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m3kuroshirt · 3 years

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GrimmIchi Weekend Challenge #4: When time comes

Words: Impact, Silence

Genre/Trope: Enemies to Lovers

Word count: 2793

Warning: canon typical violence, some language

Challenged by @m34gs

Summary: (5+1 - Enemies to lovers) - 4 times they were enemies and 1 they weren’t, then everything changed.

(1)

Seeing Rukia dying right in front of his eyes was the most terrifying thing he had experienced up until that day. The enemy had pierced her body like it was nothing. Ichigo was petrified for a couple of seconds and when the world started to make sense again he launched forth, clashing with that blue haired devil, who was laughing and enjoying all too much the blood shed. He launched with all his might at the maniac in front of him, swinging his sword at every opportunity. Yet, that bastard kept dodging and toying with him. Ichigo felt the lacerations in his skin gushing blood, and he could feel his inner hollow slowly and steadily trying to take control of his body. But before that happened he was on the ground, the enemy towering him and ready to swing a final blow. Ichigo was ready for the impact, but it never came. When he could focus again he saw Tosen right behind the blue haired man. Despite the adrenaline still running through his body, Ichigo didn’t know what to do; he didn’t have the strength to fight at the moment. Then, he heard a displeased sound coming from the blue haired man, and the next thing his mind focused on was the garganta opening and both of them stepping inside. But before it closed completely, the devil spoke:

“I’m the Sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez! Don’t forget, shinigami!”

-x-

(2)

Training with the Visored wasn’t as easy as Ichigo had first thought, specially not with that sly annoying smirking guy. Still, after everything, Ichigo was confident that he could tap into his hollow powers for at least a few minutes now. Fear wouldn’t be the one thing that could make him hesitate in his next battle. The memories of losing control to his hollow were still fresh but he was certain that he was on the path to master its power. He just needed to keep fighting. Fighting with—

“He’s here.”

Ichigo was never good with sensing others reiatsu but for some reason the powerful presence of Grimmjow drew him in like a moth to fire. So, as soon as that spiritual energy hit his senses, he took off.

Facing Grimmjow again was a matter of… something. Ichigo wasn’t quite sure the reason behind his need to square up with him, yet, he knew he wanted to clash blades with the Arrancar again and beat him.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I discarded it. I don’t need it to defeat you, shinigami!”

They clashed and Ichigo decided it was time to test his new found power. The surprised expression on that ever scowling face stirred a dangerous feeling of pride and satisfaction in Ichigo. He was going to show the other that he was strong.

He swung a getsuga tensho.

Grimmjow clashed with him again.

Everything was exhilarating, he felt alive and in control, everything was going well and Ichigo knew that with just one more blow Grimmjow would be the one on the ground. It truly would have been his win if his hollow mask hadn’t cracked. If his time limit hadn’t been reached.

The opportunity to prove that he could take the other was gone. And Grimmjow laughed victoriously as he took his chance to get Ichigo on the ground.

Another victory to Grimmjow.

Ichigo would be finished for good now, if the maniac smile on the other was any indication. However, another Arrancar got in the way. He saw disappointment in Grimmjow’s features, but before he was engulfed by the endless darkness of the garganta, a promise to battle again in Hueco Mundo was made.

Ichigo’s whole body shivered in anticipation.

-x-

(3)

When Ichigo set foot in Hueco Mundo to rescue Orihime he knew deep down in his gut that Grimmjow would be waiting for him. He was stepping inside his lair, right into a trap - or so he thought. However, something stirred inside him when he saw that his enemy had rescued his dear friend from the clutches of whichever monster she was held captive. Seeing Orihime somewhat safe was a relief, a weight - he didn’t know he was carrying before - seemed to have lifted off of his shoulders, and now the only thing left to do was to proceed on wining the next battle.

Grimmjow was waiting for him, expectantly.

Ichigo could hear the drums of a violent battle soon to be unfold, his heart thumping in his chest fast and his whole body trembling from the prospect of seeing the blue-haired Arrancar. He was excited but terrified at the same time as he knew the high stakes of the battle he was fighting. Still, Grimmjow triggered something visceral that was consuming him little-by-little from the inside. Ichigo dared to say he felt pride for being noticed by the other, but the foreign, aching feeling that crawled even on the surface of his skin was— a craving.

Ichigo’s thoughts swirled his mind, still, he tried to keep his usual facade, burying any improper emotion deep down. That proved impossible as every single feeling increased tenfold the moment he saw Grimmjow standing close to him. And when that boisterous voice told him it was time to fight, Ichigo felt like he could let go the trigger of an invisible gun. So, he blurted out:

“Not here”

Grimmjow and his never ending devious smirks got the message loud and clear, both of them sprinting away from the spectators.

They clashed.

Swords lacerating skin.

Gushing wounds painting their skin red.

Grimmjow used his resurrection.

Ichigo released his bankai and hollow mask.

The thrill of battle was something that Ichigo knew all too well, and he wouldn’t admit that the feeling wasn’t all that unpleasant - specially for Grimmjow, who would never let him live in peace if he discovered it.

Then, Grimmjow’s rough voice from exhaustion reached Ichigo’s ears, “You came here to fight me, admit it, Kurosaki!” He laughed as their powers collided in another furious attack.

Ichigo felt a surge of panic as he realized Grimmjow could so easily read him, which made him wonder what faces he was making for the other to get to such conclusions. He wanted to counter, to tell the other that he was wrong, that he was fighting not because it felt good but because he had an obligation to… some greater good or something. In any case, he did have a purpose, he needed to protect the people who he loved. And if that meant fighting enemy after enemy so be it. But instead of denying the accusation, Ichigo chuckled and copied that same smirk the Arrancar usually had on the lips:

“I’ll always fight you.” Ichigo didn’t wait for a reaction from the other, and launched a getsuga tensho.

They fought with claws and teeth, almost literally. And Ichigo couldn’t avoid the thought that if they weren’t in opposite sides, they could have developed some sort of friendly rivalry. Grimmjow and his incessant thirst for the battle field and defeating strong opponents had spiked Ichigo’s interest as he had never seen someone so convicted on battling him. The Arrancar didn’t want to rule worlds, he didn’t care about others, the blue-haired beast just wanted a good fight and to be the king of whatever he thought he should be king of.

Ichigo’s thoughts ran wild and even though his focus was on the battle before him, Grimmjow had almost clawed his face off. Luckily, Ichigo’s quick reflexes saved him. A missed attack didn’t discourage Grimmjow one bit, as another powerful attack reached Ichigo, who kept blocking. For a split second, Ichigo noticed an opening as Grimmjow’s movements started to get sluggish and predictable. He lunged forward, releasing a getsuga tensho right on Grimmjow’s face.

The battle ended not long after.

Out of respect, he held Grimmjow by the wrist preventing his imminent fall on hard sandy ground. He left the unconscious Arrancar there, and shunpoed back to his friends. But, not long before Ichigo had reached them, Grimmjow was back at him, ready to fight - demanding him to fight. Ichigo lunged forward with Grimmjow, but this time Ichigo dropped his sword. He wanted to make a point. Grimmjow and his fight didn’t have to end there with one killing the other, they could go on and on forev— Ichigo paused for a second at the thought.

When Grimmjow barked some insults, demanding him to pick up his sword it was then that Ichigo was sure that they could keep fighting forever. And Ichigo knew he could persuade the other, make a some sort of contract, he was almost convincing Grimmjow that they could meet again at another time. And if it weren’t for the devil Arrancar number 5 to interrupt their exchange of words, perhaps they could have come up with an agreement where they could fight again.

Ichigo would take Grimmjow at any time, anywhere, and he was sure Grimmjow would too. The what ifs in Ichigo’s head kept flooding his mind as he saw Grimmjow on the ground, blood covering every inch of his neck, drenching his clothes.

They’d have been excellent partners. Ichigo thought as he prepared himself to not only defend his friends and himself but also avenge a fallen Arrancar.

-x-

(4)

With everything going to hell as per usual, Ichigo still kept fighting, an obligation to end another battle crawled through his very soul as he knew it was the only way to protect the people he loved. In the middle of all the crisis, Urahara contacted him to update him with some vital information regarding Soul Society and the Quincys. Urahara was in Hueco Mundo, and Ichigo still wasn’t sure what he was doing there, but it didn’t matter Ichigo was sure it had something to do with collecting data and finding a way out of the current situation. What Ichigo wasn’t expecting to hear was a well known voice, a voice that he had wished to hear for a long time now. It had to be HIM shouting in the distance.

“This voice… Is it…?”

He heard some more yelling and cursing before the call went silent for a second and then Urahara kept explaining… something. Ichigo didn’t pay that much attention, his mind was still swirling over the fact that he was sure he had heard Grimmjow’s voice. To think that maybe the Arrancar was alive and doing well stirred something in his very soul. Excitement and anxiousness ran through his body like wildfire, and Ichigo wished that he could see Grimmjow again.

-x-

(5)

Hell went loose. That was one definition of what was going on. Yet, Ichigo was ready to launch into a messy bloodied battle field once more. Another fight that in all reality wasn’t Ichigo’s but somehow he got dragged once more into it. He had fought too many “gods” and tricksters already, one more wouldn’t make a difference now. The only difference was his surprise to know that the remaining Arrancars would help. Even more surprised he was when he saw a Garganta opening and a very familiar blue haired Arrancar appeared before him.

“Grimmjow!” Ichigo gaped, suddenly the air he breathed wasn’t enough and he felt a knot forming in his throat.

Eyes immediately locking in Ichigo’s figure. Those electrifying blue eyes were as mesmerizing as Ichigo remembered them, and that scornful face hadn’t changed a bit. Grimmjow didn’t waste time, closing the distance between Ichigo and himself ready to have a quick fight. They stood in front of each other, eyes trained observing and waiting for any movements, any remarks, anything that could trigger them clashing their swords.

They probably would’ve started fighting already in any other situation, but another familiar green-haired Arrancar crushed him in a hug. At that moment, Ichigo not only heard but saw Grimmjow's annoyance. And for a second Ichigo thought he saw a glimpse of possessiveness in the other. After that, Ichigo got too involved with all the new people arriving and asking questions to really pay attention to Grimmjow. When he finally got the chance, however, he sat down next to the other and tried to talk. Grimmjow mostly scoffed and replied with dry and sarcastic remarks, nonetheless, listening Grimmjow bickering with others and hearing his hoarse deep voice directed to Ichigo affected the substitute shinigami in ways that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It wasn’t like they were friends, they barely even had anything in common - as far as a Ichigo was aware of. Yet, Ichigo was excited and glad to see Grimmjow again.

“Why are you helping us?”

“If Hueco Mundo is gone… Where else would I fight you?”

Right then Ichigo was sure that their bickering wasn’t only because they were enemies. Something had changed, the Arrancar Ichigo was looking at wasn’t his enemy anymore. Grimmjow was an ally but more than that the blue haired man was Ichigo’s rival, someone who brought to the surface Ichigo’s true nature; someone who understood Ichigo; who showed their feelings through actions more than words.

Which was why Ichigo panicked the moment Grimmjow lunged himself in the enemy's territory, chasing his opponent. And Ichigo’s heart skipped a beat when he had lost Grimmjow from his sight.

Despite Grimmjow’s reckless actions, Ichigo could see it was his usual pretend game of ‘I don’t care’ to cover the truth behind it: to have Ichigo advancing faster to the final battle. To have Ichigo unscathed as possible.

-x-

(+5.5)

Ichigo wasn’t sure what he expected after the war was over, after they defeated a God. However, he wasn’t expecting to not find Grimmjow. His heart sunk when he didn’t hear from the Arrancar. And even though the days passed by in a blur, Ichigo still felt an emptiness inside of him. Ichigo’s life went back to a mundane pace, he didn’t have anything overly difficult to handle, perhaps the most difficult thing now was his collage classes but he still aced them anyway as if they were the easiest thing he’s ever done. Still, it didn’t matter what he was up to during the day, once his head hit the pillow at night silence and peace wasn't something he had. Ichigo's mind wouldn’t quiet down, Grimmjow still haunted his thoughts night after night. By now Ichigo had realized what was going on with him. Not fulfilling the one thing he wanted long ago had made his mind swirl with thoughts of ‘what if’.

What if he had let his hormones talk when he noticed he had indeed a crush on Grimmjow.

What if he had kissed Grimmjow when he had the chance.

What if Grimmjow came back.

That thought alone branched a thousand more scenarios in his head. And even though no one had ever said anything whether or not Grimmjow was dead made everything worse. Because that gave Ichigo hope. A hope that kept growing day after day that Grimmjow would appear out of thin air in front of him.

Ichigo sighed. Another night he was having trouble sleeping. He had tossed and turned in bed a couple of times by now. Yet, the only thing he could think of was strong arms that could be embracing him if Grimmjow was there.

Ichigo turned around again, facing the wall. The window's curtain open, letting the moonlight dimly lit the room. Ichigo’s eyes glanced up to the night sky. He stared for long minutes, watching the bright stars flicker. He was almost closing his eyes, almost falling asleep when a shadow loomed in front of the window. He jumped out of bed fast, immediately grabbed his shinigami badge and without a second thought he let his body fall flat on the bed and he was in his shinigami form.

Just then he took a good look at the figure at the window.

He gaped.

Mouth slightly open in surprise.

Heart beating fast, feeling like it would burst out of his chest.

He swung the window open, and before the man hovering outside could say anything Ichigo drug him inside and crushed the other in a tight hug; face buried on the other’s neck, hands clutching a white jacket.

“So you missed me.” The man’s hoarse voice came out low and right at Ichigo’s ear.

“Fuck you, Grimmjow!” Ichigo blurted out, but he didn’t release the other from his arms.

“Eh? Took you long enough to tell me that.” Grimmjow laughed, as he nuzzled Ichigo’s neck.

Ichigo had a thousand and one questions for Grimmjow. And another thousand and one curses to be directed at the Arrancar too. Yet, all he could think of now was to have that man in his arms and not let him go; not to let him out of his sight ever again.

#grimmichi #m3kuroshirt #grimmichi challenge #enemies to lovers #writing challenge #grimmichi prompts #grimmichi weekend challenge #kurooswrites #(late by two weeks)

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azuchifairy · 4 years

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Dead of Night

Jerza Vampire! AU One-shot

Inspired by the suggestion from @jasnoor-kaur I realized Jerza needs love an attention bc their ship is so pure so this is my attempt at it! I’ve never written about Jerza before and this turned into something kinda long but I hope you enjoy it and maybe I'll make a little one shot series or something !!

Erza stood at the tree line with the moon as her only light. The forest behind her was teeming with the sounds of the night eventually erupting into a symphony as she waited. In front of her was an open field with tall grass with a path that led to the main road. It usually didn’t take that long for him to show up, but she couldn’t worry, Jellal was quite good at taking care of himself. She didn’t jump when the trees above rustled and force impacted the ground behind her.

“You’re late, did something hold you up?” She asked casually, turning around to see the blue haired vampire behind her. He glowed under the moonlight as he stood, his red eyes looking at her with hesitation.

“My apologies,” He brushed off his coat, “something did keep me.” He said, his tone harder than normal. Something was off and Erza sensed it immediately as she approached him.

“Did something happen? Are Natsu and Juvia okay?” She asked regarding their friends that had been a part of Jellal’s undercover mission for some time now.

Jellal looked away, his eyes distant, “They’re safe. I thought you’d already know. You should’ve known when you killed her.”

Erza understood suddenly and her eyes widened. She took in a breath before responding, “I see, so what’s the Order’s next move?”

Jellal directed his eyes to her incredulously, “That’s your response? How can you be so casual?” His fists clenched, “They want you dead Erza, they want the life to drain from your eyes. Not only that, but they’ve ordered me to do it.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised by his words, but his reaction surprised her all the same. Before that moment things had been going fine and on schedule, but now there was a complication in their plan. Erza was a hunter, not to any specific degree, although recently those of the Order were calling her Titania, the vampire hunter. She was a member of the most dangerous hunting guild across Fiore, Fairy Tail. With the help of her comrades they took on countless different creatures that threatened the lives of humanity and doing so put an obvious target on their heads. Erza had been trained to deal with different types of creatures and climbed up to S class when she was only 14.

Humans had an ongoing fight for centuries with the vampires, unfortunately there were vampire nobles who thought they were above all other beings. An Order was created as a place for those nobles to share their ideas to conquer humans. They were known as the Blood Order and almost every human alive feared their reign. The Order had many powerful vampires that possessed incredible gifts and their ranks grew everyday.

That being said, there were plenty of vampires that wanted to live with humans, even admired them so much that they became vegetarians and only consumed animal blood. Even Natsu Dragneel, one of Erza’s closest friends since she was a child, had been turned into a vampire. Yet he still remained on the side of humanity and a part of the Fairy Tail guild. Jellal was also one of those vampires. He had come up with the idea to infiltrate and gather intel from the Blood Order with both Natsu and one of Fairy Tail’s other members, Juvia Lockser, insisted on joining since they too were vampires. Even while they were supposed to be enemies it didn’t change how Erza cared for Jellal.

Wherever she went he was always watching. When she was visiting the bars downtown, going shopping at the marketplace, or walking the trail home through the forest. He knew she was capable of taking care of herself, but there was a fear he felt inside of the day that she needed help and he was too late. He, over everyone, knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the forests. With the Order being so widespread and the target on her head so coveted, he felt compelled to protect her.

Jellal had walked the road of darkness for decades and he had accepted it. He committed heinous crimes against humanity, immoral acts for the Blood Order, and fed on those of innocent blood and youth. There was a time where his loneliness and cost of his sins drove him to want to be evil, to enjoy killing and succumb to the darkness creatures like him were inevitably enshrouded in. But somewhere along the way, someone changed that. In the time he felt the most lost, he was found.

He could still remember the first time that he saw her in front of him. He was giving in to his thirst that night and almost devoured a young man in the forest when he sensed the scent of even more delectable human blood. His fangs were bared and as he turned around to change his prey he was stopped.

In the moonlight, so delicate yet so brave, the woman with red hair stood gripping her arm in pain. She was shaking so hard that it seemed she was about to drop the knife coated in her blood, yet even in agony she pointed at him with a stern glare. He swallowed hard, nothing but the wind made a sound. Her scarlet hair flowed underneath the light and touched his tainted black soul. After spending years trying to atone for his sins, dying by her hand didn’t seem so bad. He was ready to accept that fate over all others and stayed still in place on the ground where he knelt.

Something must’ve changed her mind, because within seconds she cast the knife down to the side and approached him. He was so struck with shock that he didn’t even feel the burning sensation of thirst anymore. She took her bloodied hand off of her wound and standing above him she cupped his face. Her eyes appeared to be soft, full of sorrow, yet she was still smiling.

“It really is you..”

That was all she said, and all she needed to say. He was so captivated that he would follow her to the ends of the earth. She had grown into such a beautiful young woman that if he could blush, he would’ve.

“You.. know me?” He asked skeptically trying to remember where a gorgeous being such as her would’ve seen him.

She chuckled brushing her red hair from her face, “Of course I do. I knew from the moment I saw you I would never forget.”

He stood abruptly and pulled her hand off of him, “What are you..” he remembered the blood on his hands and mouth, “Don’t look at me, I didn’t want you to see-”

“You don’t think I know?” She interrupted with her tone remaining soft. “You saved me then, and got me to safety.”

Then he realized that it was her, the infamous Erza Scarlet, but the moment she was talking about was before that. It was the night that the Blood Order had decided to choose a small village on the outskirts of the country for their ceremonial feeding. The vampire nobles had come up with a sick way of getting the specially chosen vampires fed by holding a cultist ceremony before purging a village of innocent people. In their minds they were rewarding their strongest members who benefitted the Order by gathering recruits, slaves, or intel and Jellal almost always got chosen. It was sick and immoral but it fed the hungry demon inside of every vampire, including him. To prepare for the ceremony, the chosen vampires were to go as long as possible without feeding to induce the ultimate level of thirst. This ensured that the entire village would be destroyed, and every drop of blood shed.

Fires had broken out and soon enough the whole village was aflame as vampires attacked the people trying to flee. Erza was one of those people but still a child at the time which made her significantly slower than the others. She ran as fast as she could but she wasn’t quick enough to outrun the vampires. Her body smacked into one of the higher ranks and she was thrown to the ground on impact. The vampire before her was called Zero and he was a ruthless killer amongst the Order. He held no care for human life, like animals to the slaughter.

Erza cowered in the ground trying to crawl backwards away from his figure looming over her. The moment he went to grab her and end her life Jellal threw himself in front of her. He grabbed onto Zero’s hands and growled against his strength.

Zero was surprised by this, since it was against the Law of the Order. No vampire had ever protected a human, “Jellal?! What the hell are you doing?!”

He couldn’t speak, Jellal was working against the will of his thirst and if he lost focus he might end up hurting Erza. This berserk mode was the most dangerous state of a vampire, but also their strongest. Their desire to consume blood takes over their minds and bodies becoming something truly worse than just a vampire. Erza watched the scene unfold before her knowing that the blue haired man was also a vampire, but not knowing why he was protecting her.

Zero had claws much like a beast as part of his gift and he was strong enough to tear through human bodies. Jellal was carefully dodging his moves using his immense strength to throw and smash him to the ground repeatedly. Nearby there was a strong scent of blood that smelled so good it distracted both Jellal and Zero.

Both tried to resist the thirst to focus on their fight and Jellal paid the price for letting his guard down. He had turned around to check that it wasn’t the girl who was bleeding and Zero lunged himself towards with his claws. Erza yelped suddenly, “Look out!!”

Jellal was able to send himself backwards just in time to not take the full brunt of Zero’s attack but he was still slashed by the five claws. Jellal cried out in pain and fell to the ground holding his abdomen.

“TRAITOR! I’ll kill you for protecting a scum human!!” Zero bellowed continuing his attack.

Unfortunately for Zero, those were the last words he ever spoke.

In the dead of night he snapped Zero’s head off. Jellal had no choice but to kill his own kind and burn the body, or else he would tell the Order of his treason. It was only until after Zero’s body was burning did he pick up Erza and bring her into the woods all while his mind was swimming. He wanted to drain her of blood, he wanted to save her, the contradicting thoughts and intense pain he felt were probably the only thing keeping her alive. When she was far enough away Jellal set her down and stumbled as he started to lose focus.

“Um..-“

“Get out of here!” He pleaded, “Hurry, run and don’t look back! Don’t trust anyone!” During that whole time he had barely looked at her but for a second he caught a glimpse of her scarlet hair.

“No, you need help! You were hurt badly because of me.. I have to help you!!” She protested coming closer.

Jellal didn’t have time to be shocked that not only a human, but a little girl wanted to help him, “NO, please, I’ll be fine just g-go.. I’ll heal on my own. R-Run..before they find you..”

Erza had tears in her eyes and stayed there for a moment longer on her knees, “T-Thank you..”

Once she said that she got up and immediately started running away wiping her eyes as she did. He looked up to the night sky and thought of the trouble he would be in, and he couldn’t find it in him to care. He stayed there through the night remembering her gratitude and the way she looked at him, like he wasn’t a monster.

After that night, Jellal wanted to be better than what he was so that he could start atoning for all the sins he had committed. He began freeing blood slaves of the Order and killing vampires of the lower ranks to shave off numbers. No one ever suspected that he was working against them, they even thought he was responsible for organizing new recruits. He tried feeding off animals instead and the transition was sickening at first, but became bearable over time. However, from time to time his thirst woke again for human blood and he would either fight or give in. That’s how they were able to meet again. She stood before him a true warrior, fearless, selfless, and stunning.

“I’m a monster Erza, you shouldn’t be here. We were never supposed to meet again.” He said shamefully, turning his head away.

“But that’s a lie. We were supposed to meet again because you never stopped looking after me. I know you were there, even if you thought I didn’t.” She said, pulling him back to her.

Jellal gulped having never been backed into a corner, “I-I was just making sure you were alright.”

Erza raised her brow, “Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you come out?”

“I didn’t think it mattered to you.. I’m not someone you should be associated with. I’m with the Blood Order, I’m much more of a monstrosity than you think.” He cringed thinking of how he must have looked when she first saw him.

“That’s another lie. You saved me that night, you took me somewhere I could be safe, you’ve watched over me, that has nothing to do with being in the Order or being a vampire.” Her eyes were hard, unwavering, “If you were truly evil you would’ve just killed me. Instead you controlled yourself and rescued me from certain death. On top of that I know you’ve been working against the Order. I know you feel the same way I feel, so you have to think of what you want to be instead of what you think you are.”

He couldn’t say anything, all he could do was stare at her while her words captivated him. Erza looked to the blood on her hand, “Look at you now. I’m standing in front of you dripping in blood and you haven’t done a thing. I know there is goodness in you, Jellal. Stop making yourself believe that you're something you’re not.”

“I..can’t walk in the light like you do, Erza. That just comes with being who I am.” He paused and noticed her glare deepening, “But, maybe I’ll try to..become something better. Especially if I have your support.”

The smile in her eyes did more than just lift his spirit. It truly motivated him to become someone she could walk with, someone she might care for. Maybe that was when he fell in love.

From that night on Erza and Jellal met in the town at least once a week, sometimes more often, to get him used to being around humans. It was easy for him from the start, whenever he was with her he could care less about anything else around him. She even introduced him to all of her friends she had met through Fairy Tail and even they accepted him almost as quickly as she did. When he felt hungry Erza, and the other vampires from Fairy Tail, would help him hunt. It amazed him that Erza had become stronger than he ever imagined she would.

It started to concern Jellal how much time he spent with Erza. His feelings only grew for her the more time they shared. He tried forcing himself to stay away, to leave and hunt for longer periods of time. But none of that created a solution for his love of her. Someone as dark as him, could never be with someone so pure. That was why he came up with the plan in the first place. Infiltrating the Blood Order alongside Fairy Tail helped Erza towards her goal. His mission with Natsu and Juvia continuously fed the guild with information so Erza was always able to position their forces in the ideal places for attacking.

For a while it went unnoticed and Erza’s bounty would rise from time to time. She had triggered the Blood Order the moment she killed Kyoyka, one of the highest ranking vampires. They met unexpectedly while Erza was trying to evacuate the next village to be used for a ceremonial feeding. When Jellal saw Kyoyka’s head burning on the ground he knew there was no turning back. Now that Erza had killed one of the higher ups, her bounty turned into an assassination plot.

“They want you to kill me..” Erza finally answered.

“I won’t do it! I would never hurt you, you have to believe me Erza,” he took her hands in his chilling ones, “please, you must kill me instead.”

Erza stepped back in shock throwing his hands down, “Are you insane?! What good is it going to do if I kill you?! The Order is going to come after me regardless, let them send someone else.”

“I wish it was that easy, but I think they’ve been suspecting me for a while. If I don’t do this the infiltration mission is over and we’ll be caught. You have to do this Erza.” Jellal insisted as he stared into her eyes.

She raged on, “No! I won’t. I refuse to have you throw your existence away for some Order. That would be pointless!”

Jellal clenched his fist, “I’m just trying to protect you! If that means giving up this meaningless immortality then I couldn’t care less.”

“You shouldn’t want to give up your life if you're trying to protect something, you should live to be there! Killing you isn’t the solution here, besides how dare you ever think that’s something I could ever do!” Erza retaliated with a voice full of passion.

“Erza, I.. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I’d rather go in your place.” Jellal said, casting his eyes down. He felt defeated and utterly useless. Everything he tried to build was about to fall and this was the breaking point.

“Coward! Instead of dying for me why don’t you fight with me?! This world won’t be able to change without you, my world will never last if you aren’t in it! Stop talking about things out of sorrow and let’s both look up for our future!” She threw her hands up, “Forget about the infiltration, we have all the intel we need. Now I need you, I need you to be by my side and come be where you belong. This is the time to turn the tide Jellal, not the time to give up.”

Jellal’s eyes went wide listening to how her voice never wavered, she held no hesitations, no reservations. She wanted to fight with him, she said she needed him. The future, he never truly thought about the future. He was always dwelling on the past, focused on molding the present, that he never stopped to think about what comes after. In every place he could recall the one common thing pushing him forward towards the future without him even knowing it, was Erza. Her light, the radiance in her heart was able to act as a beacon for him to follow, to move forward to. It was clear to him at that moment why he felt the need to protect her, why he relied on her very existence. She was the one pulling him towards the path those like her walked, the path of light. She was the one he fell in love with.

For as long as he had existed he didn’t believe it was possible to escape the darkness of the shadows, the evil he was programmed to have, but she showed him it was attainable. She believed in him and was willing to fight at his side for a future where they could be together, so he would too.

“Erza..” he said picking up her hands while his undead heart felt like it could catapult from his chest, “I want to ask you something.” He watched her blush and her whole demeanor switched.

“W-What?”

“If we fight together, will you stay by my side and let me protect you?” He asked while his mind swirled in an endless whirlpool of thoughts.

She nodded, “Of course. Until my last breath, I want to be by your side.”

Jellal felt a tingle in his chest and cleared his throat trying to regain his coolness, “Erza, what I really need to say is.. I-I can’t have a future without you. I have to have you with me, I want to live in a world where I can make you smile everyday. If that's the future we can both fight for together, then I want it more than anything.”

Erza’s hands trembled in his, “Jellal.. Are you..”

“Yes.” He started firmly, “I need you to know why I would give it all for you. I couldn’t help falling in love with you. I tried to stay away, just to help you in whatever ways I could from the shadows. But you have made me want to be in the light because without you, I’d have nothing.”

Before he even finished speaking Erza had thrown herself into his arms,“J-Jellal.. Why would you do that?” She asked quietly.

If he could blush, he would be red like her hair. “I thought I didn’t deserve you.. Vampires are meant to be predators..killers. I wanted to become better, maybe you could see me as something more. But regardless, I’ll still be here whether or not you feel the same.” He responded, cracking a smile at her.

“Idiot. You’re an idiot.” She said with her face in his chest. His eyes went wide when she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, “I thought I was going to die before you told me that.”

Jellal was in utter shock. He had never seen her cry like this, and she was crying because of him. “Erza..I..”

Her fingers curled into his coat putting her head back down, “You might live forever, but I don’t have that time. I’ve waited.. for you to realize that I’m the one who fell in love with you first.”

He shook his head in disbelief but she continued anyways, “I didn’t want to push you, I didn’t want you to not be ready. But then I started to worry that you would never be ready, that I would die and never get to share my love with you.. I’m just glad, you feel like you can finally love others and even, me.”

The moonlight lit up her face the next time she looked up, and she smiled. Her hands lifted and she cupped his face admiring the realization in his eyes. Jellal’s hand slid against her cheek and she didn’t react to the chill. She nuzzled into it and pulled him down to her slowly with all the stars in the sky to watch.

He let her draw him in and fell slave to the way her lips parted in the darkness. In seconds, he received more bliss than over a hundred years of living. He felt her soft lips send him into nirvana, a feeling that even drinking blood couldn’t give him. Each of them couldn’t help but want more of the other. There was nothing else on his mind, not blood, not the Order, not himself, just her. His hand slipped behind her head cradling her in their kiss all while he was able to touch her smooth red hair holding in his grip. He was gentle with her, but his passion was stirring his supernatural strength.

Her hands were on his chest when he pulled back from her. She was breathless, and so blushed before him. He had never seen a woman like this before him. If he were alive he would be feeling those same sensations.

“I-I’m sorry.. I-” She kissed him again, just for another moment to cut him off from useless apologies.

She rested her nose against his like she was going to kiss him again, but remained still with their foreheads touching, “I love you Jellal, I always have.”

Fireflies began to glow around them, never in his life had he been able to feel so much happiness. “I promise you won’t have to wait for me any longer. You alone..have given me the strength to conquer anything.”

In that moment, everything was perfect. It didn’t take long for that moment to end.

Taggies: @unvalley

#jerza #jellal fernandes #erza scarlet #fairy tail #vampire au #anime #anime otp #azuchifairy

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boxboysandotherwhump · 4 years

Text

Humane and necessary disciplinary measures

CW: humiliation, pet whump, human pet, punishment, canning, conditioning, negative self-talk, creepy whumper,

He couldn’t take it anymore.

His hands hurt where the thick leather cuffs cut in.

The tile floor gaps dug sharp into his knees, making him squirm against the table his torso had been strapped to.

Cold crept from the metal plate right through the thin white shirt he was put into on his first day here, making him shudder.

Everything else here, was white too.

The walls

The floors

The headache inducing light flooding every corner of this godforsaken facility.

Just white, white, white, white.

The only other color were the bruises that bloomed across his skin, when they hit him hard enough.

What they always did.

Coloring countless body’s in violent greens and blues.

The boy liked his bruises the best when they were purple and hoped his hands wouldn’t turn out this ugly shade of yellowish green as he felt the baton crash down again.

He hated that color.

Even more than white.

Hated it as much as he hated the bulky man that had dragged him out of the cooking class and into this training room.

“I didn’t … didn’t spill…. The fucking…. Milk.”

The boy’s breaths came ragged now, fogging the table with every shuddering exhale.

“Watch your mouth ‘626.”

The Baton came down again. A low whine escaped the boy, whose hands began to twitch uselessly in their restrains.

Please just let it stop already!

“And don’t you dare lie to me again.”

The Handler’s voice cut sharp like a pocket knife, twisting were the rest of the boys pride was tucked away. Hidden so deep within, he’d nearly forgotten it had ever been there.

I didn’t lie!

The sudden urge to scream clawed its way up his throat, bitten back behind teeth. Hard enough to make his jaw ache.

Stupid Handler Schneider hadn’t even been there as his teacher had shoved him so hard into the table the measuring cup had toppled over from the impact.

He didn’t spill the fucking milk, and he didn’t fucking lie!

He had never fucking lied once in his condemned worthless life.

He had never fucking sworn before, either, but fuck did it feel good!

“Didn’t… didn’t, fucking lie.”

His head crashed into the table. Nauseating pain throbbing through his skull in burning waves.

Fuck

Shit

It huuuuuurt!

Maybe the Handler had hit his head to hard but 626 felt a hysteric little giggle bubble up in his throat.

Uuuups.

Was Handler Schneider pissed off?!

Unsure what had possessed his trainee today, the Handler watched the kneeling boy quivering at his feet.

Greedily gulping some air into arching lungs, 626 thought he saw something like irritation show on the man’s narrow face, who’d began to rub at his temples.

“What the hell’s up with you today 626? You’ve never been this bad before.”

Bad, huh?!

Bloody lips split into an involuntary grin, the boy didn’t even attempt to hide. To engrossed by the taste of cooper and freedom filling his mouth.

He really was bad, wasn’t he?

His Babcia would have locked him in the old stuffy laundry closed, for such cussing by now.

Are you angry at me now Babcia?

Do you hate me?

Just like father did?

“…don’t care… anymore…”, blood spluttered on the table as he forced the words out, but he ignored it just like the throbbing burn behind his eyes and the numbness crawling in his still twitching fingers.

He was done.

So, so done, attempting to be a good boy.

A good son.

It’s impossible to change one's nature after all.

Handler Schneider’s voice road like thunder through the small tile room.

“What did you just say?!”

A rough hand wound its way into dark hair, pulling 626’s head up, to face him. A new wave of pain pulsed through the boy’s skull. Vision blurry, he tried to blink his tears away.

Man don’t cry in this family!

A breathy exhale, faintly smelling like mint and coffee, ghosted over his face.

“I asked. “, hissed Handler Schneider through gritted teeth, tightening his grip. “What the hell, you just said, 626?!”

“No- no matter…. What i… I do. I’ll always be… an abomination. So why, why bother ‘nd try… be good?!”

Heaving the words through burning lungs, he wondered why they hurt so much.

Even though I barely screamed at all today. Funny.

For a split second the man looked taken aback.

He had expected some more backtalk, the rebellious bullshit other trainees pulled in the first months or even some insults thrown his way, but this?

This self-deprecating shit?

This was gold!

Finally, Schneider had something to work with.

626’s facade of shy smiles and polite Yeses had cracked for the first time.

Pressing the boys head back down onto the metal table Schneider’s mouth twitched into an amused smile.

Shuddering 626 watched his blood pool on the table, completely transfixed.

Deep red against polished silver.

Had blood always been this beautiful?

Looking just like the cheery juice his brother had spilled on Babcia’s white tablecloth, which had gotten hip a slap on the fingers.

It had been an especially hot summer back then, making the boy wonder how long exactly it had been since he’d felt this warm.

How many days had passed since he signed the contract?

“You know.”, began his Handlers voice, startling the boy back to attention. He could hear the man move away from him and shudder as he remembered the wall behind him full of canes and paddles and everything else that hurt. So, so badly.

“You don’t have to worry your pree-etty little head about what you were before getting here. You’re Number 313626, now. A pet. And we have our methods to turn you into an obedient one. Isn’t that what you’re here for? To become a good boy?!”

“So…”, the man returned, leaning over the boys tied body as he placed a wooden crop gently next to his face. “How about I help you with that.”

Breath hitching in his throat 626 squirmed against the table, at his Handlers sudden shift in tone.

Sickeningly sweet words accompanied by gentle fingertips brushing over bloodied lips, rubbing red all over his burning mouth.

The boy froze.

Acutely aware of just how helpless he was in this moment.

Body bent over the icy table and feed fixed in place through a spreader bar, pushing his legs open.

“What do good pets say when offered such kindness?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, breathing shakily against cold fingertips.

“Thank you.”

Schneider pressed harder on the boy’s busted lip, digging his fingers painfully into his jaw.

“Say it right.”

“Th- Thank you… Sir.”

Schneider’s mouth stretched into a wicked grin.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?!”

The part of 626 itching to rebel, to kick and scream at the world, got suddenly very quiet.

And a sharp voice, sounding suspiciously like his father, urged him on again, to try and be good.

Look, me being strict is for your own good. I know you could be a good son, if you just worked on yourself. Can’t you do that for your Tata?

“It wasn’t Sir.” Even to himself his voice sounded dead. Defeated.

Schneider huffed a laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair in a quick emotionless manner.

“You see this cane, here?”, he slammed it against the table, making 626 flinch violently.

“Na, na. Don’t be scared now. The cane isn’t half as bad as it looks. I’ll show you.”

And with that he slammed the cane over both butt cheeks, setting the soft skin there on fire.

Handler Schneider brought his food down on the spreader bar, securing it in place, and stopping the boy’s pathetic attempt to shuffle closer to the table.

“Not bad at all.”

He leaned over the boy again, one palm sliding down his neck, caressing his back, before two fingers hocked under the waist band of 626 shorts and pulled them down to his knees.

The boy jerked forward, fighting against the restraints around his wrists. Face burning, his voice trembled in fear and humiliation.

“What are you doing?!”

“Teaching you how to behave. You will count every strike and thank me for it. Understood?!”

626 shock violently, hands grabbing his restraints like a lifeline. Anything, anything to ground him.

“Tsk. I asked if you understood.”

The boy felt his Handler’s patience running thin as the cane bashed down with such force he felt it vibrating through his bones.

“Aaaah, un- understood sir. One sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Pff, looks like you can be good, after all.”

Feeling his heart flutter at the praise, 626 breathed heavily through his nose.

He didn’t want to be praised by this asshole!

But god-damn, he drank it up like a man dying of thirst.

The next hit crashed over his thighs, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling any longer, as he choked out: “Two. Thank you, Sir.”

“Three. Thank you, Sir.”

“Fo- four. Hnnn. Thank you, Sir.”

Whack!

He cried out again, startling himself with how loud he got.

“Five thank y- Aaaahaa! S-six, ‘hank you, Sir.”

Schneider watched the shivering mess at his feet with a pleased smile.

“You’re doing good 626. And good boys deserve a reward.”

The boy looked up hazily, ignoring his arm spasm as he tried to lift his sweaty head from the cold metal table.

Seeing the cane swing in the corner of his eye, 626 clenched his teeth. Bracing himself for the next blow.

As the cane came down significantly weaker this time, the boy blinked surprised up at his Handler.

“Seven. Thank you, Sir.”

Meaning the words, this time, and making Schneider chuckle.

“That’s my good boy.”

The next blow was even lighter and the one after that getting lighter, still.

This game continued until the blows turned gentle, barely a caress ghosting over ravaged skin.

Sweat and blood and droll, clung to the boy’s cheek, and Schneider watched him flinch in amusement as he dropped the cane with a loud clatter.

Pulling the boys shorts back up he started to free him from the restraints, wiping softly at his cheek.

“You were really good for me today, 626.”

“I was?, dazed disbelieving eyes looked up at his Handler.

Wasn’t all he did today got punished?

“Yes you were. And now tell me, what did the disciplining taught you?”

His thoughts dragged sluggish through his aching head, as he leaned against his Handlers chest.

“Good boys get, get less pain?” he tried, remembering the ever softening blows when he kept the count right.

The smile he earned from his Handler at that, send a pleased shiver up his spine.

“Exactly. Look what a good boy you are, learning so fast. And do you know why good boys get disciplined?”

“Because.”, he hurried to replay, eager to get it right. “Because, discipline is a necessary and humane event ensuring the continued obedience and well-being of a pet. “

A small part of 626 couldn’t help but to believe in those words.

#box boy #box boys #boxboy #boxboys #punishment #canning #whump #pet whump #wru #box boy universe #dicipline #handlers are assholes #paxton #and his very bad time at wru #paxton and amal series #paxton the box boy #bbu #wru series #boxboy whump

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animemangasoul · 4 years

Text

Follow Me

Summery: When the only people Zenitsu considers family are killed off by an upper moon. It leaves the scared boy all alone in a dangerous world, or well, that is until a pillar finds him and tries in his own awkward ways to train him for the final selection.

Or, In which Obanai doesn't want to but still somehow ends up taking Zenitsu under his wing

Chapter 1/50 - I Found You

Move.

He needed to move.

Obanai knew, clearer than he’d known anything ever before, that if he stopped now, he would die.

Move

Vision blurry, chest heaving, and hair matted against his skull, the snake pillar reached out blindly for the nearest object. Hand pressing down on a tree, he staggered; slick fingers smearing blood across the bark.

He breathed.

Nothing had gone right on this mission. It hadn’t been simple, the demons – the demons had been more than he’d been led to believe, and for some messed up reason... the humans, they had worshipped them. Willing to die and even kill him to protect their masters.

The situation was tricky, but – Obanai was a demon slayer. It was his job to protect these people, to save them, to avenge them, but – they'd poisoned him...Hurt him to save their masters, protect them – and yet, he’d tried, he’d tried so damn hard.

Kids, there had been kids there. So, he fought, and he bled and he’d won. But at what cost?

“I need to thank Kochou,’ he thought absentmindedly; vision slowly clearing as the detoxing agent started to take effect. If it hadn’t been for his follow slayer, Obanai was sure he’d be dead by now. ‘I’ll take over her training duties for a week,’ he decided. Still-

Outside of the poison, he was gravely injured; his leg leaving a bloody track behind it where he was dragging it behind him as he was slowly inching his way out of the forest.

If Obanai didn’t get some semblance of rest soon, he would most likely not make it. Thankfully; even if he was far away from any rest station, he recognized this area. The former thunder pillar lived around these parts, and Obanai was sure the old man would have the grace to put up with him for a while. So-

With that in mind, he inched his way towards the only destination he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, would keep him alive.

What he saw when he arrived at the edge of the cliff however.

-Blood-

-Death-

-Carnage-

There was something to be said about getting used to things. After a while of experiencing certain situations, a person-through time-will get used to those types of situations. Will not flinch when faced with them again and will move forward with a level head and a calm exterior, but – Obanai's stomach lurched.

Sometimes, certain situations just catch you of guard.

When safety – the very concept of safety, is flipped on its head... One finds themselves unsteady on their feet. Unsure, scared, and although Obanai Iguro is a pillar, and had been a demon slayer for even longer, for a split second, for a moment – His fingers twitched, his legs shook, and his face pinched into an expression of utter grief.

He remembered the old man well.

He had a certain laugh.

A frame shaking, stomach holding, belching of a laughter. It had been annoying, it had been warm.

Scanning the village bellow with two different eyes, Obanai furrowed his brows. The old man was dead. He wouldn’t - if he was still alive, if he... These people would still be breathing if – if he was still alive, the old man wouldn’t have let this happen.

He was dead.

He’d retired, and he was still dead.

It left a sickening feeling in Obanai’s stomach. A sort of disconnecting pain that he hadn’t felt for a very long time. A sort of burning feeling under his skin that made him-

Lifting a finger, he gently patted the slithering snake around his neck. “Let’s check for survivors,” he muttered.

Kaburamaru hissed softly at him. It was as much of a comfort to Obanai as anything. His lips twitched. “Thank you.”

Making his way down the mountainside was difficult and painful, but without a single sound leaving past his lips; only the echoes of his labored breathing greeting the wind, Obanai made his way down the rocky paths, slowly but surely.

When his feet finally met solid ground, he raised his face to the sky, and closed his eyes. His shoulder ached, his leg burned, and his ribs creaked, but – he only gave himself a second to breathe, before he put one foot in front of the other and started moving forward.

Nothing and no one.

Every single life in front of him had been snuffed out. He couldn’t count how many times he’d knelt down; leg screaming in agony, and checked for a pulse on the least ravaged bodies around him, but-

Nothing.

Kaburamu hissed again. Obanai patted him. “It seems they’re all gone, old friend.” The snake didn’t say anything else, and Obanai continued on his journey. Towards the small cabin squashed between two enclosed training grounds.

The old man was probably dead, but – He wanted to see it for himself. See what was left of him.

When his feet finally came to a stop in front of the broken down door, he saw the kid first.

Sobbing and hunched over, all Obanai could do in that very instant, was stare. He hadn’t sensed him; probably the poison; while weak now it was still coursing through his veins, but...There was someone alive here. Yes, the old man... the old man was dead (The snake pillar could clearly make out the twisted white hair and the jagged scar from where he stood), but, someone had survived the massacre. Someone was still alive.

A crying, unharmed, sobbing boy.

And he held a sword between his fingers. Fingers that were clutching at the hem of the dead man’s haori.

Obanai took a step forward. The kid tensed; noise suddenly dying in his throat. Obanai took another, and then another, until he was standing across from the blonde child.

The kid had yet to move, but – his fingers were now gripping firmly at the hilt of his sword.

Good

At least he wasn’t completely hopeless.

Dropping down on his knees; ignoring the pulsing pain temporarily, Obanai placed both hands on his legs and sighed. “He is dead. They are all dead, so what happened here, demon slayer?”

The kid’s head shot up, and through his glassy stare and wobbling bottom lip, the snake pillar saw something.

A burning rage, a reckless glint and a thirst for vengeance.

Obanai’s skin crawled and his mouth tasted like ash.

It seemed, no matter how many battles they fought, he fought, tragedies would always strike someone down.

“Are you a demon slayer?”

The question was hesitant, wary, scared.

Obanai glared. “I am a pillar, brat. Show some respect and answer my question.”

The kid’s shoulders tensed for a second, before they sunk into themselves and the crying boy lowered his head. “I wasn’t here,” he muttered; one hand coming up to run shaking fingers over the old man’s face. “But a demon did this. She did this. Gra-Master told me. Before he... Before he-”

A sob.

The snake pillar stilled.

“A demon? Singular?”

The kid nodded again. “Just one.”

Just one.

One demon.

One demon killed a former pillar and an entire village so fast that some of the victims' bodies were still warm. Still bleeding out.

Obanai swallowed.

A single demon.

“An upper moon,” he breathed.

The kid’s eyes grew sharp. “What does that mean,” he blurted; fingers still resting on what remained of the old man’s face. “That’s what gram...master said too. What does it mean!”

The demon slayer frowned. “It means you better start talking brat. What happened?”

Ch 2 , 3 , 4

#Kimetsu no yaiba #zenitsu agatsuma #iguro obanai #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #obanai & zenitsu #angst and pain and suffering and brotherly fluff #thought i should post the chapters here #maybe that'll inspire me to continue #anyways here you go

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platypanthewriter · 4 years

Text

Switch Your Partner Round And Round (pt 1)

for @ihni. The second half will post on Ao3 Sunday, here next Weds!

Steve’s head pounded, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the flickering light and heat on his face. The hard plastic of the steering wheel dug into his cheek, and as he groaned, something slid off his hair and fell on his leg, then clinked to the floor. He blinked to see flames, and jerked his head up, then swore at the blurring lights and rush of pain in his skull. He blinked his eyes again, registering Robin next to him in the passenger seat, her head lolling against the seatbelt. The Camaro they’d t-boned—the Camaro with Billy Hargrove in it—had burst into flames. Billy jerked back against the seat, then started scrabbling at the inside of the driver’s-side door, and Steve pushed his own door open, staggering towards the Camaro.

Billy looked up, his eyes widening, and Steve yanked harder at the door, the heat from the engine block crinkling the paint on the hood. The seat next to Billy was on fire, around a lidless bottle of Everclear. The handle wouldn’t work, and Steve had to put a foot next to Billy’s door to yank it open. Billy yelled, holding his arms up defensively and coughing black smoke in a cloud around them, but Steve grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him out just as the whole passenger seat of the Camaro burst into flames in the air flow from the door, throwing them both to the ground. Billy rolled over him as they fell, hacking the smoke in huge gouts— at least the monster’s gone, in this heat, Steve thought, his brain fading out again as the night as the air filled with sirens, and the sky lit up blue and white.

When he woke again, he wished he hadn’t. Every part of him ached—his whole right side and hand were alternately numb or throbbing, his head hurt even worse than before, and his throat felt like he’d thrown up cement.

“Don’t freak out,” someone hissed, and Steve groaned, trying to swallow.

He tried to move, and his wrist clinked against something. He yanked at it, curling on his side, and it clinked again. Steve slowly opened his eyes enough to see he was handcuffed to a bed, then shut them again against the shooting pain of the fluorescent lights.

“Don’t, stop it,” the voice growled. “Keep your chill, Harrington, christ. Sssh, they’re coming, keep your damn mouth shut!”

Steve groaned again, wanting nothing in the world so much as water. He registered a shower-curtain noise, and squinted up, only to have a man in scrubs address him as “Mr. Hargrove”, and ask him what day it was, and whether he knew his name. He tried to correct him, rasping out a “Haaaa...harrrr,” but the man realized he was dying of thirst, and left to search for a cup of ice cubes.

The second the nurse was gone, the bed next to him squeaked, and the curtain was yanked aside to show him his own face, bruised, cut, and weirdly shaped outside of a mirror. “Shut up, Harrington,” it hissed, and Steve made a noise in the back of his throat, like a dog. “Shut up. If you say anything, they’ll lock us up, cool your jets—”

Steve tried to talk again, and made a perfectly reasonable squawk this time.

“Shut up shut up,” hissed his face. “They won’t believe you, we’ll never get out of here—” It yanked its arm, and Steve registered it was handcuffed as well. That thought was reassuring, and Steve drank the water when the nurse returned and pressed the straw between his lips, falling asleep content that the thief that had stolen his face wasn’t going anywhere.

The next time Steve awakened, he was still in the hospital. He stared up at the ceiling for a long while, waiting to hear someone say, “You’re awake.” Nancy, maybe. He set his jaw, telling himself not to hope for anyone else.

No chairs shifted. No throats cleared, and Steve closed his eyes, smiling tightly at the knowledge nobody was impatient to find out how he was. He rolled his head to frown at the bed beside him, where what looked like his body lay, and wondered again whether he wasn’t awake. I’m in a coma, he thought. S’weird watching myself. Maybe somebody will visit. Try to kiss me awake. He squished the oddly tickly pillow with his face, glowering over at his body. Maybe nobody told my mom I got in a wreck. Maybe everybody forgot I was even here.

Just then, his body snored, and Steve jerked, clacking the handcuff on his wrist against the bed rail. Do coma, uh, coma people, he thought muzzily, do people in comas snore? His body rolled over and curled up, flinging an arm over the edge of the bed—there were all his moles on that dangling arm, and he thought indignantly, how come I’m moving if I’m over here— and then he blinked when the brown eyes that belonged properly in his mirror and not on another person opened and blinked back at him.

“Harrington,” hissed the imposter. “You’re finally awake, jesus. Don’t say anything, okay, they—they’ll think we’re insane, we can’t figure this out any easier in a mental hospital—”

“Gimme hair back,” Steve mumbled, holding his un-handcuffed hand—it was full of tubes—up to block the weird person who’d stolen his face. “Ha! I can’ see you.”

“God fucking hell dammit,” the thief groaned. “Go back to sleep.”

“Thief,” Steve hissed, trying to pull his blanket up, and groaning. The other bed squeaked, and then his bodysnatcher tucked him in, and Steve let his eyes slide closed.

When Steve awakened again, the thief was sitting up, and Robin was hugging him. Steve wondered whether he was having an out-of-body experience, until the thief stared at him over his shoulder, mouthing, “Who the fuck is this?!”

“I guess you’re too dumb to die,” she sobbed, hugging him again, and Steve snorted. The thief stared over at him, and made a kissy face, pointing at her head. Steve shook his head, wide-eyed, and drew his fingers across his neck, sticking out his tongue. The thief looked even more bewildered, pulling his arms back, and Steve wanted to laugh, but he’d just realized the tickly stuff against his face was hair.

He lifted his extremely-entubed hand to squint at a fluffy curl of sun-bleached, chin-length hair. “...gonna complain,” he mumbled. “Hospital putting wigs on me.”

His body-snatcher started cackling, and Robin shot him a weirded-out look. “Sorry,” he wheezed. “I—I’m just—I think I’m still in shock,” he tried, and Robin nodded, ignoring Steve entirely.

Steve wondered what else they’d done to him, and patted his face to find a fake mustache, which he immediately tried to yank off, which hurt. “Ennnh!” he whined, as the guy with his face that his best friend was hugging laughed his ass off.

Robin left fairly shortly after, with a suspicious glance towards Steve, like he was the one stealing faces.

“You’re so high,” the thief laughed, and Steve flipped him off.

He woke again to something hitting his face, and groaned. Something smacked into his nose, and he rolled his head away, curling on his side.

“Harrington,” his doppelganger hissed. “Wake up.”

“Nnngh,” Steve told him, and felt something prod his butt.

“Wake up,” the thief said. “I told them to come back, I said you had a concussion, but they’re gonna want to know what happened—”

“Stole my face,” Steve told him, going to rub his own face, and finding the mustache again. “...what the hell. You should be handcuffed. Stealing my face.” The end of his bed shifted, and Steve raised his head to squint up at his own face, attached to his own body, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed. “Am I on...morphine or something? Am I dead...?” He swallowed thickly, blinking at the ceiling.

“Shut up, come on,” the bodysnatcher hissed, then grabbed the IV stand, and tilted the chrome arm towards Steve. “Hopper lemme loose, he thinks I’m you, he’s gonna start asking questions— look! Look at your face!”

Steve looked at his reflection, mostly out of annoyance, to see... Billy Hargrove’s face. Billy Hargrove’s mouth dropping open, Billy Hargrove’s hand grabbing the mustache Steve could feel on his own face. He sputtered. “What? No. That’s—that’s—no, that—shit,” he whispered, yanking at a handful of curls. “Need a razor.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. What do we tell people?” his face— Steve’s face—asked, and Steve stared.

“...Hargrove?”

Billy snorted a laugh. “Catch up, Harrington—”

He cut off, because Steve had grabbed his nose. Steve turned his own head, with Billy Hargrove inside it, to the left, and then the right, eyes narrowed. “How the hell,” he mumbled.

“Stop pinching by dose,” said Billy, with Steve’s vocal cords, and Steve yanked him closer by the head. “Mmmfng,” said Billy, crawling up the hospital bed as Steve’s thumb pressed against his lower lip. The room was chilly with air conditioning, and Steve warmed his fingers on Billy’s face as it reddened.

“What’d you do,” Steve whispered, wishing his brain wasn’t so fluttery with whatever was making his side and head hurt less. Billy braced himself over the bed, letting himself be pulled in close so he was doing a push-up with his hands on either side of Steve’s shoulders, and Steve realized something. “Wait, how come—” He squinted up, blinking. “How—how come I haveta hurt, you set yourself on fire?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Billy whispered against his fingers, and Steve squished his own face with both hands until Billy looked like a fish. His breath was warm on Steve’s face, stirring his borrowed mustache.

“Sucks,” Steve mumbled, staring into his own dark brown eyes. He surveyed his own moles, and the way the skin under his eyes squished up when Billy started laughing with his face. “...fuck you,” Steve sighed. He thought, then thonked their foreheads together, and Billy-in-his-body winced, snickering.

“Why’d you save me, anyway?” Billy whispered back, grinning away. “Walk up to a burning car. Pulled me out of a burning car, Harrington—how long you been wanting me—”

In a burst of insanity, Steve rolled his eyes and tried the next thing that came to mind. He was thinking along the lines of magic, and fairytales, and he grabbed Billy Hargrove around the back of the neck to give him a firm kiss.

He expected to get shoved, or hit, or maybe, hopefully, to switch back to his normal body, like waking up a princess, or transforming a frog. What he did not expect, and what actually happened, was Billy scrambling closer and opening his mouth, turning his head and sighing as his tongue slipped warmly against Steve’s. He hummed, smiling, and Steve opened his own mouth, the whole body he was in seizing towards the warm heavy bulk on top of him. He felt like every single cell was rushing an urgent message towards his dick, and when Billy pulled away, panting, Steve wheezed out, “Dude, I think your body is gay.”

“So’s yours,” Billy hissed, flinching back. He took a deep breath, smiled, and leaned in to make Steve’s whole body go tingly and stupid again. “Wanted me so bad you hauled me out of a burning car, Harrington—how long’s my picture been in your locker? You’re gay as shit, who’re you pointing fingers at—” He ran a hand along the skin at the edges of Steve’s bandages, inside his starchy hospital gown. “You’re gay as hell, for me,” he mumbled, laughing shakily. “Saved me. Even after I kicked your ass, you—” He leaned in, pressing messy kisses along Steve’s hairline.

The gentleness made Steve’s breath catch and his eyes sting, which didn’t help his argument any. “M’not,” he muttered. “We—we need to fix it, we need to—”

“Shut up, Harrington. Jesus, you’re freezing—”

Steve forced his tear ducts back into submission, squeezing his eyes shut, then opened them to see Billy Hargrove laughing at him.

“You scared?” Billy asked, and Steve growled, lifting his head to meet Billy’s mouth so fast their teeth banged through their lips, and Billy grunted back in his throat, wide-eyed.

“Not scared, I’m a ninja,” Steve hissed, relishing the break from lying staring at the ceiling and counting his aches. “My body’s just gay ‘cause you’re in it,” he informed Billy, who snorted, biting Steve’s lip more gently and letting it slide through his teeth. Steve groaned, closing his eyes and squirming against the feeling of rough hospital sheets against his dick. “Like fifty percent gay now,” he muttered. “S’weird.”

“What?!” Billy started laughing, and Steve tried to lift an arm to punch him, then pinched his side. Billy yelled “Screw you, Harrington—” in his ear, and Steve snickered.

“‘Cause you’re gay,” he whispered, and Billy growled.

“Shut up, I’m—if I am, you are too,” he hissed, and Steve squinted back at him.

“It’s all you! You’re a hundred percent into me?” The math didn’t seem quite right, and Steve narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. “No, why’d you beat me up? Six...sixty percent? Thirty.” He wished Nancy was there to figure it out.

“I’m not—you’re—what have they got you on—” Billy asked, propping himself up to squint at the IV.

“If you’re only thirty percent into me, half of thirty is fifteen,” Steve told him, confident, yet disappointed at the size of the number. “...think maybe Nancy was fifteen percent into me too.”

“You can’t—that makes no—”

“I was hundred percent into her,” Steve announced sadly. “‘F we’d switched, that’d have been. More.”

“You need me to find you a girlfriend, Harrington?” Billy raised his eyebrows, and Steve tried not to laugh, but he started shaking, imagining Billy Hargrove wandering around shirtless and glaring at everyone, wondering why he didn’t get laid.

“Pffffft,” he finally exploded into giggles. “Ow, oh my god. You just get laid ‘cause you look like you— don’t—don’t look like—you’re such a smug asshole —not a compliment—”

“You just need tighter pants,” Billy told him seriously, his eyes crinkled with laughter, and Steve laughed harder.

“How do you move,” Steve wheezed, rubbing the tears from his eyes on the pillow.

“You were lookin’, huh?” Billy mouthed around Steve’s jaw to his ear, breathing hot across the damp skin. “You kissed me first,” he whispered. He laughed as Steve shook his head. He looked weird, Steve thought, both eyes crinkled as he grinned, and he kept laughing. It was impossible to imagine Billy’s regular face that delighted. “You can’t lie to me now, Harrington, you gave yourself away.”

“I was just trying something,” Steve told him, trying to breathe slowly. “Thought—thought maybe it’d work. We’d change back.”

“Let’s keep trying,” Billy whispered back, grinning. “‘Less you want me to stop.”

“Don’t you dare stop now,” Steve growled, squirming. It was deeply weird to see his own face smiling back, so he closed his eyes. “S’like making out with a funhouse mirror,” he mumbled between pants. Everybody makes out with awful people sometimes, he thought. Doesn’t matter.

“S’hot,” Billy told him, laughing. His hands were warm in the hospital’s AC, and Steve arched against them. “Just admit it.”

Steve fell asleep again with sweat cooling on his skin, his face and side warm against Billy. He woke as the warm weight shifted away, mumbling protests, and felt a soft kiss at his forehead.

“S’alright, I know you love me now,” Billy whispered, laughing, and kissed his ear.

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered, squirming closer. He hooked a foot around Billy’s leg.

“Be right back,” Billy told him. “Never get rid of me now. You gave yourself away, Harrington.” He squirmed to slide off the bed—Steve winced, gritting his teeth as the bed shifted—as the door opened, and twitched the curtain between their beds back just enough to hit his own bedsprings as the nurse pushed a cart alongside Steve’s bed.

He stared at the ceiling, bewildered, as she changed his IV, offered to give him a sponge bath—he yelped a no, remembering the sticky mess dried on his stomach, and heard a muffled snort from the bed through the curtain—and then she tried to interest him in some Jell-O, and the laughter behind the curtain turned to snickering as he grilled her on available flavors.

As soon as she left, Billy was half on top of him again, kissing his cheek and smiling into his face. Steve squinted his eyes against the warmth, trying to remind himself that the gentle hands feeding him Jell-O, cleaning jizz off his belly, and offering him sips of cool water were Billy Hargrove’s. The teasing, soft kisses, and offers to suck his dick were from Billy Hargrove, in his body, after Steve had rescued him from a burning car, and also he was definitely going insane.

When Steve came to again, there was finally somebody in the chair next to his bed, and he squinted blearily. The chair creaked as they tipped back and thunked their shoes on the edge of his mattress, and he groaned in complaint.

“...so, heat,” came Billy’s voice, from his body. “Heat of the fire exorcised me. Should have been some pea soup.”

Steve was glad they didn’t actually leave scalpels around like in movies, because he wanted to stab Billy in his own foot. “Seats’re for visitors,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, you’re getting so many of those.” Billy snorted. “Your parents get in a wreck too?”

“Shut up,” Steve hissed, rolling his head to stare the other way, at the curtain.

“You pulled me out first, though. Saved me when I was still trying to murder a bunch of kids,” Billy laughed. “They’re fine, though. I mean, it worked, they—they went home, I guess. The sheriff told me.”

Steve took a deep breath, nodding.

“That Robin girl says she’s fine, but I think she thinks you’re like...a spy? For the Russians? Or something?”

Steve started snickering, which hurt, and he started coughing. Billy grabbed a cup of water with a straw and held it close enough to drink, but Steve took one sip and shuddered. “It’s warm, you spit in it, didn’t you—”

“I didn’t spit in your drink,” Billy shot back, dropping his legs and the chair legs to the floor, and stalking out with the cup of water.

“...fuck you,” Steve mumbled. Probably they’re all busy, he thought. With the fucking Russians. And the monster. And they don’t have time to hang around here.

Billy returned with the cup, and dropped in Steve’s visitors’ chair again, holding the straw to Steve’s mouth.

Steve stared at it.

“Rinsed it out. I let the water run until it was cold,” he said, nudging Steve’s lips with the straw, and Steve opened his mouth for a chilly sip, then kept swallowing, as his thirst hit his brain.

“Dry air in here,” Billy said, tilting the cup so Steve was getting water instead of air. “Want some more?”

Steve stared up at him, stuck on the idea of asking Billy Hargrove for favors, or having to thank him, or really...talking to him at all. “Why’re you here?” he asked, finally, and Billy laughed.

“Shit. Uh. I know I—you—you stopped me,” he said, tipping the empty cup back and forth so it rattled. “I pay my debts, Harrington—”

“Saved your life and I get a sippy cup,” Steve muttered, feeling cheated.

“I can’t go back and—and fix shit,” Billy growled, the cup creaking in his hand. “I can’t—I tried shit, okay, I drank bleach—”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Steve sighed, and Billy kicked his bed—carefully, since it didn’t hurt.

“Piss off and—” Billy cut off, leaning his face in his hand. “Look, I can’t fix anything, I can’t—I can’t time-travel back and not show up at the Byers’, I can’t—do you want more water, that’s—I can’t—”

Steve did, but he bit his lips together, feeling the weird scratchiness of Billy’s mustache against his lower lip. He glared up at the ceiling.

“Shit,” Billy whispered. “I can’t leave anyway, since I’m apparently you.”

Steve snorted. “Gimme my body back. Beat me up, almost killed my friends, stole my body.”

“...yeah, I know,” Billy laughed, lowering his head. “...I can’t—I know sorry isn’t good enough, I don’t—”

"Look,” Steve told him, wishing he could sit up, “—that—that thing in your head, that wasn't your fault."

“Shoulda set myself on fire sooner,” Billy muttered. He glanced over, grinning. “Wouldn’t be having this problem.” He was kind of...hunkered down, picking at Steve’s blanket, and Steve blew air through his cheeks before speaking.

“Rather have this problem,” he admitted, and Billy’s head jerked up. Steve stared back, cursing his own honesty, but Billy’s smile was small and shaky, and Steve couldn’t quite regret his words. “...you’re still a shithead, though,” Steve told him.

“I know,” Billy laughed again. “I—I’m—just. Sorry about—that night. At the Byers."

“Fffyeah,” Steve growled, getting his consonants in a frustrated jumble. "What the hell was that?"

"I was—I was pissed, and drunk, and—he said I had to bring her back. HAD to. He—it was—or else." Billy kicked the little cart, and it rolled to a stop against the curtain.

"Or else what," Steve asked, his face hurting as he frowned. He watched Billy’s hands, clenched in the blanket, and Billy’s face, sweating in the cold air of the hospital, and reached out to squeeze Billy’s fingers. “What d’you mean, ‘or else’?”

"O-or else, I don't know!" Billy snarled, jerking back from Steve's hand, and Steve stared past him at the curtains, putting together Max and Billy’s defensive growling.

“...okay,” he said, reaching out again, but making sure he waggled his fingers, and Billy saw. “Okay,” he repeated. “I mean, it’s not okay, asshole, but—” he stopped, twining his fingers with Billy’s cold ones. They were shaking, and Steve rubbed Billy’s knuckles with his thumb, waiting for him to look over. “Okay,” he whispered. “Gimme some more water. Thanks.”

Billy stared at him, then down at the cup. “You—you’re just thirsty,” he whispered. He wasn’t crying, but Steve recognized the signs—his voice was husky, and he kept taking deep breaths.

“Yeah, so get me some water, water boy,” Steve hissed back. “Work that shit off. You know how many cups of water it’s gonna take? You’re gonna be hauling water ‘til you die—”

“Jesus, okay,” Billy said, but his smile came back, wide and uncertain, as he slid off the edge of the bed. “Whatever you want. Be right back. You, uh, you want anything else?”

Steve tried to think of something outrageous to say, but finally just shrugged. “Tell you if I do. I’ll run your legs off.”

“Yeah,” Billy grinned. “Make me work for it.” He winked, licking his lips as he slid through the door, and Steve’s dick twitched. He groaned, pulling the pillow over his face.

Steve opened his eyes next on Nancy, pushing the curtains back with a “it’s so gloomy in here, let me—” She stopped when she saw him, her lip curling a little, and he wanted to tell her. “What’s he doing here,” she hissed at Billy. “Don’t they know what he did?”

“He’s asleep,” Billy told her, kind of mumbling.

Steve opened his mouth, and then saw Nancy’s mom, dad, and little sister as the curtain moved. Mike wandered in, crossing his arms. Nancy’s mom stared over at Steve, in Billy’s body—she looked sick, he thought, pale and sweaty, and Steve glanced at Billy, in his body, who was staring at Nancy’s mom.

“How’re you feeling?” Nancy asked, grabbing Billy’s hand, and he managed a weird grunt.

“...fine,” he said eventually, and she nodded, firming her jaw for a narrow-eyed glance at Steve.

“Nurse said your football career would be fine, Harrison,” said Nancy’s dad, punching Billy in the shoulder, and Billy stared at him. “I’m...I don’t play football?” he said, just as Nancy hissed “It’s Harrington!” Nancy and Billy shared a moment, cocking their heads in confusion at Mr. Wheeler. Steve bit back a grin.

“Do you want a ride home, Steve?” Mrs. Wheeler asked Billy, who unaccountably reddened, and glanced at Steve. “We can drop you at your house. I bet you’d like a real shower!”

Billy widened his eyes, biting his lips together, then nodded. “Ye—yep. Thanks, ma’am,” he said, so woodenly that Nancy reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

Steve was so wrapped up in figuring out their weirdness he didn’t register Billy’s urgent stare, but he finally remembered and cleared his throat. “What, you gonna miss me, Harrington? Fuck off and let me sleep.”

Billy snorted, his eyes widening further as Mr. Wheeler promised to return after he was discharged, Mrs. Wheeler suggested they all celebrate his release at the diner with burgers, and Steve dozed off again, smug in the knowledge that Billy was about to have an incredibly awkward afternoon.

When Dustin finally escaped his mom, got his bike to the hospital, and found Steve’s room—despite people stopping him to ask if he was lost—Steve was gone. His bed was a mess, so Dustin figured he hadn’t gotten far, and shot a glance at Billy Hargrove in the other bed. He was grinning, for some reason, and Dustin wrinkled his nose.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked, and Billy’s mouth quirked. “Whatever,” Dustin hissed at him. “I’ll find him myself.”

“Henderson!” Billy yelled, as Dustin yanked the door shut, and Dustin repressed a shudder at the thought Billy Hargrove knew his name.

He (eventually) found Steve on the roof. “Hey,” he called, running up to lean over the railing next to him. He bumped their shoulders together, and Steve half stared, half glared, tossing a cigarette stub on the ground. Dustin rolled his eyes. “How hard you get hit on the head, buddy? I been meaning to talk to you about that. You know who you saved, back there?” He reached up and knocked on Steve’s head, and Steve just narrowed his eyes, his fingers twitching. Dustin slapped Steve’s shoulder, trying to get his brain to engage. “That guy’s the one that beat your face in at the Byers’, Steve. I know your shitty memory, but seriously? Seriously. Billy Hargrove? There are babies in this hospital that have less oxygen ‘cause he’s alive, Steve, who’s the hero now.”

“What?” Steve asked, and Dustin sighed, letting himself drape over the railing.

“Billy Hargrove, Steve. Nancy said he knocked you on your ass in gym.”

“I know who he is,” Steve gritted out, and Dustin looked him over, wondering whether somebody’d already given him a hard time.

“Jesus, take a chill pill, you had to be the hero, I know. Like Batman. Didja ever think, though, if Batman just killed Joker, he’d have saved, like, a ton of people? You gotta think about these things.” Dustin grinned over, and realized Steve had his hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the railing. “Just some friendly advice, man. Don’t die trying to save the bad guy.”

#harringrove #happy ending #Got away from me #platypan #platypan fic

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heartbreak-of-a-marauder · 4 years

Text

Through the Rabbit Hole (4)

Part Four: Beautiful ***

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: It’s taken years for Loki to realise he can’t bear to be without you.

Word Count: 2,050

Note: This is the fourth and final part of this lil’ series! Definite warning for smutttt (this is my first time writing it). y/n = your name, y/h/c = your hair colour, y/e/c = your eye colour. If you haven’t read them already, previous parts are linked below:

<- 4

~*~*~*~*~

Reluctantly you untangle yourself from Loki’s arms and step back, keeping him at arm's length. Your lips are still tingling from the kiss. He’s looking at you with such intensity you begin to feel hot all over, your eyes fall to his chest, but the heat remains.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” You gulp, his hands linger on your waist.

“And why is that?” His voice is low and soft, he hooks a finger under your chin forcing your eyes to his again.

“Because I…”

“You’ll what?” Loki purrs.

He attempting to draw you closer, but you brace your hands firmly against his chest, stopping him. You focus on steadying your breathing, his heat and closeness made you feel unfocussed, one thought stands out from the rest; you’ve missed him.

“Because you’ll what y/n?” He repeats softly.

“Because I won’t ask you to stop,” your voice is hoarse.

His mesmerising green eyes scan every inch of your face before settling on your lips. Strong hands grip your wrists and pull you into him as he captures your mouth with his once more. Loki kisses you softly at first but it quickly transforms into something hot and hard. He’s drinking you in like a man dying of thirst, seemingly unable to get enough. You melt into him as he winds his arms around you.

Loki lifts you off the floor and secures your legs around his hips. The position makes you feel vulnerable. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

You’d been so caught up in simply feeling him that you hadn’t realised Loki had walked you both into another room. He breaks the heated kiss as he sits on the edge of a bed, cradling you in his lap. There’s a fire in his eyes, a burning passion. But he’s asking. He kisses you once, twice more fervently trying to show you how much he wants you to come to him willingly. Shifting your weight, you lean into him making him lay back against the soft fabric. You both roll so that you are on your sides, facing each other.

“I want you to smile for me, not fear me.” He confesses, his voice barely a whisper. A hand reaches out a brushes a Y/H/C strand behind your ear. You scoot closer, tangling your legs with his.

“What would you do for my smile?” Your voice is soft as he changes position, moulding your body to his.

“Anything,” He looks down at you taking in every feature. “Anything.” He affirms looking up towards the ceiling.

In this position, a small ‘v’ of his pale chest and neck are exposed to you. Encouraged by the heat flooding you place a tender kiss on the visible patch of skin, smiling to yourself when you hear Loki sigh. Stretching your neck a little more you tilt your head and gently drag your teeth across the cords of his neck, nipping at his throat. His grip tightens as you continue to tease him. The fact he seemed just as affected as you were made you dizzy with excitement.

His hand snakes it’s way into your hair, he clenches a handful and tugs gently, tipping your head back. His mouth descends on yours, his tongue coming out to dance with yours. You feel him shift around you until he has the high ground.

“You’re never going to want to let me go,” Loki states while working off your jumper. He says it with such conviction like he’s already seen how this will end.

Bracing himself on his forearms, he lowered his head down, his attention now fixed on your bare skin, trailing searing kisses down your jaw, neck, chest, deep into the valley of your breasts. He whispers foreign words against your soft skin. Your bra comes away with ease. You groan and push deeper into the softness of the bed as his mouth closes around your left nipples. His tongue swirls and sucks the nub drawing it to a sensitive peak. Loki is generous with his attentions as his free hand kneads your right breast, rolling and pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

You wind your arms around his firm torso and grip onto his shoulders as his tongue flicks your right nipple. Desperate to feel more of him your hands pull at his tunic and he flattens himself on top of you, allowing you to feel every inch of him. He rolls his hips, pressing his erection into your abdomen. Moving downwards he removes your jeans and panties in one swift motion leaving you exposed, the air cooling your skin. You move to cover yourself, but powerful hands grasp your legs and open you to him. He tentatively reaches for your core. Warm fingers graze your folds, spreading the wetness that had pooled there. The pad of his thumb massages the ball of nerves making you gasp.

He watches you, fascinated by your pleasure. The rosie blush coating your cheeks, your swollen parted lips, the soft rise and fall of your chest occasionally disrupted by quick pants.

“Y/N…” He calls. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth fisting the sheets.

“Y/N, look at me.” Opening your eyes you see his clothes have vanished. His chiselled, powerful form kneels between your parted thighs. His expression loving.

His movements grow bold as he slips a finger into your soaked core, eliciting a delicious sound from you. The strokes are long and slow, his finger curling as he pulls back. Adding another digit he picks up speed, your eyes flutter closed for a moment.

“Y/N, eyes.” He commands and your eyes snap open to meet his.

He adds a third finger stretching your wet heat. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, making you buck your hips. You reach for Loki trying to bring him back down to you but your fingertips brush against the smooth muscle of his abdomen.

The knot in the pit of your stomach has already begun to build.

“Loki… please!” You plead you’ve had enough of his teasing.

“Say it again,”

He lowers his head to the juncture of your thighs and flattens his tongue against your clit making you squeal in surprise. He expertly works his mouth on your body flicking, sucking and licking your clit until you feel your body teetering on the edge of your orgasm.

“Please,” you repeat breathlessly.

“No, say my name.” He mutters against you.

“Loki,” you gasp as you clench around his fingers, your climax exploding through your body. Loki continues to move his fingers helping you ride out your orgasm until you float back down.

He smirks and lowers himself, rubbing the pink head of his cock against your folds. You inhale sharply at the sensation, feeling the knot begin to form again.

“Loki,” You moan, spreading your thighs further giving him better access to you.

“Again, y/n,” Loki commands as he bucks his hips.

“Loki,”

“Again,” You cry out a little as he guides himself deep inside you.

You wiggle underneath him as your walls expand, trying to accommodate his size. Loki stills above you grinding his hips against yours as you take all of him. His mouth recaptures yours as he begins to rock inside you. Adopting his previous rhythm, he is slow at first letting you get used to him, but his hips soon pick up speed that leave you both panting. Your hands glide across the skin of his back, you feel how his muscles move with every thrust. A hand hooks behind your knee and pulls your leg up higher, securing it at his waist.

Your next orgasm builds quickly as a warm fuzzy sensation beginning at your toes crawls its way through your body, you know you won’t last much longer but Loki seemed thoroughly unaffected. His thrusts were still strong, delving deep inside your core, touching your most sensitive places.

“Loki, I can’t-“ You mewl. The sound is foreign to you, no other partner had ever been able to create it.

He slows his pace and guides your hand down between your bodies, encouraging you to grip his balls. He moans deeply as you massage him lightly. Between the tightening vice that was your core and your delicate hands, he could feel himself approaching his undoing.

Pinning your arms above your head he starts a new rhythm. This one was fast and desperate. He wanted to love you thoroughly. The knot in your stomach soon burst and with a cry, you convulsed under him. Your tight walls fluttered around his member encouraging him to fall with you.

You arch your back pressing your breasts into his chest, Loki moves his arms to the space created under your back, holding you tightly to him as he continues to rock into you. Two more forceful thrusts have the God shouting out above you. He collapsed onto his forearms and moans into your ear as he shudders, releasing his hot seed into you.

You lay like that for a while sweaty, warm bodies pressed together. Your breathing slowly becoming less ragged. Loki unsheathes himself from you with a ‘pop’ and lays next to you. Your senses were still running overtime, even the slightest touch sent a shiver through your body.

Wrapping you in his arms Loki pulls you close, sighing contentedly. You were drifting off to sleep when he spoke.

“I have bitten you, Y/N, I am sorry.” His voice was quiet in the still air of the room.

“You’re sorry?” The words were like a bucket of ice water being dumped over you, making you free your body from his arms.

Loki’s quick reflexes allow him to grab a hold of you before you could make it off the bed. He crab walks back until he is resting against the headboard. You’re positioned on top, straddling him and still, he keeps a firm grip on your wrists.

“Let go of me,” you wriggle, trying to get free of his hold. He was sorry, you didn’t need to hear anymore.

“Y/n, you were a forbidden fruit!” He frowns up at you, the desperation coating his words makes you stop.

“Forbidden?” He nods.

“One I have wanted for years,” he explains, his hand skimming across your body, his fingers trailing like kisses. “One I could not have by the Allfathers ruling, but that does not matter now,”

His hands that were holding your head pull you down to kiss you so thoroughly with such emotion you feel as though you could drown. His hands slide around your back gripping your flesh. You could feel his cock nudge against your thigh again. Loki’s hand snakes down under you, positioning himself for you to easily slide your hips down onto him.

He holds you down against himself and breaths, struggling to keep his voice level. “I am sorry y/n because I have tasted you, and I will never let you go,”

You rock together as your hips sway back and forth to meet each other. You moan contentedly feeling him hit places you weren’t sure existed. You lean forward until your foreheads are touching until you’re close enough to kiss Loki. His half-closed eyes gaze unguarded up at you.

“Say you will stay,” He groans, swivelling hips thrusting up into you.

Yes, you would stay. Yes, it was a risk. But no didn’t seem like an option worth considering anymore.

You work your body along his shaft, taking as much of him as you could manage before raising until just the head remained, over and over you milked him. Loki’s abdomen contracts making his well-defined muscles glisten with sweat as his hips rise.

“Y/n, say-”

“Yes,” you answer.

Loki’s gaze locks on you with the same intensity of the sun but instead of burning you feel yourself glow.

“You’ll stay?” Loki asks again not looking away.

“I’ll stay,” you lower yourself once more, as Loki lets out a hoarse groan, his body rippling beneath you, you feel his warmth coat your insides. It isn’t long until you follow, falling with him.

He studies you closely as you drift, coming down from your high. Carefully he smooths a few strands of sweat-soaked y/h/c hair out of your face as you smile sleepily down at him.

“Beautiful.” He whispers.

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @jessiejunebug @seventieshead-modernlover @kinghiddlestonanddixon @danielle101370 @morganvanilla

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andieperrie18 · 4 years

Text

Submit to Me (Vergil x Reader/Oc)

Based on (G)-Idle's song Oh my God. Hope ya guys like it. I might post it on Ao3 but with a full smut. If I can.

A news crawled its way up from the underworld and was brought to the attention the eldest son of Sparda.

A grave news that made his thunder a wrath worse that a hurricane.

The Demon King is dead.

Mundus is dead.

The fellow was said to be mercilessly dismembered to the smallest chunks that would have put the Egyptian god of the Underworld to shame. After being left to chunks, he was fed to the three headed guard dog who had surrendered to the dominion of the new ruler of the underground without question.

Word spread like a wild fire to the berserkers of the human world. Some demons retreated to the underworld and submitted themselves to themselves to the new sovereign of hell. Although there are still some who didn’t submit, most of them mainly were she devils and demons who are rumored that envied the new ruler greatly that they have loathed how she has every demons kneeling to her feet. The same way the demon king did before he met his untimely and gruesome death.

“You sure that’s a good idea? I mean you barging in to the underworld.” His younger brother clad in a dirty red coat slouched back to his seat, legs rested above the work desk before him. Vergil fixed his coat and held the yamato in one hand as he prepped for his departure to meet the thief who stole his prey before he could even make a move to annihilate.

“I spent my days here thinking of ways to bring the demon king down. And now to find out that a mere she devil has taken that opportunity from me makes my blood boil.” The pale skin transitioned to a bony white hue as Vergil gripped the katana even tighter than before.

Dante could see the dark blue aura the male radiated that showed the Halfling’s wrath. Vergil’s thirst for superiority through power will forever be etched in him, if a simple repeating behavior is done until the child comes to age, it will become his personality, in this case, Vergil’s search for power to quench his thirst for superiority.

“I’ll show that low grade demon what true power is. If Mundus is stupid enough to submit to her lustful wiles, then she cannot fool me.”

With those final statements, he unsheathes the Yamato and slashed two slices in the air, cutting space and time itself to bring him a portal to the Underworld. He struts forward with this brother shaking his head left to right.

“Oh Vergil, if that she devil tricked that almighty demon king to submit to her. I don’t think you can stand a chance. Since you had Nero.” Dante laid back and stared to the roof of his shop.

Vergil emerged from the cross portal, standing before the heat and screams. Before him was a long crumbling thin rock bridge that is actually more sturdy than what it actually looks. A person or creature with no balance will fall to his/her death to the moat of boiling blood and fire beneath it. He looked down, he could see millions and millions of soul trampling over another with a false hope to be out of the unending pain. Moans and cries of sinners singed beneath the once home and dominion of Mundus.

Face fall forward and he strut to his enemy. His eyes did not linger to any white noise and continued onward until he reached the double doors.

Vergil’s face curled to a frown and brought his foot. A loud thud rumbled across the halls of the throne room, the two doors burst open. Roars and prowls replied back as scampering feet scratched the dirt floor of the throne room hall. Demons emerged from each pillar and stalked forward to the intruder.

The son of Sparda stood before a sea of growling beasts. He did not speak but loudly removed the scabbard of the Yamato. Letting his body form the stance to attack.

SHE watched as he slashed down every creature that came his way. The stone cold faced morphed into a grimace with every angry slice, he didn’t even let any of them get a scratch on his coat. Teeth clutched the bottom lip, eyes shut half lidded as she remained her sight to the Halfling barreling forward towards her throne.

“Mmmhh…how scrumptious…” Her thighs shut close as her left hand clutched her clothed womanhood, heaving heavy breaths and cheeks so red that almost matched the color of her lips as if she was watching a live intercourse before her eyes.

The thing excited her the most was that she he has volunteered to serve himself to be in the presence of Her Highness. A moan escaped her throat, her lips curling to a lust-filled smirk that can turn any mortal man to a puddle of their own orgasm.

Vergil strode forwards slashing continuously. The horde grew no matter how many he slashes down. Like he was cutting a Hydra’s head only to have two more grow back. He was in the brink of a decision to trigger to his Devil form until a voice halted the demons, with him along with them.

He heard it clear with his heightened senses, the tone belong to a woman. He wouldn’t have stopped to anyone’s order but when he heard it, every fiber of his body halted and a goose bumps traveled its way along his spine.

“That’s enough my darlings.”

He slowly stood up from his bent form from fighting as the sea of demons split in to two, creating a pathway for his eyes to follow. From the floor, to the few steps up to the alter, to a pair of crossed smooth, milk white skin legs, up to a seated petite body in a tight sleeveless dress with a heart shaped chest line that revealed her cleavage shamelessly, up to her white neck that can make any vampire crave, and to her face and blonde locks.

Everything he thought and said about showing the killer of Mundus were shoved back to his throat as he mentally mouth watered at the sight of the she devil.

“My! my! my! If it isn’t a lucky day indeed. The son of Sparda serves himself to me as my dessert.” Vergil could see the overwhelming want in her eyes that screamed threat all over the place.

“Come close my brave knight.”

And in an instant he climbed towards her. Every part of him obliged to her order, his teeth gritted as if holding himself back from her wiles only for his own body to disobey his own mind. He flicked his glare towards the woman seated on the crystal throne.

His eyes met here piercingly lustful looking ones. It was already too late before he could turn away.

Her smile grew wider and hungrier as he approached. Biting her bottom lips and sliding in her seat left to right in a slow manner. He dropped to his knees and had the other perched up with a feet planted on the ground. His sword was already sheathed back to its scabbard with him having no memory of how it came and his other arm rested on the arched leg.

“Leave us.” The she devil’s voice slither to every demon’s ear like a tickle. Even the Halfling himself, bringing tingles at the tip of his fingers and a sharp breath out his lungs. The creatures obeyed with ease and left the room. The she devil turns to the male.

Vergil wanted to speak, to ask the devil if she indeed killed Mundus but before he could, he felt himself stiffen, with a pair of hands traveling all over his chest and a presence from behind him. Lips trailed over the shell of his right ear, an unintentional groan escapes his throat accompanied by a jolt to his body.

“Hmmm… you poor poor man, how long have you been starve from a woman’s touch? Shall I relieve you before his eyes?” her hot breath made the thing between his legs twitch.

He suddenly realized. ‘His’ his confused face signaled the she devil who smirked.

“agh! Wha..” she nipped and kissed his neck like a viper. He remained immobile as she continued her gestures but he had tightened the hold around the yamato. Her lips started the left and slowly inched to the right, licking his Adam’s apple making his neck flick up. His breath rags and heaves. His body trembled despite its inability to move. The urge to grab her and pin her to the ground slowly poisoned his mind. Ideas of ravaging her grew further from then on.

His left eye slowly slipped open, to peak at the she devil but he was met with a gruesome view. Both of his eyes widened and his jaw drops.

By the wall close to the ceiling, impaled against it is a head. Mundus’s head to be exact.

His face covered in his blood, eyes and lips still twitching showing signs of life. His eyes stared at Vergil with a shocking emotion. Desperation. ‘Help me’ he called through them.

“Do you like my first trophy my knight? He is just the first one. We could get more if you want.” Her devils echoed through his ear like a sin. He felt her hand takes the one stuck between him and her body, placing it in her left inner thigh, right below her woman hood as he felt a slick liquid on skin of his palm. His hand tightens around thigh a moan escapes her lips. His head was shove to turn and face her panting face. A lusted smile etched on her face, her lips inches away from his own. Vergil heaved his chest, the level of intimacy she surrounds him had him in a haze, completely forgetting the twitching head of Mundus hanging above.

“Be my king Vergil. We’ll rule like gods in this realm. Submit to me and I’ll submit to you.”

At that moment, he had a choice as he was finally able to move. With the yamato on his other, he could kill her and achieve his point that he is the strongest, or submit to her wiles and takes her on the cold floor underneath the dying head of his greatest enemy.

“I am yours, My Queen.”

(THAT GAL IS SOOJIN AND MY CHOSEN CHARACTER DESCRIPTION IN THIS SHOT)

Thank You 4 Reading.

#vergil x oc #dmc vergil #dmc 5 vergil #vergil x reader #devil may cry vergil #g idle #g idle soojin #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry #devil may cry x reader

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peridoch · 5 years

Text

INSTINCT - Dabi X Reader (NSFW)

Shout out to all my Dabi fucker fellows!

This fic was inspired by one of my favorite pieces from @kazooli the Aphrodisiac scenario with Shiggy (here), and the headcanon about Dabi being a tease tease tease mean bastard UwU

The moment I read it I thought "what if it was Dabi" and then this fic was born /o/ Hope y'all enjoy it!

Plz be gentle I've never wrote anything before, let alone in english, so there's that. But I'm glad I did it. Share my thirst, if you may.

Words: 2.189

"I screwed up"

Your heart pumped blood into your head in slow, painful bumps.

"What do we have here -" the criminal steps into a strip of light, revealing a wicked grin before fading into darkness again. You can smell him as he gets closer. He stinks of blood and body fluids. As your eyes adjust to the light, you can see the kind of alley you ran into. Dead end, shit.

"Looks like I got lucky"

He says, anticipating his prey. You immediately try to run, but you feel an irrational fear growing in your gut. Your heart is racing, your limbs won't move, what the hell? Adrenaline spreads down your veins when you think of the mission.

“Easy now, cupcake". The man walks towards you. "Useless to fight it”.

Your eyes widen up in disgust as his hands reach to your shirt

"Uuh, buttons... Bonus round... Ever met a Puppet Master before, dear?" He takes your silence for an answer and goes on, savoring the moment. You sense he's done this countless times before.

"That's right, I command your instinct... The second you got a sniff of my scent your body knew who's the predator.. and who's the scared.." he rips off a button “..little..” he pulls out the last one “..rabbit.”

Your boiling rage makes you regain some control. Who this scumbag thinks he is? Even though you can't use your quirk you manage to punch his nose and get away, leaving his face a bloody mess.

"A FIGHTER huh?! GOOD, I like that!! Show me MORE of it! It's been a while since I met some... Resistance."

You feel your anger fade down, along with all your will to fight and run.. almost as if.. you had no self preservation instinct. "Shit, this fucker's messing with my head"

"HOW ABOUT THAT? Hahahahaha! Wait until you beg for me to fuck you"

As he closed his mouth, a wave of heat ran through your core, leaving you staggeringly weak. Dang, you could swear it only gets this hot around-

Blue fire blows up the nearest wall finishing your thought for you; as well as revealing your shirtless, useless partner

"That was about time you came" You burst out angrily at Dabi. He's a sight to see though, casting blue fire upon your assaulter, and you enjoy watching him scream and burn.

"This was the last of them" He mutters before acknowledging you. "So how was your end of the.. hey-" Dabi darts your way, noticing your tattered state.

"I'm okay" You try to stand but your body is crazy sensitive and you cringe, bothered by even the scrape of your clothes. He rolls his eyes.

"I don't have time for this" before you can even gasp, the bag with the goods from the mission is on the ground and his arm is locked around your waist.

"WAIT DON'T -" You protest vainly while he lifts your knees, pressing you against his chest. It's no good, not in your current state.

"Don't you have a shirt?"

"You're one to talk" He mocks, blatantly staring at your lace bra.

"Don't forget the bag" You say, more an attempt to escape those eyes than anything mission related.

The strain of the quirk on your body soon hits an unbearable peak. You're dead quiet in his arms, hoping he won't notice you're hot and bothered... But he smells so good you're starting to lose your shit. The scent of a man with spicy soft notes of cologne, cigarettes and smoke makes your head spin. You strive to keep your thoughts in check, but Dabi feels your discomfort.

"Hell, I forgot to check again. You knew who was that last guy I charred up there?" This is his idea of small talk, but it'll do

"He called himself a... Puppet master or somethin' -" You say, plainly. But Dabi laughs. A wicked laugh, that sends shivers through your body.

"Wasn't he that serial rapist the news been nuts about?" He asks in a playful tone. You heard the news, but you stay silent.

"Word's out he called the cops himself every time, just to find the victims still trembling, sayin’ it was the fuck of their lives HAHAHA Guy knew his stuff"

At his point he's clearly just messing with you, but you know better than to let him notice it's working.

"So did he use it?"

Your heart skip a beat.

"Sorry I killed the guy before you got lucky-"

"Shut up"

He always loved your honest reactions. He was just fishing, but the obvious blush on your face and how pointy your nipples were through your bra... He knew he wasn't seeing things.

Knowing that you were horny in his arms for the last half-hour is enough to arouse him out of his mind. From what he heard of that quirk, you must have been dying to do it this whole time.. Hell, you must be dying to do it right now. He feels his pulsing cock twist uncomfortably inside his pants.

"You know.. I can make you feel real good" he says in a deep voice, stopping his pace.

"Don't". You know he can. You're painfully aware of it. Why did it had to happen just when you were building some respect with the League? And of all people why him? Whom you had more than a light crush on. No, not like this. Not because of some stupid quirk, that you were stupid enough to get caught in. No.

Dabi leans you down against a wall. Few people pass on the side street of the building but he doesn't mind them. He slides a hand on your waist, feeling up your soft skin. The little frown of pleasure you do is enough to make him flip, and your next breath is taken on his lips.

You feel him press so hard against you, your naked stomach on his hot abs while he kiss you with tongue, rough and thirsty, biting your lips like caramels.

He stops all of sudden, hovering over you, like he's having an inner argument.

"I don't want you saying I took advantage of your... state… whatever"

You never heard him sound so conflicted before. Despite the shadow spot you’re in, his eyes are piercing through yours, bright and fiery, like he needs something. He looks downright intimidating, but your aching loins speak louder. You can't wrap your mind around letting go of his mouth.

"I won't..." you say in agony.

"I'm not convinced" he toys with you, but you feel his urge. You lean on him and bite his neck, tasting his charred skin, and the little groan he let out wipes your head blank.

"Please" you whisper, licking his earlobe "Please Dabi"

A heartbeat, and you’re swept off your feet and thrown over his shoulder like one big horny package.

"What? What you’re doing! Dabi!" You cry out in frustration while he takes you past the backstreet to the front of the building, ignoring your kicks.

"Put me DOWN!" You can't believe he'll reject you like this. He blows the lock in the entrance and burns the security cameras.

"Are you INSANE we're gonna get caught!" He takes the stairway, letting an exasperated sigh escape his lips

"Babe I don't mind doing you on the street, wanna go back?" He sounds hella serious, so you stop whining. Another melted door lock later, he throws your limp body on the floor of an empty apartment.

There’s no furniture, no bed, only Dabi, standing on top of you.

“Tell me what you want” he says in a menacing voice.

Why's he making it so hard? Getting on your knees instead you unbelt his pants with shaky fingers. You hope he gets how bad you really want it. When you eagerly take his cock on your mouth, moving your tongue around it like you don’t wanna miss a drop of his taste, like you’re damn hungry for it, Dabi is frankly startled. You've always been quite the shy one, you had no business being so good with your mo-outh. The abrupt wave of pleasure that crawls his spine makes his knees falter, a moan scaping his lips before he can bite 'em shut.

You’re so proud of yourself. You look up to him expecting to be called a good girl, but instead he looks angrily at you. He didn’t like to lose control, not one bit.

Moreover, he'd waited enough to savor your vulnerable little body.

There’s no hurry on his mouth when he bends down to assault your neck with wet, lecherous bites. You gasp, taken by every flick of his tongue. You barely notice your bra being literally ripped out of you.

“Hey I liked that one” you complain weakly.

“I liked it too” he smirks, moving down to your breast “You know what you did to me back there, babygirl? Huh?”

He sucks your nipple so good you think you’re gonna faint. You can’t manage any more than tortured moans untill, as if he had a merciful side of him, he reaches to your cunt. 'Wet' wouldn’t begin to describe your mess. As your hips move impatiently, two long, knowing fingers explore your entrance to what would be your G spot, if all of your insides weren't feeling like a G spot.

It'll be the end of you if he'd just keep nibbling your nips like he's doing. But he's not done yet.

"You didn't answer."

"I.. what..?" Your mind is in shreds. You didn't answer what?

"You..." He rolls you over, making you face the floor with your butt high up, his hand so tight on your hips he'll leave finger marks.

“Tell me what you want”.

His dick touch your entrance and you can feel his pulse, he's not as in control as he wants you to believe. He's cruel, and he's heartless, and he's gonna fuck until he's tired of you if you say those words. Maybe even if you don't.

But you reach to your pussy and spread it open around him anyway. You can't tell what self respect feels like anymore.

"I want you to fuck me please...."

Your head is so red with shame, he can see your ears burning, you're the cutest when you beg

"Please Da- Oh"

His throbbing cock can't wait no more. You moan wildly with every thrust of his on your walls, making you helplessly tremble and clench tight around him.

"Gotta work for what you want, princess" He pulls off and lays by our side, resting on his elbows.

"Ride me". He looks so bossy. Scared as you are, you're still determined to make him feel good, so you readily obey.. But he makes you stop. A small grin’s forming on his mouth, and his eyes are the shiniest you've ever seen them.

"With your ass." He lifts a brown, waitin' for you to yield. Your breathing is weak. He's so much to take. But get to see first hand Dabi's smirk undoing when you do position his dick on your butthole and slowly, trembly, take every inch of his lenght in.

It's absurd how good you feel from this. You expected it to hurt, but to your overstimulated body it's like a drug.. best stuff ever... you can't help but ride him like a slut. He grabs your waist and rolls up to be on top again, his face stuck in the crotch of your neck to muffle his moans.

"Oh babe, fuck" he can't hold it any longer. He grabs both your wrists and press your fingers against his neck, his expression changing into a lewd trance as he asphyxiates. Slight threads of blue flame run upon his arms as he fucks you to the ground. You don't dare to move a muscle, afraid to get burned.

“You like it don’t you?” his pace is measured, he wants to make sure you feel everything.

“You like getting your ass fucked don’t you? Say it”

You recognize the growing pleasure tingling through your body, while every low thrust of his rub your clit just the right friction, so nice you can barely take it.

“I do”. His ravaging your sensitive spots is overwhelming

“I like it, Dabi, fuck.... I do”. It feels like burning when you reach the strongest, roughest climax of your life, you could gladly die right there.

He can't bear to see how sweet you came from being fucked in the ass like that.. He groans and tighten up his grip while you feel your insides fill with his burning hot seed.

...

You for once release his neck and run your fingers through his hair. He falls heavy but you feel so right. He allows himself a moment of warmth, shivering with his face between your boobs, before rolling away to the floor.

The room is filled with the panting sounds of your rough breaths and his own.

“So....” he breaks the silence “best fuck of your life or...”

“Shut up” you laugh, throwing a teared blouse to his face.

He rolls over you laughing, his lips right beneath your belly button.

“This time I'll get you on the mood my way” he says, lowering his kisses. You can't believe he wants to start again, but when his tongue meet your swollen clit you know he still can make you cum a few times more.

“I don't need a quirk to get you begging” he purrs in a low voice.

He’s right and you know it, and you hate it.

“I thought you didn’t wanna take advantage of me”

“Guess I’m an asshole”

You let yourself lose all control under his mouth. In the back of your mind, all the red flags are burnt. If being his feels this good, then you wouldn’t mind being his forever.

#we are dabi subs first and humans second #don't mind me #im just a sucker for my charred boi #kazcontest #dabi x reader #dabi bnha #mha dabi #dabi

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hejer-maomao · 5 years

Note

Hey! It's the angsty anon who asked for Lance/Edgar watch their s/o die and I finally recovered from Edgar's story (which tORE MY PATHETIC HEART TO SHREDS). I would like to request another soul-crushing fic/headcanon/etc. This time I was wondering what would happen if my bois Fenrir, Ray, and Edgar (hmmm wonder who my favorite is...) were to forced to duel their s/o to the death. (I was gonna say that the s/o was brainwashed, but if you have different ideas on the state of s/o, then go for it!)

… I am simply in love with every single one of your requests ❤ You’re the perfect muse!

My dear, you have to let me be friends with you!

I will be choosing only two of the boys you suggested, since my heart and my brain cannot take that much angst all at once. As usual, I will be splitting this into two parts, starting with Edgar (my poor child, he’s always being tortured by us).

Trigger Warning: Heavy Angst, mentions of Blood and Major Character Death.

Edgar’s cry of pain was muffled as he violently hit the ground, his sword slipping past his broken fingers and cluttering loudly on the forest ground.

The Jack of Hearts’ body screamed in agony as he tried to get back up, only to narrowly escape the sharp tip of your dagger, aimed with horrifying accuracy at his heart. Edgar’s quick feet put him at a safe distance from you, and he heavily panted as he clumsily wiped the blood and dirt covering the corner of his lip, his eyes following you as you bent down to pick up his fallen sword only to toss it out from the cliff right behind you.

An ugly, obnoxiously loud laugh echoed throughout the empty forest just as Edgar slipped his fingers into his right boot, retrieving a hidden knife. Edgar’s eyes narrowed dangerously as a black-haired woman – your closest friend– cackled in a fit of madness, her voice dripping with pure mirth as she screamed out at him:

“More, more, MORE! SHOW ME MORE, Edgar Bright! Show me more pain and misery! Bleed until you crawl on all fours on the ground! Keep your eyes wide open as your own beloved stabs you through the heart! Only then will my thirst for revenge will be quenched!”

The woman elegantly picked up the hem of her peach dress, careful not to let it touch the dirt, striding with her gorgeous high heels until she stood right next to you, tenderly hugging you from behind.

“You cannot believe how glad I am that your little girlfriend here is so easy to trick! Few days were all it took for her to fully trust me, and now, look at what her stupidity brought us to!”

Just as the woman burst into another fit of lunatic laughter, Edgar tightly clenched his fists, his gaze never leaving your face. Your eyes, once vibrantly full of life and determination, were now simply empty, void of any emotions. Just as a mere puppet, your body only moved to obey the commands of your master standing behind you, not registering any pain as you were hit, completely disregarding the identity of the person you are attacking, whether they were foe or friend.

With the order of ‘Kill Edgar Bright at any cost’ echoing inside your brain and dominating your senses, you moved again, dagger glimmering under the warm sun.

All of this bloody mess did not happen one day, all of a sudden. It was a full blowing scheme, that has been in the making for a few years now, taking its sweet time until it had both of Edgar and you in its dark clutches.

Edgar can still vividly recall the day you came back home, few weeks ago, smiling brightly, your hand gently holding a pink wrap with chocolate cookies inside, saying that it was a gift from the new bakery which recently opened in the Red Territory.

Edgar thought absolutely nothing of it.

You were happily munching on the treats, and that was all that mattered to him.

You started frequenting the new bakery more often ever since and you gradually grew closer with the owner, the gorgeous lady who creates all of the sweet delicacies of the shop by herself. Edgar met her once, when he was dropping you off on his way to patrolling the area, and the lady seemed nice and charming, although her smile did arouse an indescribable feeling of déjà vu in Edgar’s heart.

Being the vigilant man he is, Edgar did keep an eye on your new friend for a while to see if she was up to no good or wished you any sort of harm, but the lady never slipped. All she did was dote on you and bake you different sweets every single day without fail. After keeping his guard up for some time and yet not registering any thing out of regular, Edgar dropped the matter, dismissing it as his jealously from the lady for hogging most of your time.

He now wishes he never did.

That’s when things turn a sudden turn for the worst.

They were only small changes at first. You would abruptly zone out at random times during the day and your eyes would just suddenly turn completely dead, devoid of any emotions, and it would take a lot of nudging and yelling until you finally snap out of your daze with difficulty. Then, you started avoiding spending time with Edgar, dodging his hands each time he attempted to pull you closer to him, or simply offering your cheek instead of your lips if he ever tries to kiss you, a strange mixture of disgust and guilt decorating your face.

It was almost as if you started to hate being touched by your own lover.

Edgar’s worries slowly escalated until he seriously considered taking you to a doctor just to see what was wrong, but each time he talked to you about it, you would immediately lose your temper, and end up leaving the room in a fury, slamming the door behind you. The last symptom Edgar was witness to was an extreme nausea and a pounding headache which continued to torment you day and night for almost a week before you… simply disappeared from the Red Quarters.

Edgar was on the verge of loosing his mind, his fellow red army officers barely keeping him sane as they feverishly searched for you everywhere in Cradle, when he received a note in your own handwriting inviting him to meet you in the forest, insisting he brings no one with him.

Alas, the girl Edgar was finally reunited with was not his girlfriend, but rather a brainwashed version of her, a completely controlled puppet in the hands of a crazy woman, claiming that this was all to avenge her brother.

The lady’s words brought back hazy memories into Edgar’s consciousness, fragmented memories of a hired assassin who went around killing people for money, and whom Edgar has personally put an end to a few years ago.

But Edgar could not care less about all of the forgotten details. All he knew was that this accursed situation you were in was his fault, and his fault alone, and somehow, just somehow, he needed to get you both out of here alive, so Kyle can get whatever drugs you have ingested out of your system as quickly as possible.

Edgar’s thoughts were interrupted once again when you hurriedly kicked the ground and closed the distance separating you both, raising your leg to kick Edgar’s torso. Jumping sideway to avoid being hit, Edgar clenched his fists, not sure how much strength to put into his attacks in order not to hurt you in your frenzy state, but your relentless attacks did not leave him much space to be careful. Choosing to be on the defensive, the Jack of Hearts endured every single hit you aimed his way, only using his knife to ward off the dangerous steel of your dagger as he patiently waited for his chance to knock you unconscious.

“Well, well, isn’t this spectacularly boring?” The woman clicked her tongue in annoyance, her red lips twisting in irritation. Crossing her arms across her chest, she barked out an order.

“I’m getting sleepy just watching this wretched show. Hey, you slut, put an end to all of this, will you?”

The words, dripping in venom, were barely out of the lady’s dyed lips when your face grew deadly pale, blood draining from your cheeks as black veins started to appear from your neck up to your jaw. You clutched your head between your hands as you brutally ripped chunks of your hair off your head, screaming in agonizing pain as blood seeped from your eyes, dripping into the ground.

Edgar was not even able to breathe out your name, when your dagger was suddenly coming out to slice his throat open. He jumped again, but another kick followed soon, connecting successfully with his back pushing his further towards the edge of the cliff. Edgar dug his heels on the ground to stop the momentum of his body, but he barely had the time to turn around and face you properly when your entire body slammed into his, pushing you both off the edge. Edgar’s first instinct was to grab your waist, enveloping you in his arms. Chances of both of you surviving were close to none, but if he can use his own body as a shield to lessen the impact of the fall on you, then he would do so.

Edgar was fully prepared for you to struggle and trash in his hold, still under the control of that monster, yet, when there were only few seconds left until you both slammed into the ocean raging underneath you, Edgar’s eyes locked with your own. Your eyes, no longer an endless abyss of darkness, now shone with tears as you looked up to your lover, his name on the tip of your tongue as the waves enveloped you both.

Just as the pain overwhelmed his senses, Edgar tightened his hold on you, protecting your body from the harsh impact with the water.

It’s okay, was Edgar’s last thought.

Dying together also meant being together.

And that did not seem all that bad.

I hope you enjoyed it!

#ikemen revolution #edgar bright #do i feel the need to kill edgar in every single request?#highly possible!!#please note that he is my second favorite in the game and that i'm making my own self suffer as well!#...#why am I doing this to myself again?

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desk216 · 5 years

Text

The Corona Incident, Prologue

Memorandum

Date: 11:03:07

To : <REDACTED>

From : <REDACTED>

Subject: Corona incident

As part of our committee's investigation of damaged realities, we have collected several accounts from the dimensions of “Solstice” and “Wispshire”.

These two stories, describing the origin of the self styled “new four” may be of interest to you.

Weak. Starved. Exhausted. Alone in the dark, trapped deep underground in a swirling vortex of black sand, the being known as the Boogeyman knelt. For hundreds of years, he had waited, storing his power and preparing for the day when he would rise up to break the Moon’s dominion and usher in a new reign of fear upon the world. His plans had been perfect, his army unstoppable, his foes weak and divided. And yet, he had failed. He had FAILED! Despite all his planning, all his preparations, his defeat had been brought about by Jack Frost, a novice guardian who had cared about nothing but idle pranks and mischief the day before. The boy had been stripped of his powers, left alone and despairing in the bottom of an Antarctic canyon, but even that somehow hadn’t been enough. Frost had somehow managed to single handedly recover his magic, rally the guardians around the last child, and restore belief in the Four. Now it would be decades, if not centuries, before there would be enough fear to free himself, and even longer before his power would reach even a shadow of what it had once been. Again, he cursed Frost, and the meddling children who destroyed his nightmare army.

The ground trembled, and Pitch Black raised his head. He could feel it, a glorious wave of terror, as though the Moon itself had shuddered. His prison began to shift, and he could feel the stone around him cracking and tearing apart as thousands upon thousands of children cried out in terror. As the tremors continued, Pitch rose upwards on a pillar of sand, splitting the layers of rock and soil above him as he drove his way to the surface. Waves of wonderful panic came to him, and he drank it in like a man dying from thirst. The surface of the earth bulged, then erupted, and the master of fear burst free from his confinement.

Pitch stared up into the dark sky and laughed. Somehow, impossibly, he had gained years of power in the matter of a few moments. He thrust out his arms, and monsters of dark sand ripped themselves into existence, their forms shifting and twisting into the form of childhood terrors, before racing outward in search of dreams to devour and corrupt. As he watched them go, Pitch smiled, staring up at the moon in triumph.

“Welcome back, Boogeyman” A calm, dignified voice split the air behind him. Pitch whirled around to see an armored figure standing with crossed arms and a massive blade hanging on its back. “I hope that you are well?”

Pitch bared his teeth and snarled. A dozen of his Nightmares returned, racing around him in a ring of darkness and awaiting the command to strike. “Who are you, stranger?” he demanded, “and how is it that you are able to see me?”

“I am the one who summoned the tremors that freed you from your tomb. I am the one who has provided you with a feast of the fear that you depend on. I am the one who built this world itself, writing it from the ether.” the being said. Behind its mask, red eyes seemed to glow with a malicious light. “But in the end, only one thing about who I am matters to you, and that is that I am the one whom you will now address as ‘Master’.”

“I have no idea how you found me, or where you learned the source of my power. If you truly are the one who freed me, then I thank you, friend.” Pitch said. “However, I very much doubt that you are the creator of the world, and as for your last demand...” Pitch smiled, raising his hands as the nightmares tensed. “No one can truly control Fear.” His scythe dropped into his waiting grasp, and his minions charged forwards.

The being seemed to smile at the attack. As the first of the monsters, a skeletal panther, raced forwards. Mere seconds before the Nightmare could strike, the being’s form became translucent, letting the monster pass straight through its body. It then reverted to solid form, casually spinning to decapitate the disoriented nightmare as it attempted to change direction. The next two, in the form of armored trolls, approached simultaneously, raising dark axes above their heads. With a contemptuous air, the figure raised a hand, and an ear splitting blast of sound ripped them to shreds. The remaining trio of Nightmares continued advancing, but the figure simply pointed, and electricity arced from monster to monster, vaporizing all three.

Pitch gasped in astonishment as he watched his attack force disintegrated in a matter of seconds. He attempted to flee, summoning a shadowy mount, but beams of energy struck the beast, incinerating it instantly. The being lashed out with its sword, and Pitch barely had time to summon a shield before it slammed into him, sending him sliding several meters.

As the being advanced, Pitch clambered to his feet and reformed his scythe. He swung at his opponent, the dark blade moving with a speed that no human could hope to withstand. The being smiled, and dropped its sword . The air seemed to turn to molasses around Pitch’s body, and he watched in horror as his motion slowed to a crawl. The being placed a single finger against the scythe, halting the pathetic attack a centimeter before it landed.

“Enough games.” the figure growled. It seized the scythe by the shaft, and the weapon vaporized instantly, knocking Pitch off his feet. Pitch tried to scramble backwards, but a metal hand clamped down on his leg, and he groaned, feeling his newfound energy being ripped away. Weak, defenseless, the Boogeyman looked into the glowing eyes of his foe, and for the first time, felt the hopeless terror that he had so often inflicted in his victims.

“I do not wish to repeat this performance” the being said. “You cannot defeat me, you will never have the slightest hope of doing so. I could annihilate your pitiful existence this instant, and the only reason I do not is because you may still become a useful servant. Have I made myself clear?” Pitch desperately nodded his head. The figure straightened, retrieving the fallen sword, and Pitch felt his energies slowly returning.

"I permit you to continue seeking the destruction of the ones known as the Guardians” the being said. “However, you will remain continuously at my call, and will perform any task that I demand. In addition, another of my servants shall remain with you at all times, as a precaution against any more meaningless attempts to rebel.”

Pitch stood, surveying the night sky. “And tell me, what do you have to offer me if I do agree to submit to you?” he asked.

The figure sneered at him. “What do I offer you, worm? You speak as though I were asking.” he said. “However, serve me well, and you will be rewarded with my aid in your trivial war. As a sign of my favor, I give you the following tokens.” A massive centipede slithered out from under the being’s armor. Decorated in twisting shades of red and gold, it screeched as it crawled upwards, settling on Pitch’s right arm. “Do not worry about what this is called, for its name would be meaningless to you. However, as long as is close, it will allow you to invoke incapacitating fear in any save myself.”

“In addition,” the being continued, “it will ensure that I have constant watch over your actions. If you make some deluded attempt to undermine me, I will know instantly.” The creature wound its way up Pitch’s arm, and settled around his neck. “I assure you, if you should be so foolish as to attempt this, I will not show mercy a second time. Do you understand?” Pitch nodded slightly. “Say it!” the being demanded.

“If I attempt to betray you, or resist your orders, my life will be forfeit” Pitch muttered in defeat.

The figure then extended a hand, and a small book materialized. “As a second gift, I offer you access to another world, free of the Guardians’ meddling.” it said. “You may travel here at your whim, but be aware that the door this book opens will not close behind you.”

“Go now” the being ordered. “When I have need of your service, you will know.” With that, it opened the book, stretched its other hand towards the page, and dissolved into a shower of golden sparks.

#destinies entangled #corona incident #big four #jackunzel

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dukeofishgard · 6 years

Text

This is an add-on to the ask from here which was about a secret journal/diary. I decided it’d be a fun... writing exercise to write out an entry from said secret journal. So this is actually the very first entry he ever wrote in it!

Just as a forewarning, this involves a lot of presumable trigger warnings. Blood/Hallucinations/Injuries etc etc, juuuust a warning. Anyway, this also reveals some things from Duke’s past that... really nobody icly, nobody actually knows about. Specifically A Person that nobody knows about I hope ya’ll... enjoy reading it? It’s really sad tho, I’m sorry. If you like Duke, you’ll probably be a bit sad reading this.

[The date is faded from this entry, but if one can make out the last remaining vestiges of ink - they would be able to discern this was written around the Sixth Astral Era, long long ago.]

Four months... It's been... four months... since they died... and four months since my agony at their deaths led me to seek what lies at the bottom of Witchdrop. But where others met their deaths... I only met my Sins who kept me company those long four months as I so pitifully crawled my way back to the bitter cold of Coerthas. I can still feel how my spine splintered as I fell against the cold ground- how my skull caved in and bones broke skin, splattering my blood against the untouched snow beneath my crumpled body. How it excited the voidsent that lurked amongst the darkness... and yet they never once bothered me. Perhaps they recognized me as one of their own? Am I one of them? What manner of monster have I become that not even Voidsent would touch such a seemingly easy prey?

Perhaps it was Them, that kept the Voidsent at bay. I was not to be the prey of those monsters, but instead the prey of the my Sins, awaiting to judge me. First it was the two of them that came to judge me... my beloved Minette and Alitte. How fitting they would die and be taken from me on the same day - the two who I had found together, huddled in the bitter cold of Coerthas and who I sheltered and loved as though I had born them from my own seed. "Father... Father why aren't you here with us? We miss you, it's so cold... and dark where we are..." One moment they would be the children I raised so lovingly, their faces full of youth and childlike happiness- then the next twisted with age, snarling at me in rage.Their flesh rotting off their faces, falling into the snow so I could see the bones of their jaws work as they shouted their hidden confessions of hatred towards me. I thought I could cry no harder than I had the day they passed, but as I crawled to a nearby crevice to shelter my broken body - I felt my throat begin to rip and bleed from my sobs.

Perhaps, I thought, I was simply more resilient than most. Perhaps I was to give myself the finishing blow to end my misery. It took a week before I could have enough control over my fingers to wrap them around the blade I had in my belt, and another night before I could bring my shattered arm up to bring the blade against my throat. As the knife cut into flesh, and I began to gurgle out what I believed to be my last words- I thought to myself At last, I can know peace. "How foolish are you? Know peace, after what you did?"

I did not wish to open my eyes, I knew that voice - a voice that resonated so deeply inside my heart even after such time had passed since I had said goodbye for the final time. I knew that there was no possible reason I could be hearing that voice at that moment, that it was surely another punishment to torment me in my final, dying moments. And yet, my eyes betrayed me- opening up to see him standing before me. Wearing the dirtied and rotten rags of the beggar he had been forced to become. And yet he how angelic he still looked to me - those blue eyes glittering with that same mischief I fell in love with.

It was all I could do to reach out a hand as the blood spilled from my mouth, trying to babble out my regrets, my sorrows... to weep in front of him and beg for forgiveness so we could be together in death at last. "Suffer for me. Suffer for me as I suffered for ten years in a jail cell for you. And for what? What were your words to me? 'Leave me. I love you no longer?' This is a pittance compared to the anguish you caused me." As tears began to spill down my face, he crouched near me- and at first I thought he was to be as tender to me as he once was. That he would wipe the tears from my face, cradle me as he did so long ago. Forgive me, I begged in my mind, I thought I was protecting you by turning you away, my love. But instead of forgiveness his face twisted to that of disgust, of hatred, "She may have pushed me... the one who caused my neck to snap and my blood to be spilled. But you killed me far before she ever laid hands on me, didn't you Lucien?" I wanted to scream, but all I could was stare in horror at the phantom in front of me - feeling my eyes bulge out of my skull as I bled out. And yet still my misery would not end. How long did I stay conscious? Watching the man I loved, the man I forced to his death - taunt me for my failure to protect him? Etienne, oh my beloved Etienne... can you see me weeping even now as I write these words? Will you ever forgive me for those words I spoke that day? The words that would lead you to despair, and lead you right into her trap? Even if you could... how could I ever forgive myself after seeing your broken and shattered body carried back to Ishgard? And knowing it was her rage with me that forced her hands to shove you to your doom? ...I've been given eternal life and I do not think even in eternity could I ever repent for what became of you... [...] I woke up some time later, though I have no way of telling how long I had been mercifully unconscious. Days? Weeks? Months? Who knows but the Fury herself.

When I awoke, I was alone at first. Just myself and the ever lurking presence of the voidsent that called Witchdrop their home. So not even this will end my misery, I thought as I sought to grasp the knife I had used to slit my throat. The wound had not yet completely closed up, but the bleeding had stopped and the skin had begun to itch unbearably. My wounds from my fall, they too had begun to miraculously heal- bones knitting back together - my skull was no longer caved in and digging into the flesh of my brain. I cannot stay here then. I will not find my peace amongst the ghosts that linger in this hell. "You don't wish to stay with us Father?" "You turn your back on me, again Lucien?" "...What a disgraceful son... how selfish and unrepetant to live on while we suffer in Hell." Please. Please. I want to be with you all, I cried out, fingers digging into the snow and dirt as I began to drag my broken and defeated body through the darkness. "Never." Never? "You will never be with them, my love. My beloved. My one, my only. You belong to me. To me, and only me. And you will never know peace, you will never know the love of another. How could you? I did this for you, so you would know that you shall never be happy unless you are with me. Shall I show you, my beloved Lucien?" I tried to shut my eyes, to block out the vision. To block out her, the harbringer and mastermind of the misery in my life - who even in death was now ensuring my continued suffering. "Daddy!" How cruel of her to use them. "Daddy please!" Blood... so much blood... she was slitting their throats in front of me. Her black eyes glittering with madness as she shoved their corpses in my path, their dead eyes staring at me accusingly as I screamed into the emptiness of the chasm. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. "Lucien, I loved you... I loved you and you said you loved me, please. Please, you can stop this. If only you had just-" More blood. Those beautiful blue eyes that once drowned me in love, empty and dead. Blonde hair stained red, lips moving as he took his last gasps of air, speaking only words of spite and anguish. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I loved you, I always loved you. I just wanted to protect you. How was I to know? "Have you had enough yet, my dearest? How many shall be ripped from you before you repent?" Never. Never. "Never? Oh, but we have eternity my love..." It felt like an eternity crawling back up the path back into the wilderness of Coerthas. I collapsed against the snow, barely able to even breathe as I lay there. My body was parched, a desolate waste of a man. Around me circled wolves, waiting to see if I would I die and be easy pickings for a good nights meal. It took every ounce of strength in me to push myself up- pulling free the bloodied dagger from my belt once more and aiming it at one of them - striking it in the neck where it collapsed, twitching in the snow. The others scattered immediately, running to hide among the trees as I crawled over. I am ashamed to admit what I did next, but I had no other choice but to tear the flesh from the creature to slake both my thirst and hunger. I wept as I ate, feeling disgust as I watched the animals white fur become matted with blood. What have I become? I gorged too much, and quickly became ill- expelling the contents from my shriveled stomach back onto the snow, and wept once more at the waste. A waste of a beautiful creature. Perhaps it would have been better if I had been the meal. I am not sure how long I laid there until a patrol from the nearby camp found me. At first they believed me to be dead until I managed to form the words to beg for help. As they wrapped me in blankets to bring me back to Ishgard, they informed me how long I had been missing, and asked what had happened. Thankfully they took my blabbering as that of a malnourished sickened creature, and heeded none of my explanations. And now here I am, a week later and writing it down for no one's record but my own. They say it is Halone's blessing that I survived both the fall and the weeks of being alone out in the wilderness. But it is not a blessing. It is a curse. I should be dead - my children should have been buried after me. And yet, I look nothing as they did on their deathbeds - decrepit and old. I look as youthful as I always have... and why? Why do fatal wounds heal as though they were simply a minor nuisance? Why have I yet to age like my comrades? To die like them? It is these questions that torment my mind, and the words she spoke in Witchdrop. While I believe the others to be phantoms of my tortured mind... the way she spoke, the way she appeared seemed different. Though she is as dead as the others... her words somehow were... clear... hinting at something... I thought back to the day she died. A pitiful creature she had become- a woman who once was a sought after beauty- turned into a rabid husk of a woman. And yet, she seemed oddly at peace with her own death. As though she knew something others did not. I thought her last words were nothing, just the mad words of dying woman but now I...I... fear they were more... "Death cannot keep us apart, Lucien. I have met Death and he has no claim over either of us any longer. Ours is a love that cannot be pulled apart... You are mine, now and forever." The words of a dying, obsessed woman, I thought. After these words I am free of her hold forever. ...I am beginning to think I was horribly wrong. What did she do? I wonder. That could make a man's body refuse death's welcoming embrace? The first night I felt well enough - I stuck a blade through my chest. I felt it pierce the flesh of my heart, watched as the blood bubbled out of the wound and felt myself drift off... but it was only moment later that I felt my heart beat again - same as it always has. I am a man that cannot die. I thought as the knife clattered to the floor. The longer I stay here, the more I am haunted by the memories of those that have left me. I cannot stay here any longer. Every hallway I walk in, I can hear the laughter of my children. The roses I tend to, remind me of the love that once shone in his eyes. I cannot stay in Ishgard. I shall leave, and search for some manner of death to take my soul. If it takes a hundred blades piercing my body I shall endeavor to make it two hundred just to be sure. My only companion shall be the pages I am writing on, I fear for anyone who comes close to me. I am a wretched monster that must be purged, and I will not allow others to be tainted. Signed. The Duke Lucien de- [the rest of the name is far too faded to be discerned.]

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #the duke #Sad RP stuff #people tend to assume Duke's like mentally sound cos he's a nice person #and they tend to gloss over the fact that he's a thousand years old and has been unable to die #and has been forced to watch countless people he loves die #his mental state can best be described as carefully walking a tightrope between sanity and insanity

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vibraniom · 7 years

Text

Unconventional

Includes: Frank Castle x reader, fluff, blood/injuries, and angst.

Brief Synopsis: You witness what Frank does as the Punisher for the first time when he saves you from a life-threatening situation near the dumpster.

Word Count: 2,310

A/N: I wanted to write a Castle fic once I finished the second season of Daredevil, but I was so worried about doing his character justice because I love how dynamic he is on the show. I’m just hoping I did a decent job.

The shrill voice of a reporter on the news greeted you when you woke, the brightness of the television screen across the room stinging your sleepy eyes. You squeezed your lids shut to block out the harsh light as you felt for the remote blindly and jabbed the power button once you’d found it on the floor.

Without the noise of the television, you could hear nothing except for Frank’s breathing as he lay asleep beside you on the worn couch, his chest rising and falling steadily against your spine. You used his left bicep as a pillow, and the rest of his arm wrapped around your head so that he could thread his fingers through your hair. He had his other arm draped over your torso, loosely gripping your wrist with his hand.

You were glad that he agreed not to go out that night, appreciating the normalcy of eating dinner together and falling asleep next to one another. Usually, Frank didn’t come home until two or three in the morning, and he always returned with more bruises than he’d left with.

You didn’t want to move, but your throat scratched from thirst as you swallowed. Carefully, you pried Frank’s fingers from your wrist, though he slept lightly and even that slight movement caused him to stir. His body tensed, and he used the arm around your waist to tug you closer.

“Where’re you going?” Frank mumbled against your neck, placing a lazy kiss below your jaw.

“I just want to get some water. I’ll be right back,” you explained.

Instead of responding, Frank loosened his hold to let you get up from the sofa. Before you stood, you pressed your lips to the bruise at the corner of his eye, eliciting a soft grunt from him.

Frank’s dog, Max, followed at your heels as you trudged over to the tiny kitchen in your apartment, snatched a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. Max stretched himself out on the tile at your feet while you leaned against the countertop, taking small sips from your cup. Absently, you watched Frank as he drifted off again, his features so at ease that he was hardly recognizable. What he did during the late hours of the night wasn’t exactly conventional or morally right by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t convince yourself to stop loving him for everything else that he hid beneath his hard exterior.

Just as you finished the last drop of water in your glass, your nose caught an awful stench that you traced to the garbage can. You groaned, temporarily trading your love of Frank for annoyance because he forgot to take out the trash. If you left it for the morning, the whole apartment would stink of the meal you cooked for dinner, so you tied the bag, slipped on a pair of shoes and padded down the stairs to the first floor.

Frank had told you never to leave the apartment building at night a while ago, but you thought nothing of it, figuring you would be okay since the dumpster was just outside the door.

You opened the door far enough to fit the bag through and winged it into the metal bin, but someone seized your forearm before you could slip back inside, pulling you out into the alley. The man held you against him, slapping a hand over your mouth after you released a scream. You thrashed without any real idea of how to get him off of you, but your head eventually whipped back into his, disorienting him enough that he let go.

You fell to the damp ground and quickly got to your feet, your limbs shaking with adrenaline as you bolted for the door. Just when your fingertips brushed the handle, the man grabbed a fistful of your shirt from behind, yanking so hard that you fell backward. Your skull banged into the dumpster, both it and your head ringing from the impact. You cried out as your attacker picked you up off of the concrete, one of his muscled arms wrapped tightly around your middle while the other held a knife at your throat.

“Make another move and I will kill you,” the man growled into your ear, pressing the blade into your skin to emphasize his words. “Do you understand?”

You nodded, stifling a sob as tears blurred your vision.

Frank then exited the building, his jaw clenching in anger at the sight before him. He held a black handgun, his knuckles white as he aimed the weapon at the man behind you.

“Let her go,” Frank demanded gruffly, his voice unforgiving and frighteningly stoic.

Your attacker merely laughed, the vibrations of his chest sending a chill down your spine. “Well, if it isn't the notorious Punisher.”

Frank took a step forward, switching off the gun’s safety. “Get your hands off her.”

Suddenly, the man readjusted the knife, plunging the blade at least an inch into the skin directly below your clavicle. You yelled when you felt the burning pain, the wound pulsing with blood. Frank flinched, his facial muscles contorting as he struggled to hold himself back, knowing any reaction from him may result in your death.

“I think you're forgetting who has the upper hand here, Castle,” the man taunted, twisting the knife in your flesh before pulling it out, probably to find another place to stab you and further provoke Frank.

That was when Frank took the shot, the bullet just barely missing you as it sunk into the center of the man’s forehead. His blood sprayed the side of your face and caught in your hair as he fell backward, bringing you down with him. At some point, the knife in his hand dragged against the skin of your upper arm, though you didn't notice the cut as you scrambled away from his lifeless body.

You knew Frank had killed people before, but you had never witnessed it with your own eyes. Your whole body trembled as you glanced over your shoulder at the dead man, noticing the blood that pooled around his head like an unorthodox halo.

One of your shaking hands moved to cover your mouth, suppressing a scream. Frank kneeled in front of you, holding your head in both of his hands to force you to look at him instead of your attacker. His lips moved, but you couldn't hear what he said.

Finally, you came to your senses when Frank murmured, “Y/N, baby, I need to get you back inside.”

You didn't respond as he slipped his arm under your knees and wrapped the other around your shoulders to carry you up to the apartment you shared with him. He immediately took you into the bedroom and deposited you on the bed, Max leaping up onto the mattress to keep you company while Frank searched for the medical kit. With your good arm, you pushed yourself up so that you could lean your back against the headboard, and Frank’s dog lay beside you, warming your leg with the heat of his body. You pet him to distract yourself from the pain, closing your eyes to focus only on the repetitive movement of your hand as it brushed over his short, gray hairs.

Frank returned with what he needed to stitch you up, and you would’ve laughed at the irony of the situation if you hadn’t just witnessed a murder. Normally, you were to one who had to patch his wounds, but the roles were reversed for a change.

Frank sat on the edge of the bed as you slowly pulled your shirt off, struggling to find the least painful way of going about it, and he eventually had to help. Blood soaked the cami you wore underneath, and the wound in your chest hadn’t yet clotted.

“Shit, Y/N. I told you never to leave late at night. You didn’t listen to me, you never do.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied weakly, every excuse that you could come up with dying on your tongue. You didn’t want to argue with him, not at that moment.

Neither of you said anything more as Frank began to clean and stitch your injuries. Aside from your occasional response to the pulses of pain his work caused, you remained detached from the present, unable to keep what happened in the alley from your mind. The sound of the gunshot resonated in your skull, and your skin crawled at the feeling of someone else’s blood on you. Your own blood looked no different from your attacker’s, but it somehow felt different. The drops that had sprayed your face seemed to burn your skin, and you were itching to take a shower.

Frank must have seen the blankness in your eyes, for he whispered your name to coax you back to reality. Your gaze met his, the expression on his face contrasting the way he looked when he killed that man. His brow had been furrowed in concentration, his features lacking the remorse you currently saw in them as he sat beside you on the bed.

“Hey, are you with me?” Frank asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. Red coated his hands, but he had already finished stitching you up while you were lost in thought.

You drew in a shaky breath and nodded as Frank leaned his forehead against yours. You felt the urge to distract yourself from what you experienced in the alley, so you crashed your lips into his, Frank’s body stiffening in surprise. Your heartbeat became more erratic; not from desire, but from something else entirely—fear. You tried to convince yourself that you were being ridiculous, though the emotion was unmistakable. Frank must have detected it too, for he soon pulled out of the kiss, appearing to be just as confused as you were.

“Y/N-”

“I’m going to shower,” you interrupted, unwilling to explain the shifts in your emotions because you couldn't even make sense of them yourself.

You left Frank and made your way into the bathroom, peeling off your blood-stained clothes hurriedly. You hissed when the water slid over the stitches on both your arm and chest, but started to wash the blood off anyway. Once you were clean, you stood under the spray, hoping it would provide some clarity as it always does in countless books and movies, but it never came.

When you stepped out of the shower, fresh clothes waited for you by the sink, and even though you were completely clean, you could not put the incident behind you. You were not even the one to commit murder, and yet, you felt guilty. How Frank managed to kill so many people while still being the man that you loved, you didn’t know.

You exited the bathroom to find Frank sitting on the side of the bed that faced you, his forearms braced on his thighs as he looked up.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Frank apologized.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left the apartment.”

“If I took out the garbage when you told me, it wouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he countered. He paused for a moment, then loosed a short laugh as he added, “Maybe we need to start listening to each other more often.”

His comment brought a smile to your lips, albeit a weak one. It soon fell from your face, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as the weight of the night’s events returned to your shoulders.

Even though you weren't looking at Frank, you could feel his eyes on you, interpreting as much as he could from your body language.

After a moment, he said, “You don’t like what I do—I get that—but if I hadn't taken the shot, you'd be dead. I couldn't live with myself if I let that happen.”

“I know, I know. It's just- I can't get it out of my head,” you clarified, a lump rising in your throat. You were unable to tell if it was produced from the need to cry or to vomit, but you would not have been surprised if it were both. Either way, you swallowed it, knowing neither of the two possibilities would be pleasant.

Another bout of uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you until Frank uttered, “Do you still love me?”

“What?” you said incredulously, shocked that he actually had to ask that. “Of course I do. You saved my life. Why would that snuff out what I feel for you?”

“Well, that didn't seem to be the case when you kissed me earlier.”

“I wasn't afraid of you, Frank,” you assured him. “All of this has me worried that one day you’ll be the one with a bullet in your head, or maybe killing one more person will send you over the edge. When I kissed you, I feared that I might lose you.”

He shook his head, running his hands over his short hair. “I never asked you to worry about me.”

“How could I not?”

Frank’s eyes drifted to the ground, and he started wringing his hands, preparing to say something. “Maybe we should end this, Y/N.”

You moved from the bathroom doorway to sit beside Frank, taking one of his callused hands in yours. “I knew what I was getting myself into from the beginning. Besides, who's gonna stitch up your wounds when I'm gone?”

Frank genuinely laughed, meeting your gaze as he used his free hand to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “If I remember correctly, I had to stitch you up tonight.”

“Well, it seems we both need each other around.”

Frank then tugged at the back of your neck, and when your lips connected with his, your heart beat for all the right reasons.

Thank you for reading! Feedback is much appreciated. Also, if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know.

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quiddy-writes · 7 years

Text

Star Cross’d - Part 4

Can I just say that I love reading everyone’s reactions? Like y’all are hitting on things I never even thought of when I was writing it, it’s fascinating and I love it. Hope I don’t disappoint! xD

Also, also, ALSO: I totally stole the idea for the beginning of this chapter from Saxxy and her The Blessed and the Cursed series, so all the credit ro her! And go check out her series! It’s fantastical!

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader Words: 1110ish Summary: Some shit is revealed Warnings: Swearing Other Parts: Masterlist

Dean’s breath was long since gone. He was down by the river, gathering more water for the camp. Which he had done several minutes prior.

But, damn, after his realization and being around her with her being all her and smelling like heaven—he was only a man.

So, he had volunteered to go down to the nearby river and refill their waterskins, desperate for a moment alone. He had filled them up as soon as he knelt by the river, then placed them all on the bank to allow the river water to try and cool the water inside them.

Then he was free to do as he wished.

He had pulled himself free of his pants within moments, stroking himself to completion to images of her begging for his knot. It was the fastest he’d ever come, imagining the heat from his hand wrapped around his cock was her heat.

He stared down at the white spot on the ground as he tried to catch his breath, finally pushing himself back into his pants. He washed his hands in the river and grabbed the waterskins and head back to camp.

Y/N was asleep, curled up by the fire, facing him, whereas Sam was sitting against a tree with his back facing his brother.

Dean walked up, announcing his presence with a simple, “Heya Sammy. Sleeping Beauty out already?”

Sam nodded. “She tried to wait up for you, but you took a long time.”

“Guess I was daydreaming and lost track of time,” the elder Winchester shrugged.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean,” he sighed heavily. “You couldn't wait until we were done with this job?”

The elder Winchester frowned. “Leave me alone, Sammy.”

“Seriously?! You spend some time around an Omega and you need to go off and pop your knot?!”

“Leave me alone, Sammy.”

“Dean, you know we need this money. This is more important than you laying with the first Omega to cross your path!”

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean growled out, shocking his brother. “It's not like that!”

Sam threw a glance towards Y/N as she lay stock still, unperturbed by their slowly rising voices. “What do you mean?”

Dean was breathing heavily, the faintest trace of her on the wind, and he was trying to drink it all in like it was water and he was a man dying of thirst. “She's…” he began. “She's mine, Sam.”

Hazel eyes widened, and Sam's breath caught in his throat. “She's yours? Your true mate?”

Dean’s whole body sagged with his sigh. “Yeah,” he confessed.

Sam smiled. “That's...that's wonderful, Dean!”

That surprised the oldest brother. “What? How?”

“If she's really your true mate, then everything will be fine,” Sam grinned. “They cannot harm you or her if you claim her.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I refuse to claim her.”

Sam frowned. “What is wrong with you? Why not?”

Green eyes focused on the bear skin wrapped around the taller Winchester. “We couldn’t protect Jess,” he says.

Sam’s face turned stony. “Do not use her as an argument. My…my failure is not yours.”

“‘M sorry, Sammy, I—”

He waved Dean off, obviously upset and trying to hide it. “Dean…she was mine. And I would never, ever have given her up.”

Dean sighed heavily. “She’ll be happier in her fancy palace than in our home, living hand to mouth and bein’ feared by everyone.”

“No she won’t, and you know it.”

“She’ll be safe. People hate us, and I’m not putting a fucking target on her back.”

Sam frowned, “You have three more days to stop being a fool.” With that, he crawled onto his bed roll and turned his back on his brother.

Dean felt the frustration fill him and had to fight the urge to kick something. Instead, he curled up on his own and bundled his cloak into a pillow. He even studiously ignored the fact that her scent was already fading and that that made falling asleep that much harder.

Even during summer, Y/N was much too hot.

She was once again on Pala, riding the beautiful mare as the brothers walked beside her. The sun was beating down on them, and the men were sweating lightly, compared to her sweating buckets.

She, however, was curled up on the horse, resting her head on Pala’s neck as they walked along. Her stomach felt queasy, which was her only saving grace. As long as she felt queasy and not crampy, everything was fine. And everything had to be fine. She couldn’t go into her heat when she’s alone with two Alphas in the middle of an nigh-impenetrable forest.

She was breathing heavily, but trying to ignore the brother’s scents on the wind. Sam smelled like sandalwood and earth and it was great and all, but Dean’s scent, ever since that first night, had been plaguing her mind, slowly blocking out every thought.

And he had been acting strange too.

He’d been acting like he had to protective.

Sam was trying to keep her safe, of course, and that showed every time an unfamiliar sound broke the silence and his hand was suddenly gripping his sword. He was kind and sweet and she was forming a deep friendship with the man.

But Dean took it a step further.

He seemed to always be touching her and she was sure that she’d caught him trying to scent her on the wind at least once. He even acted strangely when Sam tried to talk to her, as though that was somehow an affront.

As she rested her head against Pala’s thick neck and watched Dean and his brother chat, she smiled. Just the sound of his voice was making her feel better already. She watched his thick legs, bowed by the same horse she rode herself, carry the confident ranger, the crossbow slung over his shoulder.

She noticed Sam had caught her staring at his brother and she flushed at being caught. He simply smiled and even winked at her, which made her confused. He didn’t seem worried or angry like he had been when he found them huddling for warmth. Why would he even encourage her crush?

Y/N felt her face flush even more and she sighed heavily. It was just a crush and she was soon to be married…to a Beta. Not the stupidly handsome Alpha who smelled better than anything and made her feel like the most beautiful creature in the world with just a glance and made her laugh without trying.

Her crush didn’t need encouragement, she realized, because it was already too late. She was in love with Dean Winchester.

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brazen-bloodshed · 4 years

Text

I AM LOOKING FOR A DIRECTOR FOR THIS SCRIPT!

“Darkness in Heaven”

written by Tatiana Strange

Characters:

Gabriel Boyles: Vampire

Carmen Rausch: His neigbour

Stanislova: Gabriel´s immortal enemy

Nadia: The mate of Stanislova

Stockard: Bartender/ friend

Frasnel Jean: Victim ( One of many...)

Scene I.

In a London night club, remixed retro music is playing loudly, animating the guests. Disco lights flash wildly as the crowd dances. A dark figure stands at the bar and looks at the crowd solemnly. His dark, cold eyes narrow at the sight of one particular man, Frasnel Jean.

The individual that his gaze is fixed upon is a young, Congolese man with a wicked gleam in his eyes and a charming smile. As he moves through the crowd, his expressions are seductive but shallow. Every gesture a manipulation, inviting and deceitful. He is on the hunt for men who are desperate or inexperienced. Gabriel knows his methods well. He has been watching him.

Their eyes meet.

Frasnel stops and looks him over before slowly moving towards him. Gabriel smiles at the young man.

Frasnel is certain that he has yet another fly trapped in his web.

Frasnel takes Gabriel to his apartment on Bromhall Road. The place is shabby.

As Frasnel walks towards the bar, Gabriel seductively removes his shirt. Frasnel mixes two strong drinks and secretly places a mixture of sedatives into Gabriel´s glass. This is how he usually poisoned his victims before brutally raping them while they were unconscious. Ordinary sex was too dull for him.

Gabriel pretends not to notice this as he moves towards him. As Frasnel turns around, he is met with a passionate kiss and a strangely chilling embrace. He does not notice the small, sharp blade that Gabriel has tucked between his fingers.

Faster than human perception can process the movements, Gabriel slits his dark-skinned throat. Blood spurts from the wound as Gabriel swiftly devours the warm, red blood ebbing from his body. Frasnel struggles desperately to free himself from the vampire´s grasp, squirming franticly, unable to scream as he gasps for air.

Gabriel gulps down each swallow with delicious satisfaction, pressing Frasnel´s dying body to his own firmly, his grip that of superhuman strength.

As Frasnel goes limp with death, Gabriel slowly ceases his feasting. He then drops the lifeless corpse to the floor, letting it land with a dull thud, his thirst slated.

Gabriel then calmly turns away, leaving him on the floor like rubbish.

After removing all traces of his person from the man´s apartment, he leaves silently without arousing suspicion.

As Gabriel makes his way home on foot his narration begins.

( As he reveals his tale, his memories are shown like a silent film from the 20´s in black and white)

“I wasn´t always like this.

There was a time when I was human just like everyone else. I spent my days working in an office, walking my dogs on the beach and hanging around with my folks in our home in Maryland.

The night that I became this heartless beast I was at a place that I should not have been and had I known what would come, I surely would not have gone.

I was at a bar near the coast that I had never been to. It was dark and enticing with the promise of romantic adventure. There were beautiful women everywhere and two of them seemed to take a liking to me.

They were Russian girls with beautiful, fierce eyes that moved over me hungrily. One was named Stanislova and the other was Nadia- two names that are ingrained in my mind forever.

Many drinks flowed and I was so busy admiring their beauty that I did not notice the coolness of their skin and the fact that they took not a single sip of the drinks that were served.

Soon, I was drunk off my ass. The two women took me to motel nearby. At first it seemed like a dream come true being pleasured by two women who could have passed for models. That was exactly how it felt until I slid inside of Stanislova. There was a coldness to her that was simply unnatural. In the moment that I noticed this with shock, she smiled at me with gleaming white, sharp fangs.

They attacked me like cobras, Stanilova tearing into my shoulder while Nadia bit into my thigh. Stanislova pressed her cold hand over my mouth as I tried to scream. They held me down and drained me of my life with each greedy gulp. I felt myself become weak, unable to struggle, unable to stop them until the blackness of death overcame me.

I don´t remember much of how I awakened. I know that I found myself naked on a table, surrounded by corpses with a tag on my toe: John Doe, Deceased August 10, 1980.

When I sat up and read the tag on my toe, a morgue employee saw me. He then yelped and ran out of the room.

A hysterical panic gripped me as I realised where I was. I jumped off the table and searched for clothing. After I found a white lab coat, I put this on and ran out of the building.

I was unaware of it but I ran into the night with the unnatural speed of the undead. My senses were flooded with the sounds and smells of the city as I ran. Everything was magnified with my new vampiric perception. The lights hurt my eyes, I could hear things from far away. I ran until I found myself in a more familiar part of town.

There, I stopped to catch my breath until I realised that I was not in need of oxygen.

As I looked around, I saw that the world had changed completely. The darkness was more clear to me than ever before. The odours of grass, plants, and trees were more rich and unfortunately the smell of food and car exhaust nauseating.

I heard voices approaching then. A couple of young guys came towards me laughing. “Hey man,” one said with a chuckle, “you bust outta the looney bin?”

I remembered that I was naked in a lab coat with no shoes.

They continued to mock me as they came closer. As they did, I became aware of an irrestible scent...A smell that awakened in me a an appetite like I had never known. It was a smell that made my mouth water with hunger as a I took it in. I later came to this this hunger as the blood lust.

I felt my teeth extending as the fangs protruded for the first time. I moved my tounge over the sharp fangs and felt the tips of them. I did not think in those next moments when I lunged at one of the men and grabbed him. I did not think as I sank my teeth into his flesh. I did not think as I drank his blood, the warm, dark fluid filling me.

The other man screamed and tried to tear me off of him but it was useless. Aware that he may alarm others, I let go of the man I had bitten and attacked the other. He was silenced quickly as I did the same to him. The other one lay on the ground and gurgled helplessly as I drained his friend to death.

When I finished, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as I looked at the dead men. Apparently no one had noticed what had happened and I was alone. I looked at the blood all over the white lab coat, like an obscene, wet, dark red splatter of shame upon my me as evidence of what I had done. I saw that one man was wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans. The other wore black shorts and a grey shirt. From them I took the black clothes and put them on. The blood stains did not show on black cloth.

I then put on the shoes of one of the men and began walking home.

When I came to my parents house ,I stopped and looked through the windows. I saw them sitting on the couch watching television, my dogs resting at their feet. I thought about what I had become, my blood stained face, my no doubt fearsome appearance and my heart grew heavy with anguish. I could not return to them. I could not be in a room with them if their blood smelled like delicious meat to me. I couldn´t just walk in there and pretend that everthing was OK....

With tears in my eyes I turned and left, never to return home.

I never saw them again.

They assumed that I was missing and dead. They never found out what happened to me.

I occasionally left them large sums of money in the mailbox that I stole on my bloody endeavours and I enjoyed the idea that it made their lives more pleasant but I could never kiss their sweet faces again. After they passed away one after the other almost ten years later I shed all humanity.

Since then I never cared for another person again in any way.

I go out at nite and stalk rapists, child molesterers and foul thugs. I prey on them as though they were game. Humans are nothing but food to me.

Since then I have also learned to kill my prey with blades and not my teeth since the bites turn them. Vampires can have sex with humans but that will turn them also. After my experience with Nadia and Stanislova I lost all interest in carnal pleasure.

It is now 2020. I died when I was 43 years and my cold flesh has not aged since.”

Gabriel enters the building where he lives. He walks to the elevator. There is a young woman standing there with her back to him. He pays no attention to her as the elevator doors open and they enter. He stands at the back of the elevator with the hood of his black sweatshirt covering his face. The woman stands once more with her back to him.

As he looks down, his mind deep in thought, he then becames aware of her scent. Aside from the irresstible scent of her living blood, the woman also reeks of something sweet- vanilla perhaps? He turns and looks at the woman.

Now he sees the side of her face, curly auburn hair, black coat. Loud music pounds from earbuds in her ears. The elevator stops on the second floor and she steps out. Gabriel follows, his eyes fixed on her. With supernatural speed, he leaps to the ceiling and begins silently crawling, almost slithering along the ceiling like a reptile as he follows her down the hall. The woman does not notice this as she walks to her apartment and opens the door. There he pauses as she walks in and closes the door. Garbriel then silently lands on the floor like a cat and looks at the name on the doorbell. Rausch.

Even through the door he can still smell the woman. The scent of her heavy in the air, tantalizing his senses. He thinks about moving along the wall of the building and getting in through a window perhaps. He could. Gabriel thinks better of it and returns to the elevator. He had a code when it came to killing. He only killed those who deserved it. Vermin that the world needed to rid of. As he rides up to his apartment on the fourth floor, he knows he would have to find out more about this woman. The scent of her would not leave his mind.

Scene II.

The next evening he awakes at sundown. The nights in London were longer in early March. Gabriel opens the lid to his coffin and rises. He quickly washes and returns once again to the second floor of his building. He stands outside of the apartment of the woman named Rausch and listens through the door. There, he hears her speaking on the telephone with someone. He then leaves and goes to a café across the street. There, he orders a coffee that he only pretends to drink while he waits for her to leave the building. Soon enough, she comes walking out and moves down the street.

Gabriel quickly follows her and watches as she goes into a drugstore. After this, she continues down the street once more before stopping in front of a tea shop. There she enters and he follows.

Gabriel moves slowly as he watches her looking at the tea selection. A store clerk approaches him.

Clerk: “Are you looking for something in particular, sir?”

( To humans, Gabriel appears to be a middle-aged man with a slightly Mediterranean appearance. Though a bit pale, his clothing all black, he does not look out of the ordinary with his base ball cap and sports wear. )

Gabriel: “No, not in particular. Thank you.”

The woman doesn´t notice the conversation as she picks up a bag of Earl Grey and reads the package. Gabriel walks to the shelf and stands next to her.

Gabriel: “I had no idea that there twenty different kinds of Earl Grey....it does make chosing a tea difficult.”

Rausch looks at him. “Well, the ingredients are written on the packages. You can also smell the teas through the bags.”

Gabriel picks up a bag of Lady Grey and smells it.

Gabriel: “Goodness, you´re right,” he smiles, “My name is Gabriel, by the way. I believe we live in the same house.”

Rausch: “Really?” she asks in surprise.

Gabriel: “Yes, I have seen you in the elevator a few times. I think that you live on the second floor.”

Rausch: “I´m sorry, I never noticed you before. I´ve only been living there for six months and I´m not home most of the day.”

Gabriel: “Where are you from?”

Rausch: “Vienna, mostly. I spent a lot of time moving around when I was a kid but ultimately my family settled there. And you?”

Gabriel: “Maryland. Moved here ten years ago.” He pauses, looking at the tea package in his hands. “Well, I am going to take this tea here. It looks interesting. Would you like to go for coffee?”

Rausch laughs: “Coffee at night?”

Gabriel: “Right, what was I thinking?”

Rausch: “I have no plans for now and I wouldn´t mind having tea. Since we´re both heading in the same direction you might as well join me for tea. You are the first neighbour that I have met in that building and knowing who your neighbours are is always a good thing.”

Gabriel: “I would enjoy that. What is your name?”

Rausch: “Carmen.”

As they pay for their purchases, Gabriel once again feels the intoxication of her scent. It is an intense mixture of musk, vanilla and cocoa. As they continue with polite conversation, he feels like a wolf that has just met a human. He can´t´t decide whether she is sustenance or if she should be a pet. Since his death he had never considered the option.

As they enter her apartment, she invites him to take a seat in the living room as she prepares the tea. Other intense smells flood his senses. All of them sweet, familiar yet unrecognisable.

The small flat is cosy and nicely decorated. Extravagant fabrics hang from the furniture and doors, among them many richly embroidered shawls, all of which reek of her perfume. Movie posters are hung on the walls; everything from Harry Potter to Twin Peaks. His eyes fix on a poster of Dracula. Gabriel shakes his head at the thought of vampires being able to turn into bats and fog.

Carmen soon returns with a tray which she then places on the table before him.

Carmen: “How do you take your tea?”

Gabriel: “No sugar or anything.”

Carmen: “Of course, real tea drinkers don´t pollute it with milk and such,” she says pouring cream into her cup, “I can´t do without.”

Gabriel: “Your house has a very lovely smell Carmen.” He holds the warm cup in his cool hand and inhales the steam wafting up from the tea.

Carmen: “What? Oh, thank you. It´s probably all of the stuff that I have from LUSH.”

Gabriel: “From what?”

Carmen: “LUSH handmade cosmetics. It´s where I work. I´ll show you.”

Carmen then leaves the room and walks into the hall. Gabriel pours the contents of the cup into a large plant pot next to the sofa. When she returns one minute later she does not notice. She places a paper bag on the table with a black catalogue.

Carmen: “Here´s a catalogue from the store,” she says opening the bag and handing him the contents. “This is a piece of soap called Figs and Leaves and this... this is a peeling called Coconut Salt.”

Gabriel pretends to sip tea from the empty cup as he looks at the items. Sure enough, this made up a great deal of the scent of her home but the smell of her must be something else.

Gabriel: “This stuff is wonderful.... I never heard of this store before.”

Carmen: “Here, you take this soap and try it out.”

Gabriel: “Oh, that´s kind of you. You have already been so kind to me.”

Carmen: “Life doesn´t always have to be miserable,” she smiles, “What do you do for work?”

Gabriel paused as he considered his response. He didn´t talk to humans often and he couldn´t just tell her that robbed his victims after he killed them. He couldn´t tell her that he used his vampiric abilities to rob banks and expensive stores.

Gabriel: “I do IT work from home. I only work nights. Sleep most of the day. It´s boring but I´m not good with people.”

Carmen looks at him in silence. Her light brown eyes are calm and bright. He cannot not think of a reason for why she should die but he also can´t deny the blood lust creeping up in him. That was the nature of vampires.

Carmen: “What brought you to England?”

Gabriel: “I´m looking for something,” he said quietly. “I suspect that it will pass through here sometime...” He feels his thoughts darkening and he needs to feed.

He pretends to empty his cup and then pulls a small note from his shirt pocket and hands it to her.

Gabriel: “It was so lovely to meet you Carmen and you´ve been so wonderful but I have something to tend to now. I´ll be going but here´s my number and

email. Please call if you have time to talk or go out. Whatever pleases you.”

Carmen: “I´ll be sure to do that. I love going out. We´ll see if we have time this weekend.”

Carmen then walks him to the door and bids him farewell.

Gabriel slowly walks down the hall with his bag of soap, his mind in a mess from the dilemma. If he killed her then she would be gone forever.

Scene III.

Gabriel enters his apartment. He places the bag of soap on a table in his living room. His eyes move to an item that is placed on the wall, suspended by long, black nails. It is a baseball bat where the handle has been fashioned into a sharp stake. He stares at this item coldy.

The narration continues as he changes into a leather jacket and makes his way to a bar in Soho:

“In the world of human fantasy, we can turn into bats and fly. We shun crosses and cannot enter churches or any place uninvited. This and more ridiculous things. In reality neither crosses nor garlic can harm us and we cannot change form. The only things that can kill us truly are sunlight, stakes through the heart and beheading. This is what I have learned from other vampires I met along the way.

The stake-bat that I have fashioned is for exactly this purpose and I have been waiting fourty long years to use it. I searched for them in America for twenty years before I came to Europe. I dicovered that these rotten hags were not totally unknown in the vampire community and I have people looking out for them in New York, Moscow and London. Every now and then there is rumour that they were spotted somewhere- their behaviour always reckless.

One of my best informants, as he is someone who truly seems to know everyone, is Stockard. He is also the only person who I consider a friend. He owns a bar in London where, well.. we can be who we are.”

Gabriel enters a night club called The Forbidden Fountain and takes a seat at the bar. Stockard is standing behind the bar polishing a glass. He turns and smiles at him. Stockard then goes to a refrigarator and pulls a black bottle out. The bottle is filled with chilled blood. He pours this into a large glass and places it in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel: “Evening Stockard.”

Stockard: “Evening Gabriel. Always a pleasure to see you.” ( Scottish accent, charming demeanour )

Gabriel: “When was this bottled?” he asks, pointing at the glass.

Stockard: “Last night as a matter of fact.”

Gabriel: “Who was it?” he grins.

Stockcard: “A bad girl...” he replies with a secretive smile.

Gabriel: “Bad girl, huh?” Gabriel drinks from the glass.

Stockard: “Very bad.”

The blood is good but of course it is much better fresh from the source when it is hot and still being pumped out of a beating heart.

Gabriel looks around the bar.

Gabriel: “Well, anything new?”

Stockard: “The coppers aren´t on to us and unfortunately I have no news of your wenches. No one has seen them anywhere.”

Gabriel: “They are a like ghosts...”

Stockard: “They´ll turn up some day, I´m certain. That sort don´t last long.”

Stockard was a Scottish vampire who survived for over 200 years. One of the oldest of their kind.

Gabriel had him to thank for most of the knowledge that he possessed.

Gabriel looks around the bar and sees another vampire. This one was named Pierre. Pierre, like himself, was a young vampire who was obsessed with their origins. Pierre was absolutely convinced that humans and vampires alike were all placed on the Earth by aliens. He combed through websites that made similar claims all the time and literally ranted about these things if you made the tragic error of talking to him. Pierre sat at a table with a human man chatting away. Gabriel was certain to avoid him.

As Stockard tends to his human guests, Gabriel looks around the bar, slowly sinking his drink. He needs to feed. He has a few individuals on his mind. Gabriel hacked into the files of the local police and got the names and addresses of all the sex offenders in London. Night after night he stalked them and drained them of their life´s blood when he got the opportunity to do so. The man that he killed the night before was awaiting trial for several cases of rape and assault. He was guilty of far more than that.

Gabriel pulls a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. In this notebook he has a list of all his future victims. The nearest one lived at Grosvenor Road. He looks at the clock above the bar. It was 22:53. He had a few hours at his disposal.

After about an hour, Gabriel bids farewell to Stockard and begins heading towards his next prey.

He reaches the man´s house and sees lights in the windows. He was home. It was a small, two story house with a large driveway. Gabriel looks around to make certain that no one was watching him. He then quickly hops over the fence, runs to the house and climbs up to the roof like a spider, his movements unnatural and perfectly silent. In the back of the house he discovers a small bathroom window that is slightly a jar. Gabriel silently pushes the small window open and climbs inside.

Once inside, he is stands still and listens. There is a television on- he senses the movements of one person. There is no scent of anyone else in the house except an animal. A bird perhaps...

He walks through the house, slowly moving towards the sound of the man´s breathing, the scent of his body becoming stronger as he nears him. There, in the living room downstairs Gabriel sees the old pervert sitting on an easy chair. At the sight of his balding head, Gabriel recalls small details from the man´s police record: Molested his 8 year old step daughter and got four years in prison for it. Served his brief sentence in full. Released from prison three month before, just in time for fucking Christmas.

A canary sat in a small cage near the window.

Gabriel slowly removes a sharp knife from his jacket. He then leans over the old man and whispers “Hey..”

The moment the old man looks up at him, Gabriel rams the blade into the man´s neck with a vicious leer on his visage. The old man attempts to scream and grabs at the knife. Gabriel lunges at him and pulls the bloody blade from his neck before pressing him on to the floor. He then drinks from the fountain of blood spurting from the wound until the old man becomes limp and succombs to death.

Later on that morning, just a few hours before dawn, Gabriel is taking a shower. His meal had been a much bloodier mess than he expected. Aside from that, he has the smell of the old man on him and it sickens him. He rubs himself with the foamy soap that Carmen had given him and he relishes the scent of it, the creamy lather on his skin. His thoughts once again wander to her.

When he finishes he walks out of the bathroom and looks at his loot of the evening. He had found a box of cash at the old man´s house, some expensive watches and a coin collection. He knows where to sell them.

Gabriel walks to his windows and lets the shutters down. After this he then pulls thick, black curtains over all the windows in the apartment. He then goes to his bedroom.

In this room is a normal twin bed that he never uses and next to this is a black and gold room divider. Behind this, his coffin is hidden from immediate view. After he is certain that not a single ray of light can enter the place, Gabriel lays down in his coffin to sleep.

Visions of Carmen fill his mind as the sun rises and he slips into a death-like slumber.

Scene IV.

Some days later, Gabriel is sitting in his living room looking out of the window. He has already fed for the evening.

He has received an invitation from Carmen via text message. She suggests that they go to a pub this evening. Gabriel has already agreed to meet her at 21:30. He contemplates his next steps carefully. He slowly stands up and puts on his jacket before he takes his keys and leaves.

Once he is in front of her apartment, he rings the doorbell.

Carmen opens the door.

Carmen: “I´m glad that you made it.”

Gabriel: “I was looking forward to it...”

Carmen: “Should we leave now or do you want to come in for a bit?”

Gabriel: “I´m ready whenever you are.”

Carmen pauses. “Fine, I´ll just get my coat then.”

They travel to Soho via subway.

The pub is buzzing with people and lively conversation.

Some how Gabriel manages keep Carmen distracted the whole evening without her noticing that he spills his beer out and and there without drinking it. By now, he has become a master of deception.

During these hours, he learns more about her. He enjoys pretending to be human. Indeed, he almost forgets that he isn´t.

When they return home, he brings her back to her apartment. Carmen insists that he join her for a night cap.

As they sit on the couch together listening to the radio, they continue the conversation.

Gabriel: “Well, I had more fun this evening than I anticipated,” he smiles. “I don´t go to pubs that often.”

Carmen: “A friend recommended it. I want to explore all the places that I have never been to.” She moves closer to him as she leans back.

Gabriel: “Maybe we´ll go to the movies next time,” he gestures to the walls, “You seem to be a big movie fan.”

Carmen: “Movies are modern-day fairy tales.”

Gabriel: “Fairy tales?”

Carmen: “Of course. Wizards are fairy tales. Vampires are fairy tales. Back in the old days, people didn´t have television or the internet so they told stories. Movies are still the same fables from back then, they are just presented in a different form.”

Gabriel: “You think that vampires are fairy tales?” he asks quietly.

She takes his hand as he places his arm around her shoulder.

Carmen: “Goodness Gabriel, you´re freezing...” she says softly.

Gabriel: “No, I´m fine.” He plants a kiss on her mouth, pulling her close.

The affection becomes a long intimate embrace and a series of soft kisses. Carmen touches his face.

Carmen: “Gabriel, you are really freezing... “ she whispers. “I have to get you warm.”

A feeling of slight panic grips him as Gabriel realises what he has done. A flashback memory of Stanislova´s ice cold body shoots through his mind like lightening.

Gabriel calmly pulls away from her.

Gabriel: “I´m sorry, beautiful. I have low blood pressure and sometimes I feel like an ice block.” He can hardly conceal his inner torment.

Carmen: “Oh...” She seems confused.

He stands up as she tries to take his hand.

Gabriel: “This has been a wonderful evening but I think that I need to get some rest now. I forgot but I actually have a project to finsish by tomorrow also.”

Carmen: “All right,” she says following him to the door. “Feel free to come see me anytime you like.”

Gabriel smiles at her shyly before walking down the hall to the elevator.

Carmen returns to the couch and looks at the glass of Scotch on the table that he did not touch.

Gabriel doesn´t return home. Instead he runs through the streets of London trying to clear his mind. The memory of Nadia and Stanislova flooding his thoughts more intensely than ever before. He thinks of Carmen. Of his appetite for her. He imagines how she would feel at the touch of his cold flesh. His heart not beating. It is this torment that fuels his raging desire for revenge.

At some point he hears yelling. He stops to discern the voices of several men shouting in Arabic accents. He moves towards the sound.

Soon he finds a group of Arabic men attacking one other man in an alley. The man they are attacking is a teenaged boy in traditional Jewish attire. No one seems to notice the assault.

Gabriel quickly runs towards them.

He grabs one man and throws him several metres down the alley, his body hitting the ground like a sack of mud.

The others are stunned.

Gabriel then punches another man in the chest, practically shattering his rib cage. Another attempts to grapple with him before he literally tears the man´s arm off. The other two men run away.

Grabiel turns to the Jewish boy with fangs bared.

Gabriel: “You best be on your way,” he tells him.

The boy runs away.

Gabriel then charges after the other two men. He quickly catches one from behind and grabs his head, snapping his neck. The man hits the ground- dead.

He then continues to pursue the last of the assailants. He leaps into the air like a panther and lands on the man, forcing him to the ground. The man attempts to yell before Gabriel punches him in the face, silencing him. He then tears open his neck with a blade and drinks of his blood.

After the killing, he wanders in the dark. He stops in front of a shop with a mirror and sees his blood stained face. He realises that he looks like a wild animal and asks himself, if this face is worthy of being kissed.

SCENE V.

Two days later, Gabriel sits at home reading the news paper. It came as no surprise that the story had made it to the front page. The was no mention of a vampire but the journalists did use words like “lunatic” and “dismemberment.” One of the victims had survived and was in critical condition. He would have to be more careful in the future.

His phone beeps.

The mobile had now become a source of great sadness. Carmen had sent him some pretty photographs via text message and he had no excuses to avoid her. He looked at the phone. Stockard was calling. Gabriel answers.

Stockard: “Gabriel, I think that you should come immediately.”

Gabriel: “Why?”

Stockard: “Well, darling, they look much different than you described but I am absolutely certain that it is them. I will keep them entertained for as long as possible.”

Every fibre in his immortal being seems to be electrified as he hears this. Gabriel quickly turns off the phone and seems to grab the bat-stake and his hooded sweat shirt in one movement as he runs from the apartment. He then goes to the roof of his building and moves, running and leaping from one rooftop to the next as he heads towards The Forbidden Fountain. When he gets there he leaps to the ground and slowly walks to the entrance of the night club. He pulls the hood over his head and enters.

Once inside, he moves to one of the darker corners of the club, concealing the bat partially behind his form. Stockard catches his gaze almost immediately and he follows his friend´s eyes to a table near the bar.

They they are, sitting under a bright light, smiling sweetly as they buttered up some dumb human bastard. Nadia and Stanislova, exactly as they were 40 years before with shorter hair and different make up.

Gabriel feels the rage welling up inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. He realises that they will sense his presence if he doesn´t move away from them. ( Vampires can sense each other quickly. )

He then quietly leaves the night club again and stands on the other side of the street, hiding the bat behind a post box. He calls Stockard again.

Gabriel: “Let me know when they come outside. They´re going to want to take him somewhere.”

Stockard: “Will do.”

It is over an hour before the mobile in his hand beeps again. Gabriel looks at the phone. A text message from Stockard reveals that they are paying the bill and that their departure is immanent. Gabriel hides behind the post box and waits.

A few minutes later, Stanislova and Nadia leave the club with the human. They proceed to walk down the street. There are a few other humans walking about but Gabriel doesn´t care. He follows them silently, keeping his distance at first. Then, as he feels that they are distracted with chatting with their prey, he runs up behind them and swiftly whacks Nadia over the head with the bat.

She falls to the ground, stunned and before Stanislova can react, he rams the stake of the sharpened bat handle directly through Nadia´s heart.

An ungodly scream escapes her mouth, open wide in a grotesque, vampiric wail. The scream could no doubt be heard from miles around. The human man who escorted them falls back in shock as Gabriel pulls the bat from her chest and smashes her skull with it, literally oblitering her entire head with one blow.

He turns to Stanislova who is simply stands there open mouthed.

Gabriel: “I bet that hurt..” he says with a wicked leer, flashing his sharp fangs.

Stanislova looks to the bloody mess on the ground that used to be her lover as it begins to turn to ash and then she snarls at him.

Gabriel: “Bring it on bitch!” he hisses in Russian.

In that instant, a screaming police siren comes towards them.

Stanislova flees.

Gabriel runs after her.

Both of them moving with the unnatural speed of the undead, Stanislova kicks off her heels and leaps over several vehicles to escape. Gabriel quickly follows. They reach a street where the traffic is heavier. Moving too fast for human perception, hardly anyone can see the figures leaping over the cars and on to the next street.

Soon, they find themselves at Waterloo Bridge.

She is so close that Gabriel can smell her. Before he can catch her, Stanislova leaps and dives into the river Thames.

Gabriel stops and watches her disappear under the water. He waits and considers jumping in after her.

She does not resurface. Realising that it is pointless to pursue her under water, he decides to wait for her to pop again. Stanislova would no doubt seek revenge for the the death of her mate.

Gabriel looks at the sharp, stake of his baseball bat and sees that it is covered in ash. The police would find nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground and dirty clothes where Nadia had died. No proof of homicide there. He feels triumphant.

Now he knows what became of vampires when they died.

“And into dust we shall return...” he mutters.

Scene VI.

On the way home, Gabriel walks with the bat-stake partially concealed under his sweat-shirt. He keeps to dark alleys and places where he will not be spotted so easily.

He kept his eyes open for Stanislova. He considers hanging around hotels to look for her. He knew from rumours that she was nomadic, never staying in one place for very long.

When he reaches his apartment, he finds a large red rose stuck to his door with an envelope.

He takes the rose and the letter and enters his home.

There he sits down and reads it:

Gabriel,

I cannot begin to understand what went wrong the other night.

I was not complaining about you being cold, I was concerned.

Regardless of what kinds of experiences you´ve have in the past, I assure you, I have no problem with it.

On the contrary, I have been missing you dearly.

Let me know when you have time.

We´ll continue where we left off.

Carmen

The petals of the rose are thick and velvety, the edges almost like worn cloth, the flower reminiscint of something from an old painting. The fragrance rich and pleasant.

He looks at the severed stem of the blossom. Regardless of how beautiful the flower was, once separated from the root, it was a dying thing...

The next evening Stockard has closed his club for the night. It is one in the morning and the last guest has left. He stands behind the bar and performs his usual habit of making sure that all is well before turning in for the morning.

The soft steps of high heels approach him slowly.

Stockard: “My dear, we are closed for the evening,” Stockard says charmingly without looking up from his book keeping. “However did you get in here?”

Stanislova: “I have my ways,” Stanislova says cooly.” ( Her manner is that of a cold a statue with eyes that burned pure hatred.) “That man who killed my friend...” she continues, “Who is he?”

Stockard: “I can´t be sure but I believe that his name is Gabriel.”

Stanislova: “Gabriel ...” she repeats. “ I don´t know this Gabriel but what interests me much more than his name, is how did he know that we were here?”

Stockard turns to her. She is holding a sharp, silver spear in her hand, posed for sttack.

Stockard: “Because I told him over Whatsapp,” he says defiantly.

Stanislova snarls at him, her fangs dripping with rage and saliva.

With all the speed that he can manage, Stockard pulls a handgun from under the bar and shoots Stanislova in the head. The shot stuns her and she falls to the ground.

Stockard looks over the bar. He knows that he doesn´t have long before the wound heals and she awakens to kill him.

Gabriel is in a lavishly decorated apartment in Belgravia. The rich owner of this apartment lies on the floor wearing only his underwear. A small puddle of blood gleams under his head, his throat slit. Gabriel sits on his designer couch smoking a cigarette, his shirt on the sitting arrangement next to him. A small trickle of the man´s blood runs from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. He often removed his shirt before a kill to avoid getting it bloodied.

The noise of tourists and chatter from the street below provided an excellent acoustic camouflage for the noise made during the killing. The rich pervert had put up a bit of a struggle. The crowds were disappearing now in the early hours of morning.

Gabriel looks around the place at the paintings from Leyendecker, Paul Cézanne and the crytal vases pondering how much of it he could carry back to his home.

His phone rings. It´s Stockard.

Gabriel: “Hello.”

Stockard: “I take it you have been well.”

Gabriel: “Yes, better than well. Better than I have been in years. I killed Nadia.”

Stockard: “So I heard.” / (Somewhat grim)

Gabriel: “You heard? From where? How?”

Stockard: “From Stanislova.”

Gabriel: “You talked to her?” ( He taises his voice, negatively surprised. )

Stockard: “Yes,” he says sweetly, “I´ve got her tied up on the roof waiting just for you, dear boy.”

Gabriel: “I´ll be there. Give me an hour-tops.”

Gabriel turns the mobile off and quickly proceeds to put his shirt on. From his pocket he removes a pair of latex gloves and speedily plunders the dead man´s wallet and jewelery box. There, he not only finds at least eighty grand worth of tastless, poncy, diamond rings but also several expensive Cartier and Rolex watches. These he places in a man´s handbag from Louis Vuitton and straps over his shoulder. In his haste, he leaves the fine art work behind and then climbs out through a window facing the courtyard of the building.

He climbs along the walls, silently in the style of an arachnida as was his fashion. Soon, he reaches a neighbouring building where he climbs down to the street without being seen and then casually walks about like an ordinary man.

Not long after he reaches The Forbidden Fountain. When he climbs on to the roof, he sees Stockard standing there with a bottle in his hand.

Stockard: “There you are,” Stockard greets him with a polite smile. He gestures to a spot where Stanislova is chained to a pipe by the hands and feet. In addition to this, she is also wrapped up in about a hundred metres of duck tape.... She growls and squirms like some kind of hellish imp.

Gabriel moves towards Stockard, not taking his eyes off of Stanislova as she squirms and hisses in a futile attempt to free herself. Stockard hands him the bottle. Gabriel takes it and swallows a large gulp of the blood.

Gabriel: “This is still warm!” he notes with amazement.

Stockard: “Yes, I always fill the bottles at about this time before I chill them.”

Gabriel: “Thank you, old friend,” he pats Stockard on the shoulder, “for everything.”

Stockard: “It´s wonderful to be appreciated.”

Gabriel walks over to Stanislova and stoops down to see her face. She looks at him in hatred.

Stanislova: “You piece of shit!” she spits, “I´ll kill you for this!”

Gabriel: “You already did. Forty years ago. ” His says this with a deep frown, is demeanour is cold, serious. .

Stanislova: “Oh....?”

Gabriel: “Yeah, in Maryland. You picked me up at a bar and left me for dead in a cheap motel. I woke up at the morgue with a tag on my toe.”

She laughs wickedly.

Stanislova: “I don´t remember you at all. You were all just food. The idiots usually just walk out into the sun and die when they wake...”

She laughs in his face again.

This time Gabriel loses his temper. He punches her in the face with all his might. Some of her teeth go flying to the ground. She is then silent.

Stockard: “Speaking of which, it´s time that you and I retired.”

Gabriel turns around.

Stockard: “Worry not, we´ll film the whole thing and watch it from a safe place.”

Stockard gestures towards a survaillance camera that he has set up on the roof. He then motions for Gabriel to follow him as he heads towards the door leading downstairs to his bar.

Gabriel turns to Stanislova one last time. She looks up at him.

Stanislova: “We will be waiting for you in Hell...” she hisses. One of her fangs is missing.

Gabriel turns his back to her silently and leaves, following Stockard. As they walk down the stairs to the basement of The Forbidden Fountain, Stockard asks him “Where did you get that nice handbag?”

Gabriel: “It´s yours. Here, I´ve got something else for you.” Gabriel emptys the bag and hands him one of the Cartier watches and a diamond ring.

Stockard: ( whistles, impressed ) “Ooohh, you have really fetched something nice here. I´ll cherish this,” he says, examining the fine time piece.

When they are in the basement, Stockard leads him through a secret passageway to his lair. In this room there is a beautiful tomb with white lilies in large black vases. His coffin, a luxurious work of polished, black ebony, stands between them. Stockard pulls back some red, velvet drapes to reveal another coffin, more humble in its design, simple and wooden. This is reserved for surprise guests.

A series of screens reveal Stockards home made surviallance system.

The two vampires sit together and watch Stanislova as the dawn approaches.

Gabriel sits still, his dark eyes fixed on her as she struggles against the tape and the chains. Stockard briefly excuses himself and goes to another room in this basement. Gabriel hardly notices as his friend leaves with the bottle.

Stockard goes to a small chamber and opens the door. There, a fat policeman is tied to a chair in hand cuffs. The man has several bloody wounds on his body. Stockard takes a sharp, old fashioned shaving knife from his pocket and slices through one of the veins in the cop´s lower arm. The policeman jerks and squirms about as Stockard fills the bottle with his blood. The policeman is a corrupt swine of the worst sort and Stockard feels not a pinch of mercy as he drains him.

Stockard then closes the door to the small chamber and returns to the tomb.

He sits down, handing Gabriel the bottle once more.

Stockard: “You know, there´s something else that I have been meaning to tell you. Aside from the fact that London will one day run out of perverts, the police have a full description of the man who was reponsible for that , er... gruseome little skirmish where that fellow got his arm torn off...”

Gabriel: “Really? How can you know?”

Stockard: “I have my sources. The point is, it might be wise if you left town for a little while. You´ve been here for over ten years and there are so many other places to see. Places where they... need someone like you.”

Gabriel: “Need?” he snickers sadly. “Do you really think that anyone needs us? That we have any place in the world at all? We´re the living dead, Stockard.”

Stockard: “I don´t see it that way. We were created by Nature as all things were, oceans and deserts, meadows and volcanos, bunnies and wolves. We all have a our place in this world. Just like the angels in heaven, we are the darkness in paradise.”

Gabriel: “Darkness in Heaven... What kind of God would create such a thing?”

As they are just losing themselves in the thought, Stanislova begins to groan. The sun is rising.

With sinister anticipation, they watch as the glorious sun rises over London. Stanislova´s body suddenly burst´s into flames. As the fire tears at her her pale flesh, her dying throat releases an ungodly sound. It is a combination of a moan and a scream, perfectly inhuman and deafening. Indeed it is so loud, that the microphone of the shaking camera cannot completely capture the sound in its full proporation. Then her body becomes limp as it turns to ash. They watch as the ashes blow away on the wind like dust.

Gabriel feels a deep satisfaction and relief as he watches this but also purification. He feels as though his soul has been purified by the death of the thing that cursed him to walk in darkness so long ago, almost as though he has been kissed by an angel.

With the coming of the sun, Stockard and Gabriel feel a strong fatigue come over them. The sun compels them to rest in this way. They go to the coffins and lay down, slipping into the death sleep.

Scene VII.

Narration continues as he walks home the next morning:

I awoke this evening feeling a peace that I have never known before.

The rage that filled my nights, my mind and my heart since my death vanished as though it had never been there. My purpose fulfilled, I now wonder what I am to do with the rest of eternity.

Stockard suggested that I go visit a friend of his in Florence. Perhaps I will.

For the first time I also feel something like hope in my heart. Hope that I might not only know peace but also feel happiness again.

He looks up and sees Carmen sitting in the window of her home, watching him.

Life can´t always be miserable. ( Her voice echoes softly in his mind )

She vanishes from his view as he approaches the building.

He opens the door and goes to the elevator. He rides up to the fourth floor.

When the elevator doors open, she is standing there waiting for him.

Carmen: “Good evening.”

Gabriel: “Hello.”

A moment of silence passes.

Gabriel: “I wanted to call you but I didn´t get around to it. There was a lot going on.”

Carmen: “I understand.. but you´re here now.”

She holds out her hand as he steps out of the elevator. He takes her hand and walks with her to his door. Once inside, he seats her in his living room. As he never has any human guests, he has nothing to offer her but a glass of water.

The rose that she gave him stands in a glass bottle on a table.

He sits beside her.

Carmen: “You´ve been avoiding me...” she says with a smile.

Gabriel: “I can´t deny that.”

Carmen: “What are we going to do?”

Gabriel: ( His response comes slow but thoughtful ) “If I pursue this thing with you... I will put you and myself in horrible predicament.”

She looks at him expectantly.

Gabriel: “There are things about me that you don´t know, that you couldn´t possibly understand... things that I cannot explain. I fear I would destroy you..”

Carmen wraps her arms around him and kisses him. “I am not afraid.”

He makes no effort to refuse her at first, giving in to her passionate affections.Then he stops and takes her hands, looking her deeply in the eyes.

Gabriel: “Do you want to know why I am so cold, Carmen? Can you imagine why I seem to be dead? Because I AM.

I am dead. I died 40 years ago. I am what you call a vampire. It is impossible for me to be with you because that would turn you into the undead also. Do you want that? ( His speech takes on a slightly threatening undertone as he holds her more tightly, his fangs protruding so she can see them ) Imagine, if you can never see the sun again, if you never see your family again, never have anything that a living, breathing person can have? You have go out at night and feed off the blood of vermin! Would you want that? I am worth it to you?”

Carmen is frightened and bewildered, her eyes widen with fear and exhilaration. She is speechless. She becomes aware that he is trying to scare her. She touches his face.

Carmen: “So you´re like a unicorn?”

Garbriel: “What?” ( Confused )

Carmen: “You are like a unicorn... something rare and beautiful that most can only dream of. If I can have my own unicorn... then no sacrifice would be too great.”

Gabriel is touched by her words. “You´re childish...” he whispers.

By now, his craving for the warmth of her flesh is mounting.

Carmen: “May be... but I know what I want.”

Gabriel takes Carmen in his arms. In the hours that follow, he gives in to his surpressed desire. Carmen seems not to mind the coldness of his body. Knowing that he has already infected her with this act, be prepares his heart for her death.

As she lays in his arms, their passion spent, he softly bites into her shoulder, sinking his fangs into the jugular. Carmen gasps in pain, being overwhelmed by the experience despite her expectations. She holds on to him as he slowly drinks her blood, the rhythm of her racing heart echoing through his being as he does.

( Sound of heart pounds loudly )

He is so deeply intoxicated on her blood that he hardly notices as she slips in unconsciousness until her heart stops.

Gabriel looks at the lifeless form of his love, a great sadness filling him.

He looks to the window of the bedroom and realises that the sun is coming.

He has no time for remorse.

He stands up and lets the shutters down and closes the curtains as always. He then goes to his closet and retrieves a black robe. He dresses Carmen´s body in it before he picks her up and places her in his coffin.

After he has arranged her her in it comfortably, he lays down next to her in the coffin and pauses to look at her one last time before he slowly closes the lid.

THE END

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#Horror movie script

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