark eyes. Eyes that were mischievous and secretive. She started to believe she was dreaming. She always thought Riley was cute in a boyish way, but this man before her with the long brown hair, his piercing dark eyes and his enticing smirk was…beautiful. His smirk seemed to widen, and Buffy realized with startling clarity that she was rather rudely staring at him.
“No, you did not frighten me, sir,” she recovered.
“You are Elizabeth Summers, correct?”
“Yes, but everyone calls me Buffy.”
He took her hand – it seemed tiny and engulfed by his – and pressed a small kiss to it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Buffy. I am Angelus McConroy.”
Recognition flashed in her large hazel eyes. “Of course, Mr. McConroy! You live in the Crawford’s old mansion. Your brother-in-law, William, is it? He ordered a gown from my mother’s boutique for your sister.”
Angelus suppressed another smirk. He had sent William on that particular mission to scout out the boutique and Buffy’s work hours, and to spread the word to the local undead community that she, her family and friends, were off limits.
“Yes, my family and I moved there a few months ago.”
Buffy fidgeted with her dress before resuming her place on the bench. “Would you…would you care to sit?” she offered timidly.
He flashed a dazzling smile and took his place beside her. “Now what is a lovely girl such as yourself doing out here all alone? It’s really not safe,” said the wolf to the rabbit.
Buffy glanced up at him and flushed as he stared down at her unblinkingly. “Oh, well, I just stepped out for a moment. Just for some air,” she shrugged.
“You don’t truly enjoy parties, do you?”
“They are…acceptable.”
“Ah, but a lass such as yourself would much rather be at home in front of the fire with a book. You prefer the silence and solitude to the noise and excitement.”
She flushed an attractive pink and looked up at him from under her lashes. “I realize that those are not exactly the qualities one looks for in a woman, but…”
“But you are far from a woman, lass. You’re still a wee child.” He watched appreciatively as her skin flushed a darker red.
“Sir, I will have you know that I am of sixteen years and will soon be a wife,” she said, not really succeeding in sounding offended.
“Yes, to Governor Finn’s lad no less. I find it difficult to see what it is the boy could have done to deserve the hand of such a fair lass.”
Her hazel eyes met his and she wore a smile befitting that of the most experienced of coquettes. “Do you tell all your ladies that, Mr. McConroy?”
“Only the pretty ones,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.
She started laughing and Angelus thought it was the most enticing sound he had ever heard. “You are indeed a charmer, Mr. McConroy. If I may be so bold…?”
“You may.”
“Why is there not a Mrs. McConroy? A gentleman such as yourself should have amassed quite the number of prospects from the fairer sex.”
Angelus, seeing his opportunity, angled his body towards hers. “Perhaps it is because a man can only have ale for so long before he starts to long for a fine wine.”
He could hear her heart pounding in fear and excitement as their seemingly innocent conversation began to take a different turn. “But what if you’re not supposed to have the wine?” she breathed.
“That’s when it’s the sweetest.” His hand cupped her cheek and her eyes fluttered from the contact. “Look at me, Buff,” he commanded. “Look into my eyes.” Angelus knew he could have waited rather than jumping at the first opportunity to thrall her, but he was anxious to have her in his bed.
“You have pretty eyes.”
Angelus felt his eyebrows rise. You have pretty eyes? Angelus concentrated harder and Buffy flinched as he suddenly seemed to be scowling at her.
“What? Men can have pretty eyes,” she pouted slightly, thinking he was offended.
Angelus blinked. He surveyed her carefully, playing close attention not to let himself linger on her pouting pink lips. He didn’t understand how it was possible for her to resist his thrall. No one had ever resisted! The girl was obviously human. She smelled human. She had a heartbeat. What had gone wrong? His eyebrows knitted together as he ran through any and all explanations as to why his gift had failed him. He felt her warm hand press against his own.
“Angelus? Is something wrong?”
He recovered, wearing his signature smirk. “You think my eyes are pretty, do ye?”
Buffy fiddled with the sleeves of her dress looking anywhere but at him. “Yes, they resemble little pools of chocolate.” She felt his fingers lace through hers and looked down. She liked the way their hands fit.
“Now which one of us is the charmer here, Buff?” he watched her shiver as his fingers idly stroked hers.
“There you are!”
Buffy stood, withdrawing her hand from Angelus, completely missing his darkened expression. “Riley,” she said, her heart pounding heavily as though she’d been caught doing something terribly wicked.
“I have been searching all over for you, Bethie.”
He took her hand in his own, missing her subtle wince at the nickname she loathed. “Forgive me if I have caused distress. I only stepped out for a moment.”
“Your mother and father are looking for you. They –.” Riley stopped short when he saw movement behind Buffy. “Hello,” he said to the man who sat on the bench watching them unabashedly. “I do not believe we have met. I am Riley Finn, Elizabeth’s husband-to-be.”
“Oh, yes, the governor’s boy,” Angelus said, taking in the blue-eyed baby-faced boy with mocking eyes.
Although the sarcasm went completely over the boy’s head as he puffed out his chest and stood a little taller, Angelus smirk only grew when Buffy gave him a warning glare.
“Yes, yes, I am,” he said proudly.
“Riley, this is Mr. McConroy.”
Riley tensed slightly, something neither Angelus nor Buffy missed. “McConroy. You purchased the old Crawford Mansion.”
“Yes,” he confirmed, his eyes glinting slightly.
“Well, it was nice making your acquaintance, Mr. McConroy, but Elizabeth and I must be going.”
“Of course. Nice meeting you, Finn.” He turned his penetrating eyes to Buffy. He picked up her hand and gave her a lingering kiss that left her near breathless. “T’was a pleasure makin’ your acquaintance, Buffy.”
“Mr. McConroy,” she blushed.
Riley’s jaw clenched as he led Buffy away. But his annoyance over what he saw as a threat to his future wife was nothing compared to Angelus’ fury over Finn impeding the progress he had made.
“I do not trust that McConroy fellow,” he confided when they were of a safe distance away from him. Or so he thought. “He worries me.”
“Riley,” Buffy sighed. “Mr. McConroy is a nice man.”
“You know him well, then?”
“No. We only made acquaintance tonight.”
“Yet he already calls you Buffy.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Riley Finn, I do believe you are jealous.”
“Perhaps I am,” he admitted. “Do you find him attractive?”
Buffy blushed and lowered her eyes. “He is…agreeable. But it is you who will become my husband. Your name I will carry and your children I shall bear. Tell me once more why you are jealous?”
With a few well-executed words, Angelus could see Finn’s worries and inferiorities fade away. He leaned down and kissed her lips as carefully as if she were made of glass.
“Bethie?” he whispered, still holding her close.
“Yes?”
“If I asked you to do something, as your future husband, would you do it?”
Buffy tensed. Her small hands fisted the sides of his shirt as her mind twisted and turned over in itself. As her future husband, he could ask almost anything of her, and she was duty bound to obey. She trembled against him and swallowed the bile suddenly flooding her mouth. “Yes.”
“I wish for you to have no further contact with Mr. McConroy or any of his family.”
Buffy stepped back from him so that she could see into his eyes. “Riley, I have already told you that Mr. McConroy bears no threat to us.”
“But he does,” he argued. “Have you noticed the strange occurrences in our town?”
“Are you referring to Madeleine Archer?” Maddie Archer was two years younger than Buffy and had gone missing from her bed in the dead of night.
“Yes, as well as Rebekah Harte, Joshua Black, Edward Morton, Christine Adams, and countless others.”
“Riley, how do these unfortunate people pertain to you desiring distance between Mr. McConroy and myself?”
“They all vanished or perished inexplicably after McConroy, and his family took residence in the Crawford Mansion.”
“You are not suggesting…?” she gasped.
“There is something amiss about them. His sister is said to be touched in the mind, but there is more. She speaks in prophecies. Her husband, William, the poet, who may I say is not very good, he was seen with Rebekah Harte before she went missing. Then there is your new acquaintance. He never leaves the mansion during the day. He does not work and yet he attends every party and somehow amasses enough wealth to support his family. They have no servants or cooks. Their skin is unnaturally porcelain – must I go on?”
“Are you suggesting to me that Mr. McConroy, his sister and her husband may be…nefarious individuals?”
Riley smiled humorlessly. “Why does it frighten you to speak the word, Bethie? You once told me that what most would believe to be a monster, you see as a beast maintaining his nature.”
“I was referring to the work of Bram Stoker, Riley. Beasts exist, yes, but not of that sort, and certainly not amongst Mr. McConroy and his family.”
“You have always had faith in the most undeserving of creatures, Bethie.” He reached inside his trouser pocket and withdrew a silver cross on a chain.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I wish you to wear it whenever you leave the mansion.”
“Even in the sunlight?” she quipped.
“Even in the sunlight,” he answered, unaffected by her glibness. “All of the victims’ blood was drained through small punctures to the throat.”
Buffy paled as she gasped. “What? But you never said anything!”
“My father thought it was best that the families were not informed of this. It would lead to panic and at this time, the authorities have declared it a beast. Wear it. For me.”
“Okay,” she whispered, still struggling with the concept of the creatures she learned of as a child could truly exist beyond the pages of a novel.
Riley secured the cross around Buffy’s neck and exhaled in relief. “Now I believe we should find your parents. They can hardly fault a man for enjoying the company of his love.”
The couple left the garden arm in arm, completely oblivious to the heavy stare on their backs.
Angelus was beside himself with fury when the Finn’s and the Summers left the Hardy Mansion. He had covered his tracks and the tracks of his childe and grandchilde carefully. Yet, the Finn boy seemed to have linked all of their victims back to them. Although he tried his best to come across as noble and caring in Buffy’s eyes, the boy was far more concerned with her affections rather than her safety. The thought in itself caused a malicious smirk to befall his angelic features. They would have to be careful. Meticulous. One mistake and all would be lost. Nevertheless, Angelus would have Buffy Summers…even if he had to eviscerate every townsman to get her.
Angelus itched to relieve his fury and he knew just how to do it.
“Margaret, is it?” she was nothing. An aide in the Hardy household with the burden of a fatherless son. She was not remotely attractive, and her blood was not in the slightest appealing. But her polite smile and cautious eyes appeased him.
“Yes, sir.”
“I regret to bother you as I can see you are terribly busy, but I am afraid I require your assistance.”
“In what way, sir?” still so trusting.
“Come with me, please.”
Ah. There is the hesitation. “Very well, sir.”
He led her to a dark corner underneath the stairs hidden from the rest of the intoxicated socialites. “Ah, that’s better, isn’t it? Not complete privacy, but it should do for what I have in mind,” he said, letting his eyes drift over her, hoping to discomfort her. She predictably squirmed under his gaze, unaware that her used and aged body held no appeal for him.
“Sir, I…I should get back,” she stuttered, her heart pounding beautifully, forcing her blood to flow quicker through her arteries.
“Why not stay a while? After all, you did say you would help a fellow with his problem,” he purred, moving even closer to the frightful maid.
*“Sir, please, I should return to the party.”
*“Margaret, Margaret, there’s no hurry.”
She tried to pull away from him, hoping that someone might see. *“Mistress will be wondering…”
*“Sshh,” he cooed. “Mistress will be wondering how to get the good Reverend Chalmers into bed and will not notice the absence of canapé.” He stroked her chin for good measure, and she shuddered in spite of her fear. “Stay with me,” he urged.
Angelus could tell by her eyes that she was considering it. How could she not? A lowly maid, past her prime, receiving the attentions of the young and wealthy Mr. McConroy, a man that all women, be they married, betrothed, or divine worshippers, have attempted to lure into their beds.
*“Sir, people might talk,” she weakly protested. “I’ll be put out on the streets. My little boy would…I can’t lose this job,” she said, forgoing any thoughts she might have had about taking a chance with the beautiful Angelus McConroy.
Angelus, sensing her resolve, lost his temper. He grabbed her arms. *“Then you must keep quiet.”
*“You’re hurting me!” she said, speaking a little louder than she intended.
*“Ah! Cry out. Call for help. I’m sure Mistress will believe your behavior beyond reproach,” he sneered.
*“Please!” she gasped, wriggling in his embrace.
Angelus shook her roughly. *“Come, make a scene, huh?” he taunted. “Shall I?”
Margaret hesitated. *“No,” she whispered.
*“No, no. We’ll be as quiet as mice.”
Margaret lowered her head. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. If she closed her eyes and didn’t put up a fight, maybe it would be over soon. No one would believe her if she said their familiarity was forced.
Angelus could almost taste her defeat. His face shifted and when she looked back up at him, her fear and terror flooded his senses. *“No matter what.”
*“Sir!” she trembled, tears welling in her eyes. “My son!”
Good, he had almost forgotten. *“Oh, he’ll make a fine dessert, huh?”
He grabbed her, sinking his fangs into her throat before she could scream. He drained her quickly. She was unsatisfying and not at all fulfilling. He released her, letting her body fall carelessly to the floor. He tucked her away in the corner, knowing one of the other servants or perhaps her Mistress herself would find her. Angelus maneuvered around the intoxicated guests, following Margaret’s scent to the servant’s quarters. He found Margaret’s whelp sleeping in his bed. He was a boy of no more than seven years. His hair was curly like his mother's and a brighter shade of blonde. Margaret’s pallet lay positioned beside the boy’s bed. The boy clutched a worn brown bear that was missing its left eye. He was a beautiful child, clearly taking after his father. The boy opened his eyes and startling emerald green eyes met his own.
“Are you an angel?” he whispered.
His lips twitched as he fought the smirk that threatened to reveal itself. “An angel?”
“Mum says when it’s time an angel will come and take me to see my Da. Will you take me?”
He arranged the boy’s body in his bed and retrieved his mother, placing her on top of her pallet. From a distance, it would look as If they were merely sleeping. He returned to his mansion an hour before sunrise.
“Daddy, we saved her for you!” Drusilla called over the screams.
He strolled down to the “playroom” in the cellar. The room smelled of sex, blood, and fear. The young woman from the party, Harmony, was naked and railroad spikes had been driven through her hands and ankles, courtesy of William. Her legs and stomach were flayed, and Drusilla greedily lapped up her flowing blood.
William leaned against the wall, a pipe in his hand. “How did it go with the bird?”
Before he could answer, Harmony turned towards Angelus. Her face had been clawed, most likely by Drusilla, and her right eye hung out of its socket and lay limply against her cheek. “Mr. McConroy, help! Please help me!” she whimpered.
A cold smirk drifted on his lips as he played with her blood-soaked hair. “I could help you, Harmony, but you would have to do something for me first,” he taunted.
“Anything, anything.”
“Open your mouth.” A single tear fell from her good eye. She opened her mouth without hesitation. Angelus released his semi-hard cock and shoved it into her mouth. She choked and gagged as his hand knotted in her hair. “She resisted my thrall.”
William pushed off from his relaxed stance against the wall. “Resisted? How the bloody hell did she do that?”
“Gee, William, I have no idea. I’ll be sure to ask her next time,” he growled, shoving his entire length down Harmony’s throat.
“She’s not like the others,” Drusilla whispered. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She was having a vision.
“What do you see, pet?”
Just as Harmony’s heart stopped beating, Angelus felt his seed spurt into her mouth. He pulled out, using her hair to clean himself off, smiling lightly as his seed and her blood dripped from her mouth.
“She was almost Called.”
“Called?”
“As in…?” Angelus had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“But the Powers…she was unworthy…innocent blood on her hands…now she is just a human.”
Angelus ran a hand through his hair, attempting to process what they had just learned. Buffy was meant to take the Calling. She was to be a Slayer, but she killed someone. The Powers deemed her unworthy and now she will never be a Slayer. But even though she didn’t have the Call, she was still equipped with the typical Slayer attributes. A mental block to resist the thrall. Possibly strength to fight against any demonic creature.
“Darla is going to kill you,” William snickered.
“Darla is too busy fucking Dracula to care what I do!”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
Drusilla hunched over, moaning and hugging her stomach. William’s good mood faded quickly as he and Angelus flocked to her side protectively. “What do you see, Dru?”
“Bad man…bad man…bad man…”
“What bad man? What is he doing?” Angelus questioned her as she leaned against William.
“Touching…bad touch…bad touch…wants to keep her…wants to hurt her…!” she moaned.
Angelus growled deeply, startling his childe and grandchilde. “Hank Summers is a dead man. William, at first dark, I need you to do something for me.”
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The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 5
A/N: Okay...this took far longer than I expected it to, but to be fair for five minutes I was almost convinced to take a break and leave it at four. Five minutes is giving it too much credit, I think. But, either way - here it is. I hope you enjoy it. I labored over the last bits of this for far too long wondering if I was getting too ahead of myself, but... what the hell, right? Please reassure me with comments.
Rating: still T, for blood, language, and a bit of dubious consent/alluding to adult concepts
Pairing: Dracula & Zoe/Agatha Van Helsing
Chapters 1 & 2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here
Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE -
Chapter 5
It was another two weeks before Zoe saw sunlight again. Not out of any kind of vampiric repulsion, but purely due to the epic workload she had set up for herself. She knew as much as she hated to admit it that Dracula was right. She had a limited amount of time to make good on her intentions and an expanse of scientific ground to break, more than she had ever envisioned for herself.
Worse, there was a level of occult knowledge that she needed to reacquaint herself with since she’d tossed it in the bin twenty years prior, but Agatha was at least useful in that respect. Granted 1897 was not the most ideal cut off, but it gave her a decent groundwork. What wasn’t useful was the obvious glee that overcame her in the presence of the monster Zoe had been taught from an early age was basically the devil incarnate. And it’s not as though the nun even disagreed with the assessment, save her belief in the literal devil causing a bit of a contextual conflict.
Zoe had always took pride in her stoicism, but Agatha was quite the opposite. She’d always found some sort of wicked, curious amusement in everything, even in the face of death – and vampires, apparently. Not that she didn’t have a very personal reason to be interested now. No, ignoring Dracula was no longer an option. Understanding him was the only way to fully understand herself, and whoever else the Count was no doubt soon to add to the ranks of the undead.
As much as she detested to admit it, she could feel herself changing – slowly, but surely evolving past the limits of what it had always meant to be human. Everything was different – the way things smelled, looked, tasted, felt… there wasn’t a sense unaffected. And with it had grown subtle, gnawing hunger that she was determined to repress – or, currently, find a safe way to sate. And she was close. So close. But without a few more key bits of information from the beast himself, there was no way to be sure.
She had let him be for now, since she knew they at least had time in that regard. Dracula was many things, but a total idiot was not one of them, and no doubt he’d taken notice of the pattern just as easily as she did. The longer he spent with each victim, the more ideal the transformation after death. Instant kills were a 50/50 shot at best. If he was on the lookout for another ‘bride’ – even if he’d found one, there was no way he’d waste his newly renewed hope by getting overzealous. Zoe alone seemed to be the outlier of that unspoken rule, but ingesting so much of his blood (and also being on death’s doorstep already) seemed to have been the push.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was. In fact, she found that if she let herself focus on him too long she couldn’t seem to avoid getting a sort of passing ‘update’ of his current actions – whether she wanted it or not. Just the person she wanted to be mentally connected to. Though whatever the connection was, it seemed to be a two-way street as opposed to the sort of controlling thrall that he had over certain others. At least she hadn’t caught herself doodling ‘Dracula is God’ in the corner of any of her notepads, thank fuck for that.
After a couple of weeks, however, the peaks at his consciousness were becoming more involuntary – either that, or he’d found out a way to push them at her deliberately, which wouldn’t surprise her in the least. An array of miscellaneous throats, mostly – with the occasional face to go with them even, but a strangely short order of corpses. Not too surprising given his renewed intent to procreate, but she expected the body count would be still reasonably…abundant.
Despite knowing she should be relieved, Zoe felt a creeping sense of dread. How many people did he intend to turn? To keep up with his usual appetite he’d have to be keeping a menagerie of donors. Willing donors. For a brief, mindless moment she wondered to herself how the hell he was managing that. Her own voice (more or less) answered in a clipped mocking laugh, echoing out loud in the silence of her office.
Tall, dark, handsome, well dressed, charming – in a snakey sort of way with no particular sexual preference, in a city full of jaded, power starved people longing to escape from their problems, with a cynical attitude toward life and death? Christ’s sake, they were in the age of the opioid epidemic and the man was walking heroin. Literally. The world was doomed.
Ready or not, it was about time she stopped making things so easy for him, Zoe decided, packing up her latest round of experiments and locking them away. Just because she couldn’t kill Dracula (yet) didn’t mean that she couldn’t distract him - a thought that she was well aware originated more with Agatha than herself, but the scientist in her was still fully willing to embrace.
The methodology was...negotiable, they'd settled on vaguely as Zoe found her way quickly home to her flat.
Once she decided to figure out his location, it didn't surprise her that the count was 'on the prowl', but she did have to roll her eyes at his choice of venue. Apparently he was going to make following him inconvenient. It definitely wasn't a club she could just waltz into dressed like a science professor and blend in.
But this is good, he won't be expecting your intrusion.
...Or he's expecting me to show up in a lab coat and give myself away Zoe countered internally, becoming arguably far too comfortable with disagreeing with her own inner voice as she yanked out a little black dress from the back of her wardrobe and tossed it on her bed, along with her far more lived in leather jacket.
Fine. This was fine. If she could keep randy 20-year-olds focused on studying science instead of each other on a regular basis, she could certainly handle putting a wrench in a 500 year old man-child’s seduction techniques.
------
Of the numerous intrigues and conundrums the 21st century had wrought upon the Count, the notion of the vampire being not only a cultural topic of admiration but practically a fetish was one he had never seen coming. He was actually embarrassed it had taken him this long to fully comprehend and, in turn, utilize this phenomenon. It was true none of his earlier victims had really been surprised when his teeth sank into their necks, but the full scope of it had never really ‘dawned’ on him until baring his fangs had inspired one too many bouts of earnest excitement. It was frankly hilarious, not to mention convenient, though truth be told he was beginning to miss the charms of inspiring unholy terror.
Not that the initial euphoria didn’t quickly evolve into proper panic once the reality of exsanguination occurred to them – if he allowed it to. He sometimes did, particularly since he was losing patience with being told it wasn’t Halloween just before ripping into their throats. He opted not to keep those idiots around, more often than not. The undead didn’t need any more denial in its ranks - Zoe was already proving to be so far immune to his influence in every way, he did not need any more deviance.
It luckily hadn’t taken Dracula long to finally hit the smorgasbord: an entire dark room, filled almost entirely with dozens of willing, believing victims. So many nocturnal souls, full of wickedness and naïve delight at the mere thought of a creature such as him walking amongst them. Many of them even liked to already call themselves vampires, some in jest and others in actual earnest - artificial fangs and all! It was downright adorable. Now why should he, of all people, ruin their fun?
It never took very long to capture someone’s attention, and that particular night was no different save for the fact that his potential prey had suddenly turned their attention away from him and was having some unknown words whispered in their ear by a woman he vaguely recognized as the bartender.
“I…um, I need to go. Emergency,” The young woman stated in the broken persistence easily identified as that of an unpracticed liar, and she dissolved hurriedly back into the darkness from whence she came.
Dracula’s head tilted briefly in confusion, but then in realization he sighed as his eyes scanned and locked in a glare on the slender figure at the far end of the bar who was smirking at him.
Striding over with exaggerated reluctance, he leant against the surface at her side.
“What did you tell her?”
Zoe shrugged, still clearly pleased with herself. “Just enough to make you sound revolting. Not exactly hard to do.”
“No one likes a cock block, Dr. Helsing,” he accused with a raise of his brows, looking down at her.
Zoe chuckled aloud. “I think we both know your cock isn’t something to worry about,” she replied, eyes rolling at his apparent need to show off his modern vocabulary.
“Ouch,” he rumbled, amusement still glinting in the black pools of his eyes despite his attempt at a pout. “Should I be offended?”
“Is there even anything to be offended about?” She found herself asking, and briefly cursed Agatha’s ever-greedy curiosity.
The Count’s brows shot upwards, in either genuine surprise or a good ploy of it as he turned his body to face hers. “Are you asking if I’m, as you say, ‘fully functional and anatomically correct’? Oh dear, now I am offended.” It didn’t falter his smile.
“I just assumed you saw everyone as little more than happy meals with legs,” she said in, granted, unnecessary explanation for the question. Never in anything she’d seen or heard of his attempts to seduce or charm did he seem to be in pursuit of anything but dinner.
“I’m a man of many appetites, some just supersede others,” he replied simply, at first, though quickly amended. “And certain aspects of being a vampire does make it difficult to find a partner who will remain conscious or even survive the experience through to its conclusion.”
“Sounds like a self-control problem to me, though...I wouldn’t have thought the killing part to be an issue for you,” she uttered in return, more of Agatha’s intrigue popping out without her consent.
His eyes narrowed knowingly, as they always seemed to do when he sensed Zoe’s words were not always her own, though it didn’t stop him from responding.
“I may be undead, but I am no necrophile. I told you I like the lively ones, and I meant that. Even if the vast majority are ‘happy meals with legs’ that’s no reason to ignore what’s between them. Where do you think all that blood flows to when you’re aroused?”
“Sorry I asked,” Zoe clipped, eyes rolling again in sheer avoidance of his probing gaze.
“Maybe I ought to try some restraints,” he mused thoughtfully, ignoring her comment entirely and refocusing on his current ‘conundrum’ she’d been so kind as to bring to the forefront of his thoughts. “I fed from an interesting little dominatrix the other night…”
“For them or for you?” Zoe found herself snarking back, beginning to wonder if it was a better or worse choice to let a nun have this conversation in her place.
“Oh, them. It would keep them conscious a bit at least. When your saliva is a sedative, over-eagerness just breeds trouble. I don’t even know if they make anything strong enough to restrain me. Silver…if you believe the stories, though I’ve never tried it.” His brow quirked upward lasciviously at her, an obvious lure. “Perhaps you would do the honors?”
“Perhaps I should try to stake you, just to be sure. You never know, I could get lucky.”
“Now, now. We both know you’re not going to do that. Come on Agatha – don’t think I don’t know when it’s you, you always were a curious cat - if things went your way I’d still be locked in a box to prod at for the rest of eternity, all for the sake of extending your morbid curiosity. I was extending a courtesy with that offer. It could be the closest you’d get to satisfaction in that regard. Or any regard," he drawled, punctuating his already not-so-subtle meaning by moving in closer still, deliberately intrusive. He lived to infuriate.
Agatha’s first instinct was to aim a slap at his absurdly smug face just for the audacity, regardless of Zoe’s opposing instinct to ignore him entirely. Apparently the nun won out, though the speed in which her hands zoomed forward was an impossible thing, and as Zoe feared, a grave mistake. The older vampire caught her hand in his massive fist before it came within an inch of his flesh, with a look of pure satisfaction. In the same gesture, his other hand shot to grasp her throat and by the force of the movement alone urged her back from the bar and into the shadows just beyond it. The music was melancholic, but loud and just chaotic enough to drown out the faint growl erupting from his throat.
“Ooh. Look at you go. I think my blood really did do the trick, didn’t it? None of my brides, before or after their full transformation, could even come close to my speed. And you’re already halfway there. Not to mention completely immune to my power of suggestion yet still able to locate me, it seems – very, very irritating, but impressive. Any fangs yet?”
Struggling briefly in his grasp, she bared her teeth at him spitefully, showing off her teeth’s lack of points.
“Aw. What a pity,” he sighed, letting go of her hand, but kept her neck in his grip – not squeezing, but present and unmoving, nonetheless lest she try to attack him again.
“Still trying to fight it, aren’t you? Zoe’s just a stubborn thing, she wants to prove me wrong. But you…you are trying to protect her. From me…herself, I don’t know, but it’s only going to end up driving her mad.”
“It’s completely feasible to resist the blood lust,” Agatha persisted, meeting his steely gaze with her own. “She’s figured out how it works, what the vampiric body needs to function.”
“And I suppose you’d be the expert at resisting lusts, wouldn’t you?” His fingers tightened minutely around the long column of her throat, and his words were a harsh whisper that’s effect on her body mocked the very virtue it was pretending to praise.
“For once, Dracula, stop flattering yourself,” she spat, turning her head as much to look away from him – at anything but him - as his hold would allow.
“I never flatter myself. You stop elevating yourself. You’re not a nun anymore, you’re just another wayward soul. You’ve died twice trying to rid the world of me and we’re both still here. Take a hint.”
“Perhaps I’m still here to stop you,” she suggested, finally turning back to face him with a challenging lift of her brow.
The Count met her challenge with a look of utter acceptance , his face leaning down to hers in what to anyone else would be a clear threat - and to anyone else, it was exactly that. To a normal, non corrupt human his kiss meant instant submission, the predator incapacitating his prey.
“Then, by all means, stop me.”
She stood stiff in the face of his intimate approach, for a moment able to ignore any further context and simply prod at him.
"Your delusions won't work on me anymore," Agatha reminded him blandly, pushing breath out with each word just because she could.
This gave him pause for all of a moment, but it was seemingly only to observe her stubborn face with faint amusement.
"Good," he uttered against her lips with mocking simplicity, but before she could take another breath he was kissing her hard and to his utter relief, didn't get limp, clouded acceptance in response.
She let out a frustrated growl of her own in protest, more human than beast, though her attempt at clamping her lips closed in protest came a moment too late. He'd captured her lower lip between his own and she felt the sharp scrape of his canines as he pulled, still prominent without the animalistic haze of hunger.
Her initial will to resist buckled to make way instead for an aggressive refusal to be dominated - whether those forces had names or were shared equally between the Van Helsing women, he couldn't say, but instead of allowing him to ravage her mouth unopposed, or even to attempt to fight or flee as the Count half expected, she'd responded with equal fervor - out of lust or spite or both. Her blunt teeth bit down hard where his had only nipped and her previously limp hand found its way to the back of his head and anchored itself in his locks to counter the tightening of his grip on her neck.
The snarl that reverberated from his throat and into her mouth was every bit as bestial as hers was human, and his grip tightened dangerously just before forcing her backwards and away from him like he was embracing an open flame. She barely caught herself before crashing into a wall, but still looked on with unadulterated satisfaction as Dracula looked twice as shaken as she did in the face of his first kiss in 500 years that didn't end in immediate surrender. Men - alive or dead - were all the same.
After a moment, he caught himself, letting out a wicked chuckle in the face of her smirk. "We'll make a monster of you yet, Van Helsing," he assured her raggedly, bluster gradually returning to his stance and the set of his jaw as he watched her.
Zoe - and fully Zoe at that moment righted herself from where she leaned against the wall, adjusting her jacket, the satisfied look still in her eyes.
"Happy hunting, Count Dracula. Just don't expect me to make it easy for you."
And without looking at him again, she walked passed where he stood and headed in a leisurely stroll towards the exit, forcing her heart rate back to its normal deathly calm.
----
I’m not even sure what to say to this other than either I’m sorry or your welcome. I’m just going to tag everyone who’s nerding has inspired me to continue, regardless if you’ve showed any interest in reading or not. If you want to be tagged, let me know
Tag List: @charlesdances @bellamortislife @carydorse @break-free-killer-queen @imagineandimagine @my-fanfic-library @punk-courtesan @ohveda @wannabebloodsucker @hoefordarkness @mymagicsuitcase @crazytxgradstudent @itendedbadly @theplumsoldier @gatissed @allfandoms-writings @littlemessyjessi @vampiregirl1797 @desperatefrenchwriter @iloveclaesbang @ss9slb @dreamerkim @mephdcosplay @violetmarkey @alhoyin @thozaarmitage @girlonfireice@cipherwheeldecoder @crowley-needs-a-hug @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @iloveclaesbang
#bbc dracula#dracula bbc#dracula 2020#claes bang#agatha van helsing#zoe van helsing#my writing#the undone & the divine
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[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess.
[b]Age:[/b] Old enough that I'm getting tired of answering this.
[b]How did you find us?:[/b] I took a trip into Hell and found you.
[b]Name:[/b] Lazarus Donovan
[b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Laz will do.
[b]Age:[/b] 40. Though he looks 35.
[b]Date of Birth:[/b] May 28th 1971.
[b]Gender:[/b] Male.
[b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Questionable.
[b]Occupation:[/b] Jack of all trades, that, and he's Twist's hound.
[b]Animal Species:[/b] WereDog.
[b]Animal Description: [/b]
[IMG]http://breederinfocenter.com/images2/20061111213659_074529_1.jpg[/IMG][LIST]For a supposed medium sized breed of dog, Lazarus’ canine half is actually quite big compared to some dogs and still not the biggest mutt on the block. He stands at 26 inches at the withers, and weighs in at 90lbs of streamlined muscle that can make some humans cringe in fear. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail; he’s 5 feet and 4 inches so it’s easy to get scared. He’s not a long coated German shepherd dog at all, though the thick black and tan fur would make you think so. Screw your pure blacks and your pure white variations; he loves his dog form the way it is. It makes it easier to blend in with some working dogs as the breed is generally used for labour.
[/LIST][b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b]
[URL=http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=Weredog&order=9&offset=96#/d2lw0fb]Scooby Snack? Yeah!... You idiot.[/URL][LIST]Of course he has an alpha form; it was practically beaten into him. Standing roughly at 6’11, and weighing in at 250lbs, Lazarus isn’t that much bigger in this form. Of course he’s a bit menacing but that’s a good thing – so he thinks – and isn’t something that anyone should want to meet in a dark alley in the middle of the night. Laz retains his black and tan markings in this form, though his fur is only a little thinner in this form then his full dog form. He looks like he’s a dog that can walk quiet comfortable on his hind legs really, with cone like ears, a muzzle packed full of fangs and hands with curved claws and a brush like tail.
[/LIST][b]Rank:[/b] Rogue.
[b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] All his life.
[b]Mindset:[/b] Dominant.
[b]Power level:[/b] Beta by choice (hides his alpha status).
[b]Face Claim:[/b] Josh Holloway.
[b]Description:[/b]
[IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/600full-josh-holloway.png[/IMG][LIST]Lazarus is 6’1 inches tall in his human form; he’s pretty average in the height department which is fine with him. He’s your average kind of guy in all honesty, he’s used to hard graft so he’s pretty toned, Lazarus only weighs in at a simply 200lbs even if he doesn’t look like it, and most of the weight’s packed away in muscles. With pale green eyes that darken considerably when he’s angry, the shaggy cut of dirty blond hair, and dusting of stubble finish off his rugged look quite nicely. Some day’s he clips his hair back, sometimes he forgets to shave. It’s not something he really pays attention to.
Does a sense of style matter, really? Well if you insist on it. Laz doesn’t like clothes and he doesn’t exactly hate them either. He’d be much more comfortable lounging about in a pair of jeans and a loose shirt than a suit – though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look smart when he dresses up! He just needs to be poked and prodded hard to do so -, so his style doesn’t differ from torn and shredded jeans, open dress shirts and t-shirts and a pair of boots. Jewellery and tattoos now eh? Well he does wear the odd pendant or handmade wrist band. It’s just a matter of practicality most days.
[/LIST][b]Special Skills:[/b][LIST]Gee, you mean all those street smarts have gone for nothing? Shame. Other than that, he's good staying under the radar as a dog. Also, this is pretty important becuase not everyone can be as cool as he is. He’s a full blown animal servant, meaning that from the first mark he became less breakable and susceptible to vampire mind tricks. From the second mark, gave Mordichai the ability to draw power from him and taste food and drink through Lazarus. The third mark gave them both the ability to communicate telepathically with each other but only when his Master is awake. The forth mark gave him immortality by drinking his masters blood, better mental stabilisation/communication with his master and the ability to draw on Mordichai’s strength. Oh the perks of his job!
[/LIST][b]Personality:[/b][LIST]Lazarusarus is a firm believer in ‘survival of the fittest’, that being said, he’s got a sort of soft spot for weaker dogs. He won’t actively help them, but he will keep other folks from breaking people even more if he can see that the ‘underdog’ can pull themselves through whatever task it is. What can I say? He likes a challenge and if he sees one, he’ll prod at it but, he’ll likely lose interest and go about his business after awhile. Idiots have little appeal to him. He’s a smart man, intelligent so he won’t rush into things from the word go. He’ll exploit weaknesses that he can find for his (and the his Master’s) own benefit if he can, and if he can’t, he knows when to cut his losses. Sure Lazarus can charm people, smile and joke around, he can also be cocky and egotistical at times, and closed off as well at times.
He loved once, or lusted, he doesn’t know what it was but he thinks its love. Oh sure he’ll deny it if he’s ever asked, but he knows the truth. He won’t open himself up fully to another person again, unless he can help it. Does that mean he’s looking for someone to open up to? Heck no. He’s just going to keep himself apart from people and still be around them. Trust issues is probably what you’d call it, actually, it’s what he’d call it to. The woman that stole his heart earned his trust, but when she left, that hurt him. So, he’s made it a personal mission in life to just not care what people think about him, and as long as they make no trouble that he has to fix, he doesn’t care what people do.
A common thing with Lazarus is, until you can prove yourself to him, you get a nickname. You can bitch and moan and demand that he use your real name, but he’ll stubbornly start making said nicknames worse. It doesn’t mean anything to him really, but dog’s minds are different in some respects. Scents and actions are easier for him to remember then names are. The only acceptation to this rule are the dominants to this dog, he’ll go out of his way to remember their names.
Donovan won’t take an insult lying down; to him that’s like losing an ear or something close to death. Making him sit out of things will make him whine and pout like a toddler deprived of sugar. He may or may not voice his complaints but to people that know him; you’d be able to tell by the tension in the man’s shoulders and the snarky attitude. It’s sort of the same way when he knows he has to submit to someone but doesn’t really want to. He may think he’s bigger and stronger, but if he’s forced into a position that makes him back down, he does it with as little snark as possible and takes off to the pub afterwards, or in the worst case scenario, takes a pocket knife to the inside of his arms to release the tension he feels. He hasn't cut for a long time, since before he was in love even, but it was an old habit and you know how they die don't you?
Lazarus doesn’t think of himself as mad, not in the conventional sense of the term. So he can kill without hesitating, it’s the predator in him, not the human. That and the fact that any good cat is a dead cat, was beaten into him when he was growing up. He’s not afraid to do what must be done to protect what’s his, if it means submitting to someone to get something he wants, he’ll do it. Practicality really when you think about it is something any animal knows. A weakness could get him killed, and he certainly doesn’t want that. He’s not afraid to bleed for a good cause either believe it or not, if a show needs to be put on, he’ll put his name forward and that will be that. Someone called him masochist when he was younger, so maybe that is true.
Marked by the Master vampire, Mordichai, hasn’t changed him much at all. Red (Violent Man) is someone he can relate to in some ways, and he’s pretty fond of that personality when he’s not being a prick trying to scare everyone. Blue (Business Man) is the side that draws out Laz’s more controlled side. He cares when Blue is around. Mordichai’s well being is one that Laz puts before his own. He’ll stop Red at a cost to him if he has to, distracted Blue and anything else that needs doing. The vampire is his master and owner, mind, body and soul.
[/LIST][b]Likes:[/b][LIST]
[*] Carving figurines and sketching.
[*] Reading when he's alone.
[*] Playing with his tennis ball when he's in his dog form.
[*] When Mordichai isn't bugged by Kiss vampires.
[*] Chasing cats in dog form.
[*] Sleeping in occasionally.
[*] Mordichai's attention.
[*] Quiet nights at the Raven.
[*] Walking instead of getting in a car or on a bus.
[*] A challenge in any form.
[/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b][LIST]
[*] Having to suffer idiots on a regular basis.
[*] Mordichai's disappointment.
[*] Losing his ball. The last time it was under the couch.
[*] Kiss vampires poking their noses in where they're not wanted.
[*] Humans thinking that they're all that when they aren't.
[*] Drunks in the club.
[*] Being around other were-dogs for a long time without a reason.
[*] A bad horror movie.
[*] Rainy nights.
[*] Not being able to find someone for Red to kill.
[/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b][LIST]
[*] Repetitive shifting with little fuss and bother.
[*] Doesn't mind being Red's puppet.
[*] Partial shifting.
[*] Marked all four times.
[*] Keeps his eyes and his ears open for anything useful.
[/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b][LIST]
[*] Not catching the change in Mordichai's moods.
[*] He's too curious at times.
[*] Silver still burns, even if he's a born shapeshifter.
[*] He has a bit of a sweet tooth.
[*] Won't ever allow his master to hurt a woman under 18.
[/LIST][b]History:[/b][LIST]Born back in the cold July of 1971, Lazarus Donovan was pushed into the world by a teenage mother named Aileen in a back alley in East Cork, Ireland. Aileen should’ve told her parents, she should’ve done a lot of things to ensure that the baby would be safe and sound but she didn’t. Instead, she’d hidden it until one day she couldn’t hide any longer, just like she hid that she could shapeshift. Unprepared for everything, the youngster dumped the baby the first she could find that would offer the babe some chance of survival, in the ambulance bay of the CMC (Cork Medical Centre) before fleeing and never looking back. The father was never notified, Aileen didn’t even know his name, didn’t even care about that dog.
The baby was stumbled upon by a human nun of all creatures. The human sister found Lazarus tucked away out of the worst of the cold weather, and heartbroken for the little mite, Sister Magdalena brought him inside to get checked over by one of the clinic doctors. There looked like there was no option for Laz at the time, declared fine by the doctor, the Sister had no choice but to contact the Priest that resided over the parish and go through the appropriate channels to get the baby into a loving home. For some reason Magdalena was protective of the whelp, she wanted to take him home with her and raise him as her own son, but she did not. The only thing she could give him was a name, and that was Lazarus. Lazarus’s earliest childhood memory is that of mean and spiteful nuns with bony fingers prodding and poking. Magda may have given him a name, but she had no say in where he went after she gave him up. During his earlier days in Cork, Lazarus knew one human family in the space of three years. The Donovan’s didn’t have him long, they didn’t even get to call him son and he didn’t get the chance to recognize them as parents before Mrs Donovan’s husband died in a car accident and his ‘mother’ put him back into care before moving to England. Not understanding what was happening around him, the wee lad just carried on like any normal child would.
Bounced around allot over the next few years from home to home and foster group to foster group, Laz finally hit a wall. He’d always know that he was different someway, but he didn’t know how different until one day he was kicking a football around in the park on his own and the next, he was a dog. A bloody big dog too, in his thirteen year old mind. It was his thirteen year old mind that passed it off as a dream the first time, and the second time it happened without his control, but everything fell apart when he hit fifteen. Laz was with his foster sister, Olivia. She was a great girl, pure human and also a strict catholic just like her parents. When she saw him shift, at first it was fun and games, but then she began to grow wary, thinking he was the devils hound and that her brother was unclean. When he shifted back, despite what he said and did, she began to panic and ran home leaving Laz to watch her go.
He could’ve followed, he wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead he shifted and went the other way, running for days and days until his paws bled and he couldn’t go any further. He stuck to the minor roads, out of the way, and never once went near humans. They didn’t understand him, he didn’t even understand himself. Eventually he found himself in Dublin, and he still hadn’t shifted. He wanted to be a dog, to forget the look of horror on Olivia’s face. That didn’t last though, it was perfectly logical for the youngster to want to hide and forget everything that was happening, but it just wasn’t meant to be as he found out a year later. Tearaway teenager Mary found him, scavenging on some scrubland that was passing itself off as a parkway. She coaxed him out with food, and he went to her. A year as a dog is a rough time, Laz had lost weight, forgot a lot of things, almost forgot how to shift back. Once the food was gone, so was he for a few days and they played this cat and mouse game for days, until finally Laz decided to stop running away. She’d proven she wasn’t going to hurt him, and he’d had a lot of time to think about things and what he wanted to do.
Eventually, he found his way back to human form. He had learnt a lot, noticed a lot too. Humans weren’t the only things out there. It was probably what brought him back into the world of the living, but with no money or place to stay, the teenager had to do what was necessary to get going. He stole, lied and cheated his way through the supposed conmen and women stalking Dublin’s shady alleys over the next few years. When he managed to get a place to stay for himself and wasn’t reduced to squatting as a dog, Laz found a job in one of the bars. He always kept an eye on Mary, she knew him as a dog, she didn’t know him as a human though and it was one of those things that he wanted to change. Ok, so he supposed he stalked her for a little while, in a platonic kind of way. It was hard at the time to get his emotions straight between human and canine. The pub he worked in was her regular, and he saw her every night coming and going with strangers. Eventually summoned up the courage to talk to her and she blew him off. Obviously, he’d said something wrong but Laz couldn’t work out what it was, pushing twenty one, he really didn’t need the aggravation of dealing with a woman when he was trying to be normal.
Over the next fourteen years Lazarus made a name for himself. He never had a stable partner; he worked and charmed the people around him. Did good things for the people he considered friends and eventually ended up buying the lease for the pub he worked in. The Kings Head became his little kingdom, a place he could control and do with what he wanted as the world changed outside the front door. The biggest thing that happened in his little life was that the supernatural came out of the closet in the late nineties. However in 2006, the supernatural world was very much a part of day to day life for the thirty five year old hound dog, Laz. He often spent time around other shapeshifters and vampires, he just enjoyed their company and that’s when everything turned upside down. A bar fight broke out, some angry vampire that had stopped in to get out of the rain had been assaulted by humans, two from the local church. More religious fanatics than anything else, they’d had that type in the pub before and they’d always punted them out on their backsides. It was complicated and Laz only remembers a little, just stepping in between a priest and the vampire, a blade punching into his side rather than the vampires. He didn’t even know why he did it; it just felt right to him, like he needed to be there. How was he supposed to know that he’d sparked the vampire’s curiosity with one act? Mordichai dispatched the rest of the rabble that was there, it was bloody and violent and by the end of the night the Kings Head was burning down. Laz didn’t care, the knife had done some serious damage that his body was struggling to heal and he was pretty much out of it.
He was dragged back to a house that Mordichai had rented while he was in the city, the vampire poked and prodded at him and Lazarus did the same back. He quickly found out that the vampire wasn’t just one person but three and he came up with names for each personality. Red, Blue and Mordichai. He must’ve done something right because in the last five years, he’s not wandered away from the vampire – actually, scratch that, he wouldn’t leave the vampire he called master – and his master hasn’t killed him. Supposedly, if Mordichai wanted him dead, then Red put his foot down on that buy giving Lazarus the marks of an animal servant binding the dog and master together for all eternity. That still doesn’t stop Mordichai from skinning him, or something really creative but one thing is for sure, they need each other and that’s that...No matter how much they deny it.
[/LIST][/SIZE]
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Interview with horrorcore hip-hop geniuses Clipping.
[...] In that sense, There Existed An Addiction to Blood is Clipping’s response to the horrorcore hip-hop of Brotha Lynch Hung and early Three 6 Mafia, which they’ve always loved and knew they wanted to pay homage to. But also, as horror film and literature lifers, their long-awaited opportunity to make a musical anthology of horror stories in the vein of the blaxploitation flicks of the 1970s—which they view as distinctly political, as Clipping has always been. The title of the album is taken from the 1973 film Ganja & Hess, an avant-garde horror film about black vampires that’s sampled in the centerpiece of the album, “Blood of the Fang.”
“It’s a lot of things I’m attracted to and interested in in noise, and metal, and extreme music,” Hutson says. “Which is, like, a very vocal hard-left, anti-racist politics. But that’s handled kind of irresponsibly and violently, in a way that would be frowned upon by non-anarchists, I guess.”
[...] You’re all working in the visual arts field outside of Clipping. How do your experiences in that realm influence what you’re doing in Clipping itself?
Hutson: Jonathon will get an idea that some other project is not interested in and won’t let him do, that he’ll bring to Clipping and then we’ll do it. Clipping is where we get to do all the things that we think of in our normal lives, and apply those things to a thing that we know the three of us want to do and trust each other in. And [where we] want to do weirder, more out-there ideas that maybe not everyone else wants.
Snipes: Even the thermos that we sampled for “Work Work” [off of 2014’s CLPPNG] for the main rhythm was an opening night gift from a play I sound-designed. But I used to really compartmentalize and think of all of my different works and practices as separate, and Clipping was the thing that made me see how connected they all are. Like, this technique that I learned from doing a play could somehow be applied to making a rap song.
Hutson: At least a couple songs on this new album started as movie pitches that we turned into songs. That were, like, ideas I had for screenplays.
[...] Tell me about the making of the song “Run For Your Life,” which has all sorts of different beats and instrumental moves going on.
Hutson: That was two different ideas stuck together. I wanted a song with La Chat [of Three 6 Mafia] because she’s sort of a horrorcore icon. She was always the scariest, toughest member of Three 6 in those days. And I had this idea of her verse that was basically her hunting down someone, driving through the streets chasing someone who’s running from her. And Jonathon had had this idea years and years ago that we had been talking about forever that would be Daveed rapping on a street corner, and every car that goes by would be playing a different beat that was all synced up.
Snipes: This is a perfect example of me having a crazy and goofy idea that Bill reigns in and makes really specific. In my version of this, each car is listening to a reggaeton station or a classical station or talk radio, totally different genre mashups. I have ideas that are centrally novelty songs that Bill somehow manages to make into something that’s smart and specific.
[...] What do you like so much about horrorcore? What attracts you to that style and why did you want to work within that aesthetic for this album?
Hutson: Apparently my house [growing up] was the house where all of our friends could come and watch R-rated horror movies. My parents were the ones who let us do that and their parents didn’t, so my house was the secret-sleepover-to-watch-the-Texas Chainsaw Massacre-house. And so I feel like I grew up with that very much being a part of who I was and what I was interested in. When I was in graduate school the course I got to teach a summer course that was called Monsters and the Uncanny in American Popular Culture. That was just an introduction to different social theory, each paired with a horror story and a horror movie. It would be like, “here’s the basic primer on Marxism or anti-racist theory or queer theroy,” and each week would be a different horror movie and a different horror text to illustrate those things. So I guess part of my interest in horror is always political in the sense that it’s always a good metaphor for what a culture is afraid of at any given time. It’s a good metaphor for that political climate and how you can use those monsters to address what’s going on.
#bill hutson#jonathan snipes#daveed diggs#clipping.#clipping#it bugs me no end that they misspell jonathan's name
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Hi honey! May I please have Aphrodite and Milo (ship or friends your pick) with 2. "I’m only a witch, not a miracle worker.” And may I please have Finrod/Caranthir with 43. "I am centuries old. You need to do more than that to get rid of me.”? You're the best and I love you sooooo much!!!
(1/2, thank you! This is a canon AU!! No idea when it's set, but there's brief sexual content and blood drinking.)
Carnistir stares flatly at the fluffy golden wolf that has invaded his bed. The wolf looks up at him innocently, tongue lolling from its mouth in a happy expression. Of all the many and varied things that have occurred in his long life, this is up there on the list of the absurd. It almost feels nostalgic, to be perfectly honest.
[[MORE]]
"Get out of my bed." He tells the beast flatly, baring his fangs at it. The wolf contrives to look startled. Carnistir isn't in the mood. He hasn't had a sip of blood in months and while he generally tries to take blood from creatures able to consent, the upsetting hunger gnaws at his throat. The wolf, rather perversely, settles in further. Carnistir growls at it, and shoves at its bulk so he can worm his way in anyway. This isn't a wolf, clearly, it's an overgrown cat. The wolf snaps at him, clearly surprised again, and unhappy with this new development. Carnistir levels with a flat look.
"I am centuries old. You need to do more than that to get rid of me.” He tells it, and the wolf lets out a sigh, flopping atop him.
Carnistir is determined not to be moved by the soft, furry body lying atop him. It's been so long, though, since he had positive, long term contact with any other being. Or perhaps his mind thinks this is Huan, because he finds himself in a light doze, actually petting the beast. There's something snarled in the thick golden ruff of its neck fur. He touches it, and almost flinches away from the malevolent magic embedded in freezing cold metal. Metal that shouldn't be cold, given the wolf's ambient body heat. The wolf whines softly.
"Get off," he tells it, and this time it obeys. He sits up and turns to his satchel, finding a small pair of iron-shears. He doesn't know why he has these- sentiment, probably, because the put him in mind of his father and his brother. The wolf holds obediently still as he clips the remains of a beautiful, cursed necklace from its throat. Once the last link in unsnarled from its neck, there is no longer a wolf sitting patiently beside him, but a being trapped between wolf and elf. A being he knows.
"Findaráto?" He asks cautiously. Findaráto blinks wide, mismatched eyes at him, and how had he not noticed the wolf had the same eyes, one blue and one green? The wolf's ears that sit high upon his elvish skull prick forward attentively, and the tail that curls around bare hips gives a slight, hopeful wag.
"Carnistir," his voice is hoarse and soft, and cracks on the syllables like he hasn't spoken in a long time. Which he likely hasn't, Valar above.
"What happened to you?" He asks softly, and Findaráto gives him a shaky smile.
"I could ask the same of you," he retorts, but lets the story unfold, quiet and horrific. He had not died in the pit, but become a werewolf, and Sauron had happened across him and locked him in that form with a cursed replica of the Nauglamir. Carnistir listens quietly, giving him space. With what has happened to both of them, the animosity that he had laid between them no longer makes sense. Carnistir aches too keenly for gentle touch and companionship. Findaráto gives him a quiet, penetrating look when he's done, and Carnistir lets out a soft, almost shaky sigh.
"We attacked Doriath, because they rejected Nelyo's petition to return the Silmaril your actions helped Beren steal from Morgoth no less than three times. I'm not proud of what we did, but the Oath burned at us, burned at our very minds. I was struck down, but not killed outright. When the battle was over, before anyone could even think of reclaiming bodies, the vampires slunk in. They feasted from the corpses, and from those not yet dead. My knife was still in hand, and when a vampire came for me I was able to flag its throat while it fed from me. I know not whether it was the blood that fell in my mouth doing so, or the simple act of killing it that transferred its curse to me, but I survived, and fled. I've taken care not to get too close to civilization since then, as I imagine you have as well." Carnistir doesn't look at Findaráto as he speaks, aware of his own shame.
Findaráto merely hums, though, and his hands are warm when they find Carnistir's shoulders. He embraces Carnistir, brings his face gently down into the golden fur that still decorates his throat and shoulders. Carnistir resists.
"I'm too thirsty," he protests, frowning at Findaráto's disregard for his own safety.
"Then drink," Findaráto tells him gently. "I'm a werewolf, I have strength enough remove you, if you drink too deeply." Carnistir lets out a shuddering sigh. Not the throat- too much fur. The crook of the elbow then, the wrist carries too much danger of damaging tendons, and the thigh- too intimate, especially in Findarato's state of undress. Additionally, his legs seem to be those of a wolf from the hip down and again, too furry.
He turns himself in Findaráto's hold, letting himself be drawn into his lap, with his shoulder against Findaráto's chest. He holds Findaráto's arm carefully, and licks the spot he'll bite, gentle and intimate. His jaw almost aches when he finally lets his fangs slice trough tender skin. Findarato's breath hitches and a rough, clawed hand rests against the curve of Carnistir's neck, where his hair has slid away to reveal pale skin. He doesn't pull Carnistir away, though, his claws just a watchful pricking of his skin. Carnistir drinks, the rich heat of Findaráto's blood across his tongue somehow more fulfilling than his usual, sparse meals.
He pulls back after a while, lapping the small wounds to seal them, and meets Findarato's eyes. He knows his own are crimson, now, instead of the indistinct hazel they had been when he had been but an elf. Findarato's own eyes are dilated, the color jewel-bright rims against a sea of black. His hand still rests, hot and heavy against the back of Carnistir's neck, and it's irresistible when Findaráto finally drags him into a hot, biting kiss. Carnistir's blood mingles with Findaráto's in their mouths, as teeth nick lips and tongue, and he hangs on desperately, desire growing in him.
That desire sears him, when Findaráto bears them both down onto Carnistir's ragged bed and brings them both to screaming climax. When they curl together, moonlight streaming in through the rough door over the cave entrance, that desire sits warm and sated, more tender now within his breast. He sinks his hands into Findarato's fur and sleeps, content for the first time in centuries.
#silmarillion#tolkien#caranthir#finrod#finrod felagund#fanfiction#fanfiction requests#drabble#drabble request#blood drinking#vampires#werewolves#brief smut#like blink and youll miss it#ns//fw
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Bakery Blasphemy
Summary: Finally getting a lead on a case after two days, you and the boys set out to see what information this strange woman might have.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Agnes (OFC), Delilah (OFC)
Word Count: 2459
Warnings: Sexuality, language, unsanitary things, rude old lady, implied smut
A/N: This is for @winchesterprincessbride “Jen Said What?” Challenge! My prompt was hilarious to write and is in bold in the fic. I’m glad to be back writing again and I appreciate you guys sticking with me while I’m recovering from my surgery. This was beta’d by @saxxology, gif made by me. Enjoy!
“Come on, Sam, your hair looks perfect,” you grumbled from the motel bed. “Dean’s already out in the car.”
“I’m not doing my hair, Y/N,” Sam’s muffled reply sounded from behind the closed door.
“Then what the hell is taking you so long?” Sitting up, you glare at the bathroom door as if Sam could feel your icy stare through the wood. “Are you staring longingly at your reflection in the mirror?”
He snorted. “No.”
You paused for a moment, then smiled. “Are you touching yourself?”
“No,” he laughed. “You’d be able to hear me if I was. You know I’m not exactly quiet.”
A delicious shiver worked its way through your body at the thought of Sam touching himself, and you bit your lip to keep quiet. Even if Sam was doing any if those things, you were going to be late for your meeting with the first suspect you’d had on this case since you rolled into town two days ago.
“Baby,” you whined, “come on. We need to go. The drive is like twenty minutes and we’re meeting her in ten. Don’t make me pick the lock on the bathroom and drag you out to the car.”
The bathroom door opened in a whoosh of air, startling you slightly. Sam emerged, looking delicious in his navy blue suit, and raised a brow at you.
“I’d like to see you try to drag me anywhere. You know I’m stronger than you and bigger.” He pecked your lips with his own before wrapping his arms around you and turning you so your back was pressed against his front. “Remember last night?” He gestured to the front door of the motel room where, just twelve hours ago, Sam was holding you up against it and viciously fucking into you, whispering dirty things in your ear until you came apart in his arms.
“Yeah,” you whimpered quietly as your mind flooded with the memory of Sam fucking you.
Sam pressed a kiss to your temple and removed his arms from around you, steadying you as you swayed in your spot. “Come on, let’s get going.”
It took several long seconds before your body responded to any commands your brain was making, and Sam was already out the door. Quickly grabbing your coat, you followed after him, and made it outside right as he was sliding into the passenger’s seat of the Impala. Dean was in the driver’s seat, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, and you smiled sheepishly at him before you made your way around the car and slipped into the spot behind Sam in the back.
“What the hell took you two so long?” Dean questioned, putting the car in reverse and gunning it out of the motel parking lot.
“I don’t know, ask Sam,” you replied, meeting eyes with Dean in the rear view mirror and sticking your tongue out.
Dean glanced at his brother, who only shrugged. “I was sewing up a part of my suit jacket. It ripped when I was putting it on.”
“Sammy the seamstress,” Dean chided, earning a patented bitchface from Sam. “Does that mean you’ll sew my clothes, too?”
“Have you seen Sam’s stitches, Dean? I don’t think I’d want him sewing anything, let alone my clothes,” you sassed from the back seat, earning a deep chuckle from Dean. Sam turned around in his seat and glared at you, betrayal in his eyes.
You were definitely going to pay for that.
Thankfully, Dean clicked the radio and dissolved the tension with some horribly off-key karaoke to AC/DC for the rest of the ride to this woman’s shop.
Several unexplained and bloody deaths in town drew the three of you there to begin with, and after coming up empty on every lead, you were desperate. When this woman, Agnes Stull, reached out and said she might have some information, you all but jumped at it. Dean was cautious about her, Sam was optimistic, and you were the glue that held the Winchesters together.
After a quick drive across town, Dean parked the Impala on the side of the road in front of an old bakery; apparently Agnes was the owner and preferred the three of you come to her job instead of her home. When you exited the car, you rolled your eyes at the deep exaggerated inhale that came from Dean.
“Mmm, I smell pie,” he smiled, licking his lips.
“Dean, we’re here to work, not eat,” Sam scolded, checking his watch. “Come on, we’re five minutes late.”
“And whose fault is that, Sammy?” Dean retorted.
Sam ignored his reply and you smiled at Dean, appreciating the wildly entertaining brotherly sass that was common between them. Following Sam, all three of you walked into the door of the bakery, a small bell hanging from the door hinge ringing to signal your entrance. The smell of pastries and freshly baked bread made you close your eyes and smile, and you caught Dean doing the same out of the corner of your eye.
“How can I help you?” a cheerful voice chirped from behind the counter, making you open your eyes.
“Hi there, we’re looking for Agnes?” Sam replied, flashing his badge. “We’re the FBI agents she requested to speak with.”
“Oh, I’m Delilah. Agnes is in the back, go through those doors over there,” she pointed to a set of double doors across the shop on the opposite wall, “and you’ll find her.”
Nodding your thanks, you followed the boys as they walked over and stepped through the doors. Like Delilah had said, Agnes was sitting on a metal stool in front of a counter, kneading a ball of dough. She looked to be in her late seventies or early eighties, and she glanced up at you when you stepped inside.
“You the suits that were nosing around?” she grunted, voice deep and scratchy.
“Yes we are, ma’am,” Dean confirmed, flashing her a smile.
Agnes grunted and landed a hard punch to the middle of the dough sitting in front of her. “Don’t smile at me like that. It makes you look slow, boy.”
Right when Dean was about to counter her feigned insult, Agnes reared her head back and sneezed… directly onto the dough that was scattered across the table. She looked up at Dean and wiped a sleeve under her nose, raising an eyebrow at him as she continued to knead.
Dean’s grin instantly disappeared and he opened his mouth in a silent horrified scream. Thankfully, Sam was there to step in for his speechless brother. “So, what information did you have for us?”
“The last kid that bit it,” she waved her hand around, “whatever his name was. He used to work here as a cleaner. You know, dishes, sweeping, mopping… that shit.”
“Okay…” Sam said slowly.
“Don’t sass me, Redwood,” Agnes snapped, making Sam’s head jerk back in surprise. “I was just gonna let you know that back when he worked here, he ran with a bad crowd. Gangs, drugs, all of that bullshit. So his death might be related to that.”
Sam was still stunned to silence, just like Dean, so you stepped forward. “Thank you Agnes, but there are three victims that match the M.O. and there were no commonalities between the victims, and that includes gang affiliation. That, and most gangs opt for executions… these victims were… well, they were brutally slaughtered.”
Your skill as a hunter was second to your skills at reading body language, and you didn’t miss the small twitch of a smile on Agnes’ mouth after you finished speaking. Before you even had a chance to warn the Winchesters, Agnes stood up and reached into her mouth, pulling her dentures free. Dean was frozen in his spot as she reached out and plopped her slobber-coated dentures right into his palm.
It took a few long seconds for Dean’s brain to catch up with the action, and he immediately flailed, throwing the dentures in the air while gagging, frantically wiping his hand on his pant leg. “What the fuck?!”
Agnes faced you and snarled, several sets of sharp fangs protruding from her gums, making all three of you draw your guns. “God damn hunters, why can’t you just take a lead and fuck off?”
“Not a vampire,” you whispered, clicking the hammer back on your pistol.
“I’m a Manticore, fuck nuggets. I was enjoying retirement, but mama got hungry,” she said, patting her stomach with blue tinted claws jutting from the end of black fingertips. “That, and who knew blood added to cherry pie tasted so good.”
“Bitch!” Dean gasped, cocking his gun and pulling the trigger.
All three of you unloaded each of your clips into the monster. Dean had witch killing bullets, Sam had holy oil bullets, and you had the standard silver. It wasn’t intentional to have different ammo, but you hoped at least one of the special kinds of ammunition would kill a Manticore.
The Manticore hissed and growled, lunging at you while you fired, but one of the ammo types appeared to be working and she crumpled to the ground a few feet shy of you. You and Sam stopped firing when she hit the ground, but Dean fired two more shots into her corpse, a double tap to the head.
“Dean, she’s dead,” you said, holding out your hand.
He went to fire again, but his gun clicked and he growled, spinning to face you. “That lady handed me her false teeth, right out of her mouth!” He shuddered and made a noise of disgust. “And let’s not forget her sneezing on stuff… or what she did to the sanctity of cherry pie!”
Sam rolled his eyes and you laughed, making Dean huff in annoyance right when the door behind you burst open, revealing a wide-eyed Delilah.
“Agnes?!”
Sam stepped in front of her, holding out a palm to stop her from advancing further into the room. “Sorry, Delilah. Agnes killed those three people in town. She… she poisoned them with some kind of psychedelic drug that thinned their blood while making them brutally kill themselves. She tried to kill us and we had no choice.”
Delilah pressed a hand against her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh no. She… she killed those people? Why?”
“We don’t know, possibly dementia? She confessed to the killings right before she lunged at us with a knife,” you said, tucking your gun into the waistband in the back of your pants.
“She was a mean old lady,” Delilah whispered. “I guess life finally caught up with her.” She looked up and her eyes darted around. “What should I do now?”
“We’re going to take care of her. You own the shop from this point on, just make sure you throw out everything you have in the store right now,” Dean commanded, pointing a finger at her. “Especially any cherry pie.”
“Shouldn’t I call the police?” Delilah asked, mindlessly depositing the blood spray covered dough balls into the trash can.
“We work for a special part of the FBI, and this is not the first time Agnes has done this. She was a dangerous serial killer. It’s better for everyone if she just disappears, okay?” Sam placed a hand on Delilah’s shoulders and met her eyes. “We’ll help you clean up.”
“We will?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, we will,” Sam confirmed through gritted teeth.
With four people, the shop only took about an hour to clean up. All the pastries were thrown out and the blood was cleaned up from the back room. While Sam and Dean were moving Agnes’ body to the back if the Impala to burn somewhere far away from here, you helped Delilah sort the ownership papers and other documents in the small office inside the store. Luckily, Delilah had part ownership in the business so there was no paperwork that had to be forged. You told her to report Agnes missing in a few days, just to cover herself.
Once the Winchesters came back inside and said goodbye to Delilah, you all climbed back into the Impala and after a pit stop to some random forest about forty miles outside of town, you drove back to the motel. First one through the door, you immediately shuffled to yours and Sam’s bed and flopped down on your stomach.
“I’m gonna head out and try to forget what that crazy bitch did by drinking my body weight in whiskey. Anyone want to join?” Dean announced, grabbing his jacket.
“Nah, I’m beat, thanks though,” you said through a yawn. “If you come back with a bar skank, get another room, will ya?”
“What do you think the back seat of the Impala is for, Y/N?” Dean said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
“Huh. I thought it was just for me and Sam,” you sassed, laughing at the disgusted grunt from Dean.
“You two better not be -”
“Dean, relax. She’s kidding,” Sam interrupted. “Have fun at the bar. I’m wiped out and I’m gonna sleep, too.”
“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, exiting the motel room door, letting it slam behind him.
Once the Impala roared to life and disappeared from the parking lot, Sam slid into your bed and gathered you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. You sat in a comfortable silence, taking deep breaths of Sam’s familiar scent while his warmth radiated into your body.
“So, I may have snuck into one of the shops near the bakery before we left,” Sam admitted, making you pull back and look up at him.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I got some of those novelty chattering teeth. Was gonna leave them in his bed,” Sam grinned.
Throwing your head back, you laughed so hard you snorted, making Sam laugh even harder, too. “You’re so bad. He’s gonna kill you,” you said between fits of giggles.
“Yeah, maybe. But you love when I’m bad,” he purred, pulling you against him again, grinding his hips forward and pressing his bulge against you.
“Yeah, I do,” you whispered back, but it was cut off by a squeal when Sam moved, shifting you so you were under him and he was hovering over you, braced on his elbows.
Sam captured your lips in a kiss, and the entire hunt dissolved into a foggy memory as he rutted against you, making your entire body tingle with what you knew was to come.
“Don’t think I forgot about your comment about my stitches. You’re gonna pay for that,” Sam murmured, nipping at the skin on your neck.
“Mmm,” you hummed, “I can’t wait.”
Forevers [CLOSED]: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @trashimaginezblog @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @turnttoverr @kittenofdoomage @leanbeankeane @emoryhemsworth @xalgaliareptx @mhnfatima @bi-e-ne @speakinvain @pebblesz892 @kararanae23 @kassablanca13 @mogaruke @tockettt @imagining-supernatural @wildefire @serienjunkiegirl @alexwinchester23 @mrswhozeewhatsis @stars-and-seas @jaremish @ellen-reincarnated1967 @nyxveracity @andkatiethings @bamby0304 @deathtonormalcy56 @winchesterprincessbride @moonstar86 @missihart23 @mrs-meghan-winchester @miss-rebel-without-applause @dean-winchesters-bacon @curly-haired-disaster
Sam: @ronja-uebrick @hunterswearingplaid @focusonspn
#JSW Challenge#sam x reader#spn fanfic#challenge fic#sam winchester x reader#sexuality#gross stuff#humor#dean winchester#fluff#bakery#blasphemy
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