#being like. behold. HIM. the Real Vampire......

[herdarkestnightelegance]

Nocturnal eyes

Pairing: Astarion/ g/n Tav

Tags: vulnerable Astarion, angst, friendship, a bit of fluff

Length: 2.4k words

Summary: Astarion notices something is off with his eyes …

A/N: @nyx-knox out here once again, being the ✨best✨ beta-reader I could hope for!

Also: ARE Y'ALL FOR REAL?! Over 750 reactions on my Bedhead fic?? Thank you so much 🥹!!!

Taglist: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate , @littlelovelore, @onlyancunin @chaoticbardlady99

::::::::::::::::::

Astarion sits in the soft green grass, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun.

Today had been exhausting. The party had finally left the wilderness behind and set up camp on the Mountain Pass. Tomorrow they will head to the Githyanki Crèche, but for now … he’s just relaxing, listening to the soft rustle of the trees above him with his eyes closed.

Because they are hurting again - his damned eyes - causing his head to ache in that awful stinging way. This has been happening semi-regularly since they crashed on that beach. By the end of every day, his eyes feel exhausted. Sometimes he even welcomed the night, the dark bringing relief to his vision, much as he hated to admit that he found any solace in the darkness after having been trapped in it for so long.

It’s not that he wants to be in the dark again - on the contrary! Oh, words could never express how much he enjoys the feeling of the warmth on his skin, the smell of sun-baked earth beneath him, filling him with life, making his undead heart swell with secret joy. It’s just …

“Truly, a sight to behold,” Gale had said, when they first stepped through the gate onto the Pass and were greeted by a magnificent view of the surrounding valley … Or at least Astarion assumed that’s what it was.

Because he can’t tell. Not really. In fact, all he sees are blurry, rugged shapes and a haze of earthy colors far off in the distance.

When Astarion had first opened his eyes after the crash, all he could do was gasp audibly. The sun seared his eyes, the light brighter than anything he had seen in centuries. Immediately, he had shielded his face from the merciless rays, curled into a ball, panic taking over. “No!” he yelped. It’s daytime! I can’t be out! Oh Gods, do I smell smoke? Am I burning up?? Am I disintegrating???

But a few heartbeats passed and to his surprise - and great relief - it was not a burning pain he started to feel. Rather, it was a sensation he thought he had forgotten but that he immediately recalled, having felt it lifetimes ago: The warmth of the midday sun.

Cautiously, he had uncoiled himself and tried opening his eyes again. Gods! It hurts. Of course, Vampire eyes are sensitive to the light, in order to see better at night. An essential trait for nocturnal creatures, predators, such as himself. His eyes hadn’t had to process so much brightness in … forever. So, being blasted with daylight for the first time in roughly 200 years - it hurt like all Hells! 

It took a few moments, but eventually Astarion managed to pry open his crimson eyes. And he began to see. To look. And he saw colors he hadn’t seen in too long. He saw the bright blue sky, the deep purples of the Nautiloid shipwreck, the turquoise water covered with the most beautiful shimmering reflections. Everything was bright. Everything was so vibrant! Everything was so … full of life. He looked up, squinting at the trees and their slightly blurred leaves. Those luscious, green leaves. Gods … I had forgotten how beautiful that particular color is … 

But there had been no time for him to enjoy all those new sights for long. He heard them before he saw them. The others. Friends? Enemies? He couldn’t tell. They were just indiscernible shapes in the distance - but as soon as he had lured one of them close enough to put a knife to their throat, he was back in survival mode, forgetting about the colors he had just reveled in.

That’s what he knew how to do, after all. Hitting his close target. And really, that’s all he should care about, that’s really all he actually needs to see. He’s a master at close-up melee combat, a rogue who sneaks up to his victims, dangerous with his blade. He’s skilled at picking locks and picking pockets. And he’s an amazing lover, always able to read every detail of his victims' expressions to make sure he hits that target just as well. All he needs to see clearly is what’s right in front of him, isn’t it?

But if he was being really honest … it’s not like his usual tricks have actually worked out for him so far, now have they? His first melee attack had earned him a headbutt to the face. He had woken his first victim while sneaking up on them. And he felt his nice little seduction plan for Tav slowly and steadily backfiring on him - but that was a problem for another time. So why not top it all off with embarrassingly inadequate vampiric eyesight to really emphasize it all, he figured?

Astarion opens his eyes again and looks at the hazy, blurred valley below, the wind tousling his white locks, and he scoffs. Ironic, isn’t it? Here he is, finally free from his captor. But of course, even out in the open, he’s not able to look beyond the confines of his own metaphorical cell. As if his eyes are still keeping him prisoner.

A sound behind him snaps him out of his thoughts. Again, he hears them before he sees them coming. Only this time he knows it is a friend. “Astarion?” Tav, he thinks with a knowing smile. He knows their voice anywhere.

“Yes, Darling?” he asks as their leader emerges from the shade of the trees.

Astarion grew to enjoy Tav‘s company quite a bit, if he was being honest. Not only during their passionate encounters, but also just sitting with them, talking about their journey, about the others in their party, sometimes even about his past, which he never thought possible when he had been pressing his knife to their throat just a short time ago.

“Enjoying the view?” they ask as they sit down next to him in the soft grass.

“Oh of course,” Astarion answers as he leans back onto his elbows.

“Especially the Crèche,” Tav continues, pointing into the valley, making casual conversation.

“Why, I agree. Who would have thought the Gith were such marvelous architects,” the pale Elf replies without missing a beat. 

It’s now that Tav turns to look at him. “... Except the Crèche is in the opposite direction?” they say cautiously. 

Shit. Astarion tenses.

He hates this. They know. Immediately he is prepared to snap, to throw a sarcastic comment back at them, telling them to mind their own damn business. Feeling exposed, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, part of him expecting to see mockery, or malice even, should he meet Tav’s eyes. But when he eventually looks up … all he sees is a knowing smile. Their face is so very clear next to him, and so is the genuine fondness that greets him in their expression. The same fondness he is secretly happy to see on Tav’s face every time they look at him.

Astarion takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want his walls to go up. Not for Tav. He resists it, that stupid defensive mechanism and to his surprise, he actually relaxes a bit. “You noticed,” he says quietly.

Tav nods. “On our first day, actually.” His eyebrows go up in surprise. 

“Did you now?” the vampire asks.

“We climbed that platform next to the crash site, remember? You were first up. And you said there’s nothing to see.” Their tone is neither condescending nor reproachful. “But there was... A lot, actually. You know, like, the village? Or the goblin camp. Or, well, this mountain pass. So yeah, I noticed.”

Astarion scoffs. They were right, of course. And back then, he didn’t even realize there was something wrong with his vision. He had still been so overwhelmed with all the light and color, all this blue and green…

For a moment, both sit in silence before Astarion speaks up. “It’s all rather blurry, you know?” he finally admits aloud. “I never noticed it back in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav listens and nods. “I thought vampirism cures all mortal ailments, even eye problems.”

“Well, maybe there are exceptions? Or maybe I’m just a sorry excuse for a vampire spawn. Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not like any vampire is able to look at vast illuminated landscapes during the day to notice if something is off.” he says in a slightly frustrated, even embarrassed tone, gesturing towards the sunset.

“Your eyes have been adjusted to the night for 200 years. So … maybe they just need a bit to adjust to the daylight now? Give it some time.” The optimism and sweetness in Tav’s voice makes the corner of Astarion’s mouth twitch up into a half-smile.

“Wouldn’t that be something,” he says. Maybe they are right. Maybe. 

This is when Tav clears their throat. “But uhm, until then …” Astarion’s pointy ears twitch slightly as he hears Tav rummaging in their pocket. When they procure something wrapped in a folded leather cloth, he sits up.

“What’s this?” he asked, and they hand him the flat parcel. Curiously, Astarion opens the wrapping. 

In his hand lies the most hideous pair of mismatched spectacles he has ever seen. 

Before he can say anything, Tav begins to talk. “I came across this half broken pair of looking glasses while looting some time ago, and I thought, well, while there is no way we would ever find the perfect pair, we might just try making a custom one, right? I mean, it’s obvious you’re straining your eyes. You might not say anything to us about it, and you don’t have to, but I can tell that you often have a headache by the end of the day, and I, well, wanted to help.” Astarion still says nothing, inspecting the wonky looking thing in his hands.

Quickly, Tav continues, compelled to explain. “But you have no idea how hard it is to find undamaged spectacles! I mean, it makes sense, right? Who would leave their eyes behind? So anyway, I started collecting all the glasses I could find, hoping for an intact pair, but well … eventually I ended up with … this.”

The pair of spectacles in Astarion’s hand was clearly made of two halves from different glasses, held together in the middle by a thin leather cord, wrapped around it several times and in several other places. “Both glasses seemed to be made for looking at things further away. Of course, I can’t say for certain. They are not for me, I mean, if anything, I should be looking into finding a pair for me, so I can finally read that book Gale won’t shut up about. But … anyway, I thought maybe they might be of use to you.”

It’s not often that Astarion is stunned into silence. Tav did this? For him? It takes him a moment to process this … act of kindness. But when he does, he leans over to Tav, turning their face to him with a finger beneath their chin, and softly kisses them. “They … are hideous, my dear,” he says against their lips, with a chuckle and a genuine, soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know,” Tav agrees, kissing him back, mirroring his smile, before pulling away. “Well go on then, put them on.”

And he does. Astarion puts on the mismatched, wonky pair of improvised spectacles, the right temple barely fitting over his ear.

“Well?”, Tav asks hopefully.

With the awkward thing perched in his elegant face, the vampire looks down into the valley and takes in an almost inaudible breath. It’s … much better than he could have hoped for. Yes, it’s far from perfect. The glasses are sitting on his aquiline nose lopsided and the left glass is not even close to what he probably needs, yet he feels that nagging strain on his eyes eases immediately.

But that’s not what stuns the pale Elf.

Just as the sun begins to disappear behind the mountains, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow on everything around them, Astarion sees. And all of it this time! For the first time in 200 years, he sees the crisp outline of the setting sun. He sees the mountain tops and ridges. He sees the glowing clouds. By the Gods…

“Astarion?” Tav asks timidly, but he does not react. They sit with him in silence then, watching him watch the sunset in wonder, those red ruby eyes they love so much squinting intently, unmoving, until the glowing disk disappears behind the horizon and the sky slowly begins to turn a lovely shade of purple.

It takes a moment for Astarion to stir again. Carefully, he takes the spectacles off his face as if it’s the most precious thing he has ever owned, before looking at Tav. A lot of things are going through his head at that moment, and - much to his ever-growing confusion - through his undead heart as well. This is not a thing you just do for a travel-companion. Why are you so nice to me? I do not deserve your kindness. “Thank you.”, he eventually settles on, and he knows to Tav those simple words convey everything. 

Tav smiles. “Don’t mention it,” obviously delighted their little gift has been accepted. Why in the hells his favorite travel companion, no, his lover, went out of their way to help him like this, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Sure, they agreed to help him kill Cazador, but this is not the same! This is special. This is … caring. It is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him. And he is truly, deeply grateful.

This gift would do wonders for his vision, at least until his nocturnal eyes fully embrace looking into the far distance during the day. He knows he will look so foolish with this contraption on his nose and he would probably have to kill Gale should the wizard ever see him with them on, but somehow he didn’t mind wearing these, looking silly, unsightly even, in front of Tav. They wouldn’t judge him, they wouldn’t laugh at him. Because he feels that they care.

After a moment, Astarion puts the spectacles back on, turning his head up to the tree branches above them, that stunning green of the individual, defined leaves still visible in the dim dusk light.

“You know, Darling …”, he says, “I really do love that color.”

#ohoh ​herdarkestnightelegance wrote something #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

#vampire primo owns my heart #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #vampire primo #vamprimo #?? #papa emeritus i fanfiction #papa emeritus i smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #mind the tags #my writing #petrifyingpapas #friday nights

[y-rhywbeth2]

In terms of religion, vampires apparently either throw in with Myrkul (most undead with religious inclinations go for him, apparently) or there's this phenomenon that tends to occur amongst the random non-deity worshipping cults that sometimes crop up (like beholder cults):

"There are vampires [in the Realms] who worship powerful undead they don't really understand, because that undead being helped them once (in hopes that said being will help them again)."

Vampires: "We have no real idea what this eldritch dark force of death is, what it wants, or what the ultimate price it asks of us will be, but it does things we like when we press the button, so we'll keep pressing the button!"

#There is a certain degree of sheer blind stupidity that gets installed with the fangs and the bloodlust when you become a vampire #Or maybe it just uninstalls your common sense to make room for more ego and ambition and desperation #babbling

[purpleyoonn]

One-Shot Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Individual Masterlist

This is my one shot masterlist which will include all of my one shots and one shots series including poly and individual member. I will have each one shot categorized by member or if they are poly au. 

00:00

“and you’re gonna be happy…and you’re gonna be happy. when everything is new, zero o’clock”

When everything seems to go wrong, you come home to the comfort of your boys and realize that maybe the universe isn’t against you.

idol!bts x office worker reader

mean kitty, soft kitty

Your injured form was the last thing Jin had expected when waking up one morning. But after healing you, and watching you leave, he wished he would wake up to you again, if only to see if you were okay. The rest of his home felt the same way, and when a storm comes, it brings you back to the men who made you feel safe.

hybrid bts x hybrid reader

Crumble

“You are ours, little one. And we would crush the world in our fists, watch it crumble to pieces just to make sure it remains so.”

You had decided to make a change, not realizing your men would notice. The consequences bring to light your own insecurities, with which the boys decide it’s time you realize how precious you are to them.

mafia bts x plus-size reader

Eye Of The Beholder

As you begin to notice minute details unseen to you before, you start to realize that what you thought was the truth, was anything but. The people you thought were acquaintances had different ideas of their meaning in your life, and needed to show you who they really were to you.

mafia bts x neurodivergent reader

Doughnuts and Shell Casings 

you finally gather the courage to leave your routine and do something different. your expectations are blown out of the water as you meet your soulmates in a less-than-expected way. 

mafia bts x cafe owner reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Secret Story of The Swan 

You were staring into the stream, contemplating life when someone decided to take matters into their own hands. 

hybrid mafia bts x human reader

Seokjin

My Queen 

Seokjin had just returned to find his court and staff were not treating you how they should when he was gone. You were hurt, and his instincts were telling him to claim you and make sure you were unharmed.

Pairing: Vampire King Jin x Human Reader

Yoongi

My Home 

It was close to winter, and your medicine was nearly complete for you to use. But when it came to, you helped another whose wounds were life threatening. Now, random items kept showing up on your porch, with each item bringing you closer to the creature you healed. And when he returned, he saved you. Now, with him, you felt like you were home.

Dragon Yoongi x Human Healer Reader

Hoseok

My Prisoner 

You were trying to buy a new notebook for your writings, not expecting to get lost in a forest you didn’t recognize from your map. After passing the same tree multiple times, you stop to rest for the night, only to be captured and taken to a King’s castle for judgement. You weren’t expecting a Fae King to keep you as his…prisoner?

Fae King Hobi x Writer Reader

Namjoon

My Goddess 

You tried to escape again, only to epically fail. Nothing seemed to work, and Hades just smiled as he watched you walk away. He knew the real reason you kept trying to run away, and was just waiting for you to realize it.  

God of the Underworld Namjoon x Human Reader

Jimin

My Light 

“Your beauty brought out the light in him, made him see how dark the world truly was He couldn’t bare the thought of leaving you in the dark.”

Your uncle had left you a home in some seaside town you hadn’t heard of. Moving out there was easy, but living there was harder. Until he found you, then…you didn’t know what to think.

Mermaid Prince Jimin x Human Reader

Taehyung

My Witch 

It was Halloween night and you were in the old church fulfilling a dare your friends tasked you with. Little did you know you were being watched, and he had been waiting a long time to finally make you his. Now, you were his, and he wasn’t letting you go.

Taehyung x Human (witch) Reader

Jungkook

My Mate 

Your village was surrounded by a never-ending forest. Every 20 years, for as long as the village people could remember, offerings were held for the beast who roamed the forest. It was the only way your village could remain safe. This times offering, you were one of the women being offered up to the beast. You only hoped that you could make it out alive.

Werewolf Jungkook x Human Sacrifice reader

#bts #bts au #bts one shots #bts poly one shots #bts member one shots #one shots #purpleyoonn

[ace-of-creation]

Skyrim shitpost time because I’m rebuilding my mod list yet again:

The reason I never side with the vampires in the Dawnguard dlc isn’t morals (I mean that’s a part of it but ye), but the fact that I just cannot stand looking at the vampire lord/lady/liege form. I just can’t. Not because it’s ugly, but because it’s fucking hilarious

You come in a castle with the leader of all vampires who’s like ‘participate in a blood kink that gives you powers’ and if you say no he tries to convince you. Harkon is like ‘behold my glory!’ And then, he turns into…that

I crack up laughing every single time at the absurdity of it. I just can’t. He looks like the offspring of a smurf with gigantism, a pug, and a bat with mange. Like, he’s hideous, but not in an ugly way, in an absurdly funny way. It’d be like Alduin being ‘behold my final form’ and then turning into a cow. Sure, it’s a very scary and unique looking cow, but it’s, it’s just a cow!

Like I just cannot, because every time I see a vampire in their full form, I will end up snickering and possibly laughing myself into an asthma attack (which is what happened the first time I saw Harkon do the thing). For real though. Lord of the largest and apparently most powerful vampire clan. And he turns into the sentient manifestation of blue balls given wings. And expects you to be impressed. I would get got right then and there for laughing at him and making insulting jokes

#skyrim shitpost #skyrim #dawnguard #dawnguard dlc #lord harkon #skyrim vampire #my writing

[hannigramtropefest]

Hannigram Tropefest 2022 Masterlist

Thanks to everyone who took part in this year’s Hannigram Tropefest. For our first round, we had an amazing selection of fanfics and artistic creations. You can find all of our fics in our Hannigram Tropefest 2022 collection on AO3, but for all fic and art links, please see below.

---

‘I shouldn’t feel lonely when you’re gone'

Author: Angelic_Disaster

Artist: Vampyrzky

Rating: Explicit

Length: 28,859 words

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter (Mentions of Past Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter)

Warnings: Choose to not use archive warnings

Tropes: Amnesia, Will’s Aftershave, Chicken Soup

The heart monitor connected to Hannibal makes a sudden, unrhythmical beep the moment Will enters through the door.

“You must forgive me for my bluntness, but are we in a romantic relationship?” Hannibal asks and Will isn’t exactly sure how to answer that. He can’t technically say no, but honestly, bloody courtship may be a more proper name for it.

While Hannibal suffers from a case of amnesia, Will puts a stop to the honey-trap plan to take care of him.    

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Trope: Wrong Number (Hannigram)

Author: TigerPrawn

Artist: Ani Louhetar

Rating: Explicit

Length: 5,680 words

Ships: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

Warnings: No Archive Warnings

Tropes: Wrong number, A/B/O, different first meeting

Summary:

Omegas only go into heat if they meet a compatible alpha, but with both alphas and omegas being so rare it is an infrequent occurrence. One that Will Graham had certainly never anticipated happening to him.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Dinner Is Best Served By Tour Bus

Author: TheSilverQueen

Artist: hit_the_books

Rating: T

Length: 6,146

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Warnings: Nonconsensual Vampire Turning

Tropes: Alternate Universe - Vampires, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper

Summary:

When Alana cajoles Will into taking an actual, real vacation, he decides to go to Florence and do touristy things, like eat good food and go on tours and be spontaneous. All good things, except for the fact that his spontaneous decision to go on a tour in the catacombs brings him face to face with very hungry vampires who think he is dinner.

“I believe you all were promised an experience of a lifetime,” says the definitely-not-a-statue man on the throne. “And we do plan to deliver. For the feast of a Council is, I’m told, quite the sight to behold. Sadly, none of us are vegetarians.”

Link to Fic

Link to Art

---

You Were Made for Me

Author: hisvoicebrokemyheart

Artist: pensulliwen

Rating: General

Length: 3,272 words

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, (past Will Graham/Original Characters), (past Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter mentioned), (past Hannibal Lecter/Bedelia duMaurier mentioned)

Warnings: brief mention of canon typical gore

Tropes: soulmates/soul bond, bathing, Hannibal is the Devil

Summary:

Will never thought he would be cut out for a soul bond — people were averse to his touch, he was too cold. Then he met Hannibal Lecter, and Will learned what warmth was for the first time. Their relationship was one that flayed themselves open to one another, but it seems that Hannibal has one last secret to reveal.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Forgive Me Father, For I Wish To Sin

Author: ImpalaAngel

Artist: hughmikkelsen

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Cannibalism, Religious Trauma, Canon-compliant levels of violence

Tropes used: Priest!Hannibal, Priest!Will, Cannibalism, First Time, Gone Fishing, Hannibal is The Devil, How much whiskey can Will have before his ankles are in the air, Murder Family, Post-Fall Europe, Shattered Teacup, Voyeurism.

Ships: Hannibal/Will

Word Count: 105,635 words

Summary:

Think “Seven,” but sexy. Will and Hannibal find themselves on a yacht and sail to Italy to become priests of a local small town church with a history of corruption. They meet an enigmatic young woman and all three set out on a journey of self discovery: she by using her power for good, and they by realising the depths with which love can go. Of course, Italy is not without its own mysteries as Hannibal and Will kill and fuck their way from pride to sloth, their past catches up to them. Just how did they end up with Dr. DuMaurier’s leg on a table? And of course, they tie up a few red loose ends.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

it takes one to know one

Author: Biv_w

Artist: ScarletMothlet

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3,085 words

Ships: Hannibal/Will

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Tropes: Drawing Will Graham, Hannibal is The Chesapeake Reaper, Hannibal’s Mind Palace, Skin Hunger, Sailing the Atlantic, Murder Husbands, Hannibal and his Uncanny Strength of Smell, Fluff.

Summary:

Hannibal sees a new face in prison and feels far more than intrigued.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

The Blood of the Son

Author: bittercigs_ (twitter)

Artist: i-call-me-clarence (tumblr)

Rating: Teen

Length: 4,911 words

Ships: Gen

Warnings: Religious Imagery & Symbolism; Mild Depictions of Violence

Tropes: New Orleans Police Detective!Will Graham, Priest!Hannibal, Casefic

Summary:

One of the best in the NOPD, Detective Will Graham struggles to solve a string of recent murders, leading him to temporarily turn back to the religion he’d previously abandoned.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

The Lamb of God

Author: LAfterDark30

Artist: i-call-me-clarence

Rating: Explicit

Length: 12,632

Ships: Hannibal/Will

Warnings: some pretty blasphemous uses of the Bible and Catholic history, Chilton has a BAD time, character death (none of the mains), graphic artsy violence, manipulative Hannibal, alcoholism in appearance only, betrayal, choking, of the non-sexy kind, dead dove, for the choking, anal sex, Bottom Will, Top Hannibal

Tropes: Soulmates, Priest Will, Demon Hannibal

Summary:

In a world where meeting your soul mate makes their name appear on your skin, Hannibal lived free of that nonsense. As a demon without a soul, he spent his time torturing exorcists and taunting the Church until he heard of the Church’s prized exorcist Father Will Graham, the “lamb of God,” and the idea for his ultimate masterpiece of terror took shape.

Step 1: Get close to Father Graham. Step 2: Cultivate his darkness. Step 3: Turn him against his beloved Church.

He just had to ignore Father Graham’s name appearing as a soul mark on his skin.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

The Dispersal Method

Author: victorine

Artist: hit_the_books

Rating: Explicit

Length: 16,906

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Warnings: no archive warnings apply, sex pollen, dubious consent (mutual as both are exposed to pollen), consensual choking (brief), unrecommended lube alternatives

Tropes:

sex pollen, honeypot Will, crime-scene sex, sex in the Bentley, “Is Hannibal in love with me?”, secret surprise trope (no spoilers)

Summary:

It’s a normal fall day in the forest for Will Graham. Dead body in front of him, cannibal psychiatrist behind him, the usual. Then Will brushes against the wrong flower, and suddenly neither he nor Hannibal can keep their hands off each other. Now Will must navigate his way out of the crime scene and Jack’s scrutiny while also trying not to jump Hannibal’s bones at every opportunity.

Well, one out of three ain’t bad.

Set nebulously in s2, post-Will’s release from the BSHCI. Will’s a conflicted honeypot, Hannibal’s a (not-so) secretly-besotted asshole, and nobody has brought enough lube.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Mozzie’s Mass in C Minor

Author: @sihaya74 (AO3 MadhouseMuse)

Artist: @MissLunaKitty (AO3 MargotBloom)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 7,395 words

Ships: Hannigram

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tropes: Post-Fall Cuba, Murder Husbands, Cannibalism, Will the Boat Mechanic, Night at the Symphony.

Summary:

After a few years laying low in Cuba, Hannibal and Will attend the national symphony in Havana. There, they have a fateful meeting with an American politician on vacation. You know what happens. :) THIS PROJECT IS DEDICATED TO OUR HERO AND OUR FANDOM KING - BRYAN FULLER, WITH MUCH LOVE FROM LUNA AND SIHAYA.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

the price of anything

Author name: neila777

Artist name: G0UGER

Rating: Gen

Length: 9,101

Ships: Hannibal/Will

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tropes used: Magic AU, Hannibal cooks for Will, Chicken Soup

Summary:

There’s magic here. Not just magic, but powerful magic. Dangerous magic. It’s woven through the walls and lights and air, shifting and settling as Hannibal moves through the space.

A door at the back of the store opens suddenly and in walks a man carrying a pile of books that he sets on the glass counter. His face is framed by dark brown curls as he leans over the volumes, peering over his glasses. To Hannibal, the image of it feels like something one would see in a painting — a carefully sculpted subject posed to catch the light just right as he’s absorbed his work.

Or: Hannibal stumbles into Will’s magic shop and the two are instantly drawn to each other, but they’ll have to face their secrets as they grow closer together.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Contempt of Courtly Love

Author: Sergeant_Sawyer

Artist: scarletmothlet

Rating: Teen

Word count: 3,100

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Warnings: Major character death, spoilers

Tropes: Murder husbands, ficlet collection

Summary:

8 ways in which Will and Hannibal’s relationship does (or doesn’t) correlate with principles of Courtly Love.

Fic link

Art link

---

The Boogeyman

Author:  Call_Me_Clarence

Artist: hit_the_books

Rating: Mature

Length: 20,636

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Blood and gore, Implied bottom Will, Implied top Hannibal, Brainwashing of a minor, No underage sex, Kidnapping of an underage victim, Capture bonding (Not between Will and Hannibal), Domestic violence (Not between Will and Hannibal), Alcohol use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol abuse/Alcoholism, Murder, Sexual content, Frottage, Frottage for a case, First Kiss, Hannibal is still a serial killer but blink and you’ll miss the hints

Tropes: Bestfriend Bev, There was only one bed, Snuggling for warmth, Encephalitis Will, Case fic

Summary:

Will and Hannibal head to Minnesota to solve the case of The Boogeyman, a serial killer who hides under victims’ beds and waits for them to fall asleep before attacking.  There’s only one hotel room available, and even worse, only the one bed. As they get closer to the killer they find themselves getting closer to each other.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

a siphon; to pass through

Author: chaparral_crown

Artist: merrythoughts

Rating: Mature

Length: 71,226

Ships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Medical Trauma, Chronic Illness, Blood and Gore

Tropes: Sick Fic, Vampires, Meet Cute

Summary:

For approximately ten minutes, Will entertains the possibility that the whole evening before had been a very vivid dream, not because he is particularly doubtful of his memory, but because Doctor Lecter - Hannibal - doesn’t leave any evidence of his visit, no matter where Will’s keen eyes look for it. And he does look for it. — Will Graham’s encephalitis comes from an unexpected source - late onset type 1 diabetes. Between the betrayal of his body, and the strange doctor that he meets on an arrest, he’s not so sure he’s not experiencing a relapse, or if the dead have actually risen to clear out his cabinet of liquor and blood sugar.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Fever

Author: Hannibalsimago

Artist: Sarah the Artiste

Rating: Mature

Length: 15,972

Ships: Hannibal/Will, Hannigram

Warnings: sickfic; Comfort/Angst, no other major warnings from AO3

Tropes: Domestic AU, Chicken Soup, Sickfic

Summary:

After the Fall, Will and Hannibal have settled into an asexual, monogomous, altogether ordinary domestic life together. For Hannibal it’s easy. He’s vowed to accept any restrictions that Will sets in place, just so he can share a lifetime with him.

And as for Will, he is resolutely determined not to change anything about what their lives are like now. Their past was full of unsaid feelings and buried emotions. So much deception and pain inflicted upon each other. Will has no desire to go back to that hurtful chaos. This way is better, he tells himself. After all, why mess up something that’s working? He doesn’t have to unpack any painful memories, deal with past sorrows. Life is good.  

That is, until Hannibal becomes gravely ill and Will is faced with hard truths.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing

Author: obfuscatedheart

Artist: Ani Louhetar

Rating: Explicit

Length: ~20,000

Ships: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

Warnings: Graphic description of violence, A/B/O typical sexism, Alpha!Hannibal, Omega!Will

Tropes: Royalty AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega society

Summary:

Will is set to inherit his father’s throne that is until he presents as an omega. He knows that he will be married off to someone who will take over the throne. A potential match is Mason Verger, who is violently anti omegas. Rather than be bonded to Mason Verger he instigates a war. To help his father to win the war he goes to a neighboring kingdom to ask for help. Along the way he meets the mysterious alpha Hannibal in the woods. Is he worth risking everything for?

Link to fic

Link to art

---

Open Your Wild Eye

Author: ChibiTabatha

Artist: Tulip

Rating: Explicit

Length: 34,988

Ships: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, Will Graham & Beverly Katz

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Bottom Will, Violence, Murder, Minor Character Death, Animal Illness, Minor Frederick Chilton/Will Graham

Summary:

Will is a struggling college student, his job cuts his hours again and Bev suggests that he becomes a sugar baby. After the first date was a flop, he gives Hannibal Lecter a chance. The man isn’t put off by his abrasive personality and they grow closer together.

Link to fic

Link to art

---

And that’s it!

If you’d like to see the AO3 Collection head on over to the Hannigram Tropefest 2022 Collection.

~ hit_the_books

#hannigram #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fanart #nbc hannibal #hannibal/will #Will/Hannibal #Hannigram Tropefest 2022 #Hannigram Tropefest

[apalestar]

One orthon was difficult enough, three was insurmountable. Yet it was almost plausible. Sent on behalf of Zariel, mercy was a far cry away. It seemed, as Karlach pulled her trusted axe from the face of a fallen devil, that the fiends had forgotten she and Astarion were not about to grant mercy either.

Severely wounded, arm certainly broken, the axe felt heavy in her exhausted grip. Blade to the ground, she aimed to lean on it for just a moment, turning to see what shape he was in, flashing a victorious smile. Her vision darkening and certainly blurred, her body wishing only to collapse and rest - she didn't detect the movement behind her.

Karlach heard it before she felt it. The all too familiar ballad of ripped flesh, cracked bones and blood cascading onto rock. Even then when feeling returned, it didn't in spades. Only when she caught sight of fiery flares branching away from her did she dare look down. She saw it. A blade protruding from her torso, a clean cut all the way through. A dagger, in an orthon's hands at least...

The taste of blood threatened to drown her as she drained. The only thing holding her up was the orthons grip on the hilt, but as he finally gave way, so did she. Collapsing on her side with no time to speak, to fathom what was happening. She had kissed death before in battle. But unlike those times, there was no resurrection scrolls. No Withers.

'Go back...home...' Karlach found herself thinking as the world began to fade, focusing solely on the blur of white amongst all the red. 'Leave...be safe...'

'Live.'

@iron-hearts-ablaze

Idiocy separated them. They worked in tandem. Karlach in front whilst he struck from the shadows, but somehow the orthons had placed some distance between them. Led them down a tragic path in their tale. One where Astarion buried his blade into the throat of one just to see the silver and crimson pierce through his partner's body. "Karlach!" Voice carried across the field.

A cry born of pain and suffering. Of a heart lurched within his chest. The sudden drop of his world beneath his feet. Astarion felt off-kilter in a way he hadn't for centuries. "Get away from her!" He snarled and growled uncaring of his own injuries.

It was the sickening part of all of this. He was already undead. His curse sustained him. Wounds and injuries healed slowly even shortly after being inflicted. He only had to stay fed. Karlach afforded no such boon.

Grief-stricken and adrenaline filled Astarion was a sight to behold. A creature of death and shadow given form. If the hells wanted a monster of him, they damn sure received one. He fought them the orthons blades coated slick in their blood. A man driven to the extremes. Not even Cazador had warranted such fury. He sustained his own wounds as he stole their lives, but Astarion soldiered through. Unless they severed his head, he wasn't so easily felled.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Karlach was already still when he reached her. He begged and pleaded beneath his breath. For anyone or anything to reverse this. To suddenly be a full vampire capable of bringing her back. But he wasn't. This was real.

"No, no, no! You weren't supposed to leave me like this! You were supposed to live! Damn you!" Astarion wailed. Voice tainted in his breaking heart. Tears glistened in tracks down his face. His hands cupped Karlach's cheeks. But she didn't breath. She didn't move. She was just a magnificent flame snuffed out by the wind.

Astarion held her corpse in his arms. His face buried in her hair. Cries muffled against her, unwilling to let Karlach go even as her body grew cold. Colder than his own. He had failed her. Failed to live up to that promise of curing her. But he'd bring her back. He would bring her back.

The field green and lush even under the full moon's light. He loathed flowers. Gaudy and trite little things, but she didn't. And this was as much for him as it was for her. Astarion waited for the flowers to burst open. Snow white beneath the pale moonlight. Moonflowers.

The urn in his hands felt heavy like the choking weight in his heart; the tightness in his throat. Astarion stilled himself with a breath he didn't require. Twisted the jar open and let her be free among the flowers she loved. Watched as her ashes would spread and dance among the blooms of white.

Astarion couldn't save her. Couldn't restore her heart, but he could do this. Bring Karlach home. Lay her to rest under the moon and stars far away from Zariel and the hells that wronged her. "Goodbye, Fire Girl."

And in the end Astarion had to live on for her. For the both of them. Eternity was going to be very, very long.

He still hated the flowers.

#iron-hearts-ablaze #verse: this will be a lot of fun #// Vix woke up and chose angst #// respect #death tw #long post under the cut

[badass-at-fandoming]

Who is "The Girl" from Dazai's Route?

[TW discussions of suicide]

When I read Dazai Osamu's route in Ikemen Vampire, I knew I was in for a very sad story. The historical figure didn't have an easy life. Lo and behold, Dazai tells MC about an incredibly tragic incident from his past.

Because the incident is so heartrending (and because he's Dazai and this is What He Does), Dazai reveals his past in the form of a story. Though the story's protagonist is obviously him, complete with sprite, he refers to the protagonist as "The Man." The other character in the story is called "The Girl." Her name is never revealed. After a troubled childhood, the Man becomes an author. The Girl is a big fan of his work. When she spots the Man drinking at the bar she works at, she's delighted. She approaches her idol and praises his work for how it manages to capture the torture and travails of her own inner life. The Man accepts her praise, and the pair become best friends.

However, company isn't enough for their misery. Being poor and disabled fucking sucks. After her father hits her one night, the Girl proposes a lovers' suicide to the Man, and the Man pretends to go along with it. Instead of buying poison, he buys sleeping pills, and on purpose doesn't give her a lethal dose. The pair fall asleep. The Man wakes up, but the Girl doesn't—she figured out his deception and ate the remainder of the pills. The Man is riddled with guilt, even though her actions aren't his fault.

During my initial read, I assumed "The Girl," like "The Man," was a real historical person. Dazai is based on Dazai-san, so she must be based off someone too, right? Nope! I read a whole biography of Dazai-san's life, and it turns out she's an amalgamation of several people.

As we know, Dazai-san had extremely poor mental health. He attempted suicide four times—the second and fourth time with others. The fifth time he and his lover died.

1929 - attempted sleeping pill overdose

1930 - attempted suicide with Tanabe Shimeko by throwing themselves into the sea at Kamakura. Tanabe-dono died.

1933 - attempted to hang himself in Kamakura

1936 - attempted sleeping pill overdose with his ex-wife Oyama Hatsuyo. Both survived.

1948 - committed lovers' suicide with Yamazaki Tomie by throwing themselves into the Tamagawa Canal

Let's go over the double suicides one-by-one. 1930 was not a good year for Dazai-san. In spring, he'd moved to Tokyo to study French Literature at the Imperial University and learned upon arrival that, due to his family's status, his degree would be handed to him regardless of his own efforts. A budding Communist, Dazai-san found this state of affairs deeply offensive and discouraging. While he had his own apartment, Dazai-san lived in walking distance to his brother. Previously, the brothers had a distant relationship, but being neighbors encouraged them to steadily become closer—until his brother abruptly sickened and died.

The loneliness of a new place, meaninglessness of his studies, his brother's death, and his fragile mental health already did not make for a good situation. By his second university semester, Dazai-san gave up attending classes. He met up with an old high school friend, Oyama Hatsuyo, and they fell in love. Dazai-san petitioned his family for permission to marry Oyama-dono, but they instead forcibly separated the couple. Dazai-san was left alone in Tokyo, and promptly imploded.

By "imploded," I mean like, performed a bunch of risk-taking behaviors like excessive drinking, drugs, and unprotected sex. During this period, he met Tanabe Shimeko. Because the biographer was a little shitty, I don't know a lot about her besides that she was a hostess at a bar that Dazai-san and other writers frequented. And she was miserable. When Dazai-san received the news that the University was to expel him, he agreed to Tanabe-dono's proposal to commit suicide together. The couple traveled to Kamakura and threw themselves off a cliff.

"The Girl" from Ikemen and Tanabe-dono both work at bars, and both befriend Dazai-san during a period of poor mental health. While Dazai-san hadn't yet written the works he's most famous for, it's conceivable that Tanabe-dono had read his few short stories. Her fan status is unclear.

The next joint suicide was with Oyama-dono, and it contains the same sleeping pill scenario as in the Ikemen flashback story. Unsurprisingly, 1936 was another terrible year. Like, almost cinematically bad. After publishing an essay about how much he loved his friends, said friends trapped Dazai-san in a mental institution. Like, they told him "hey, let's have a writer retreat at this resort," and he didn't realize what has happening until he heard the key turn in the lock. Granted, Dazai-san had a terrible morphine addiction which needed to be treated, but. My God. He spent a month locked in a room, dealing with the withdrawal.

Dazai-san could further not catch a break when his wife Oyama-dono cheated on him with one of his friends, Kodate-san. Literally right after he got out of the mental institution, she informed Dazai-san of the affair, and asked his blessing to marry Kodate-san. He said okay because what else ya gonna do at that point. Unfortunately for literally everyone, Kodate-san and Oyama-dono's marriage didn't last. Kodate-san dumped her, and she ran back to Dazai-san, begging him to help her die. Dazai-san agreed.

The biographer argued here that Dazai-san didn't want Oyama-dono to die. He loved her deeply, and for years, remember. The biographer argued that Dazai-san bungled the sleeping pill dose on purpose. Later, Dazai-san wrote a short story (which I sadly don't remember the title of) which is heavily based on this incident with Oyama-dono. In that story the husband purposefully lets the wife live. The Ikemen scenario borrows this plot beat too, but "The Girl" is totally different from Oyama-dono.

The last relevant incident is the one that ended Dazai-san's life, so, as one might guess, it doesn't share a lot with the Ikemen story. Honestly one of the scariest aspects of Dazai-san's life, for me, is how he was able to hold it together through all of World War II. He survived all the bombing and trauma by telling his daughter fairy tales in their bomb shelter. It's when the war ended he fell apart.

At the time of his death, Dazai-san had a wife Michiko Ishihara, two mistresses, and four children—two of whom were a year old. One mistress was Ōta Shizuko. Similar to "The Girl" in Ikemen, she was a Dazai-san super fan who specifically sought the author out. She offered him her diary to use as writing material, which Dazai-san transmogrified into The Setting Sun, arguably his most famous novel.

It's with the second mistress, Yamazaki Tomie, that Dazai decided to die with. Yamazaki-dono was beautician and war widow. Abandoning Michiko-dono and Ōta-dono, he moved into with Yamazaki-dono. Besides the fact that Dazai-san wrote like he was possessed, I don't know a ton about their time together. They died.

Taking in the facts of Dazai-san's life, "The Girl" shares DNA with several real people. She has Tanabe-dono's occupation, and the fake-out suicide method Dazai-san chose for Oyama-dono. Ōta's fanaticism of Dazai-san and his work lend to her character. It's not as easy to discern who gave The Girl her poor mental health and bad family life—mostly because multiple of these women had those. One doesn't think about self-annihilation when one's feeling great.

I went into Dazai's flashback sequence thinking we were getting a real historical event, but what I got was possibly more in tune with the Dazai Osamu experience. Many, many of Dazai-san's works are semi-autobiographical—and that "semi-" has haunted fans and scholars for decades. Deciding what's truth and what's fiction is part of the fun. In the introduction to his English translation of Ningen Shikkaku, Mark Gibeau notes that the novel tantalizes readers with how it plays with the myths surrounding Dazai-san's life. In true Dazai-san tradition, Ikemen Vampire does the same.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #cybird ikemen series #cybird ikemen #ikemen dazai #ikevamp dazai #text post #edited

[fictionplumis]

Roche in BG3? 👀👀👀 I need to know more, please! would you share some screenshots? and maybe some thoughts on how he feels about his companions, the new experiences, etc.?

Ooo, I should take some screenshots!

As far as companions go, he has the most respect for Lae'zel even though they butt heads a lot, because he's very used to being in command Lae'zel is stubborn in the beginning when she thinks he's superior to everyone else.

He also respects Wyll even if he thinks the kid is naive. Wyll reminds him of who he used to want to be when he was younger, before the realities of the world really jaded him.

Gale is lucky to be alive because it's not Roche's first instinct to touch a glitchy magic portal. Astarian is also lucky to be alive because it's Roche's first instinct to stake a vampire trying to bite him in the middle of the night. Shadowheart is way too obsessed with a dark goddess and Roche honestly tunes most of it out.

So far it's been my most... Violent run. And that's including my durge playthrough. If you're interested, a summary of my playthrough so far is below the cut. I'm just starting Act 3 of this run now.

It's just that Roche doesn't take well to threats, y'know?

And like. He arrives in the druid grove to see Zevlor laying into some idiot kid, and immediately clocks that Zevlor is a commander and the kid is being a jackass, so Roche lays the kid out. The commander to commander bonding is real but as much as he wants to help Zevlor, he has more important issues.

So he goes to talk to Nettie, only to then see some druids threatening a mother who just wants her kid back. He walks into the inner sanctum to see this other druid threatening a kid. Then Nettie tries to KILL HIM and at that point it's like, okay, fuck druids.

Through some strategic planning, he wages war on the druids with only one loss of tiefling life.

He saves Halsin, who hears about the druids and is like, "Well, it sucks, but it sounds like they left you no other choice. Unfortunately I don't have a cure."

So he decides to check out the creche, and on the way runs into the "Paladins of Tyr" and hears more about this evil devil. He believes them, since he also heard the same from Wyll. He's not the type to stop and talk to his enemies, so he strategically takes out Karlach. RIP

In the creche, Lae'zel blows up the machine. The doctor acts real weird about it so before she leaves the room, Roche kills her. They go to report the traitor in the creche, but can't talk to the inquisitor because this lady wants the artifact. So Roche kills her.

Now, he doesn't trust the dream visitor. So he DOES hand over the artifact to the inquisitor and agrees to kill the person inside as an excuse to just go there and confront this person on his own terms. The Dream Visitor (who looks uncomfortably like Foltest which pisses Roche off more) makes the mistake of kneeling down and offering his sword in some manipulative tactic of "look, see, I'm harmless"

Roche calls the bluff and stabs him. Lo and behold, the visitor doesn't die because it was a trick. But everything he said about the githyanki waiting to kill them outside the artifact regardless of the outcome is true, and he's not happy about that but he admits that maybe this dream visitor is right about some things. Just not about using the tadpole power, fuck that.

They fight their way out.

On to Moonrise, then. They go through the underdark, where they run into the fungi colony, who immediately telepathically threaten him and he's like >:( I'm not afraid of you.

They attack. They get slaughtered.

They head towards a boat and get ambushed by duegar. He convinces them not to attack, but then is like "your missing slave is a you problem, I'm not getting involved," so the duegar attack and get slaughtered.

Roche steals the duegar's boat. They get ambushed by another boat. Roche is very done with this, and he sucks at lying anyway so he doesn't bother, he just shoves the other duegar into the water and kills the others.

Grymforge. Wyll is immediately like, "Hey, uh... Maybe we should try to be diplomatic about this."

I have never ONCE had a companion suggest that, and this is my fourth playthrough. Roche tries. It works. And then Wyll hears that they have slaves and is like, "Actually. Maybe violence IS the answer." To which Roche says it's none of their business and they're not getting involved in that shit.

They hear about Nere. They figure Nere knows a way to get past the shadow curse. They figure Nere won't be very cooperative about it, so Roche is like, whatever, we can get the info from his corpse.

He notices not all the duegar are on the same page about Nere. He agrees to side with the rebels in a coup against Nere. They free Nere, they kill Nere, they get the info about the drider and they get the spider lyre and because Roche is annoyed at the prospect of letting Wyll down, he convinces the duegar to leave the slaves behind.

They go to the shadow curse land. Sure is a shame none of them have instrument proficiency and thus can't play the lyre.

On to Last Light, where Mol jumps in just in time to keep Roche from attacking Jaheira because he really doesn't like being threatened. Otherwise the infiltration plan seems pretty solid, it's a go.

When they get the lantern, Roche is like, yeah, I'm not letting the damn pixie out, we need this. They go to Moonrise. They conduct a prison escape with the tieflings and gnomes, mostly because he figured Zevlor would be among them. It goes without a hitch thanks to strategic assassinations of the guards without alerting any of the other guards.

He plays along with Z'rell like... Bare minimum. Then they're off to find Balthazar.

Roche tunes out most of Shadowheart rants about Shar because really? Seriously? Whatever.

Raphael shows up. Roche doesn't like his smarmy attitude. He's not close enough with Astarion to know about the scars at this point so there's no real reason for him to agree to what Raphael says.

They find Balthazar. He plays along with Balthazar just long enough to get some information, and then they kill Balthazar.

They find Yuigir. They agree to help Yuigir just because it would piss off Raphael.

It doesn't. Roche hates him even more.

They proceed to the Shadowfell and meet the Aylin. Unfortunately, Roche's solution to most problems is "kill it" and figures, hey, if she's the source of Ketheric's immortality, killing her gets rid of the problem. Do whatever you what Shadowheart.

Ten minutes later they're fighting a camp of shadowcursed Harpers and tieflings and he's like, "GODDAMMIT SHADOWHEART."

They kill Ketheric. They free Zevlor and Mizora. Roche stops Gale from blowing himself up because what the fuck man, I am RIGHT HERE. STAND DOWN, THAT IS AN ORDER.

They kill Ketheric AGAIN. They kill the god of death. Roche is so fucking done with the shadowlands. Halsin doesn't get helped because Roche is not about to prioritize healing nature over his own personal mission to get this damn tadpole out of his head and take down this cult.

And that's pretty much where I'm at.

#bg3 spoilers

[ladylilithprime]

Someone Who Will Always Know

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Pre-slash Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Jimmy and Castiel Used To Be One Person, Autistic Castiel, High-Masking Autistic Jimmy, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Gabriel Uses His Powers For Good

Summary: There once was a boy named John Constantine Novak. That boy no longer exists, as he became twins.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 4: Learn

Read on AO3

MEMORY WAS A tenuous thing. Unless you were "blessed" with an eidetic memory, which honestly sounded more like a curse, you really couldn't remember everything. Even the memories you did have could be changed, sometimes through magic but more commonly through simple auto-suggestion. If you told someone something over and over, pretty soon they would start to believe it, such as old stories about changeling children becoming more commonly known after the Magical Revelation at the turn of the millennium that had practically eclipsed the whole Y2K thing with the computer programming bug.

Magic was the reason that almost no one remembered that a boy named John Constantine Novak used to exist. Almost no one, that is, except for the four people who were there the night it happened. Charlene Novak neé Shurley had been told those stories of changelings, the ones that described the children who acted odd, who stared too much or couldn't meet your eyes, who counted grains and hummed strange tunes no one else knew. Scientific studies had determined that such behaviors related to the perfectly human condition of autism, a type of neurodivergence that was slowly becoming more understood. When the Revelation happened, when it became obvious that not only were magical beings like faeries real but that they lived among humanity? Many of those old stories got brought up again, including in the mind of Charlene who was already starting to notice certain oddities about her only son.

Magic was an old story to Charlene as a child, being of Irish Catholic stock and having grown up hearing the old legends of the Fair Folk, but magical reality was new and terrifying. She feared confronting an actual faerie to demand her real son back, feared her own inability to navigate the treachery such a creature could weave around her if they could steal her son without her notice and leave this strange, inhuman child in her little boy's place. Prayer was easier, and surely if faeries and vampires and werewolves and other demonic creatures were real, then angels must also be real and capable of answering the prayer of a faithful Catholic woman who only wanted to save her child?

In the dead of night, in the nearly empty church after evening mass had long since concluded, her prayer was answered... but not in the way she had expected. The angel who came to her, golden and shining with wings spread wide to cast their shadows on the walls of the church, looked upon her tearful, pleading face as she begged for him to "destroy the evil changeling creature and give me back my real, normal son" with no warmth. When he spoke, his voice echoed with the rumble of thunder and the flare of a thousand horns.

"You ask this of me out of ignorance and fear," he intoned. "You will now be tested. Behold."

Light formed and swirled upon the altar before there appeared a child in the likeness of her son (or his changeling doppelganger) dressed in his pajamas as if taken from his bed. The air grew thick and heavy as the light spread to encompass the boy, then faded to reveal two children, two perfectly identical four-year-old boys wearing identical pajamas and looking at her with identical wide blue eyes.

"Mama?" the two boys spoke in unison. Charlene gasped, her hands going to her mouth. The angel gestured to the boys with one glowing hand.

"Choose," he said. "If you can tell which of these boys is your real son, I will destroy the other and you will take the one you chose home with you."

The words were harsh, and they clearly frightened both boys, who reached out to clutch at each other in fear, looking between the angel and Charlene with eyes filled with tears. And Charlene... she searched both children, desperately trying to tell them apart, to tell which one was really her son... and couldn't.

She dropped to her knees and wept for that realization, and wept even harder when she felt two sets of small arms going around her in a hug.

"Justice is done," the angel spoke again, his voice subdued though still echoing with power. "As Heaven is not without mercy, I give your son his mirror, that he shall live and grow always having someone who will love and understand him as he is, even when others who should do so cannot."

That night, the boy known as John Constantine Novak ceased to exist. Charlene suffered her husband's anger at what she had done, but refused to choose between the boys and insisted that they had twins. Unable to tell them apart even so much as one from the other when dressed alike, she simply renamed them as John Castiel and James Constantine Novak and told herself it was better this way. She said it to the rest of her family, and her husband's family, and the neighbors, and even the local judge. And she said it to herself, quietly and often, until she could pretend that she really had given birth to twins, and quickly shut down anyone who suggested that one of her sons might be a changeling.

As the twins grew, they diverged further apart into two separate people with different personalities, likes and dislikes, and different expressions of autistic symptoms. They could always understand each other, developed their own methods of communicating in touch and soft hums. With such common names as "John" and "James", the two quickly settled on the nicknames of "Cas" and "Jimmy" to be called when they entered school. Cas had more difficulty with social interaction and picking up on social cues, but Jimmy was always able to explain it to him. Jimmy was better at masking his own difficulties so long as Cas was nearby, but quickly became overwhelmed without his brother. They both had different preferences for stimming, Jimmy preferring to tap or stroke his fingers along a familiar texture while Cas preferred to fiddle with or twist something small. One of their friends gave Cas a fidget ring, a simple band of metal that could spin around in its cradle where it sat on a finger, and while Cas loved the spinning he couldn't stand the feeling of the ring constricting his flesh which led to Jimmy wearing it for Cas instead.

And always, always, the quickest way for either one of them to calm down and regain their equilibrium was in each other's arms. From that very first moment in the empty church that neither of them would ever forget through into their burgeoning adulthood, the Novak brothers were each other's primary touchstone. Two halves of a whole, it was frequently said in joking tones, unaware of how true those words really were and how much they made Jimmy and Cas cling to each other all the more. It made dating difficult, even more so than the challenges of trying to navigate attempts at romance when just identifying social cues tended to stress them out. Realizing that neither of them was particularly interested in dating girls only helped a little bit, in that they could claim being gay as why they "ignored" whenever a girl was flirting with one of them. Figuring out the rest, their mother wearily assured them, would just take time.

And then they heard about Lighthouse CommodiTeas, a cafe owned and operated by a faerie sorcerer with powerful magic and a talent for using magical ingredients to make the drinks. Their mother had been diligent about shutting down talk of changelings since that night, but it was still a niggling little concern that sent them to the cafe's door, and then into the apartment above the cafe after hours to talk. Not only did Cas and Jimmy gained the reassurance that they had never been a changeling in the first place, but also that the magic that had split them apart was long gone and could not be undone. A bargain had been struck for a spell to ensure that no one beyond the people who were in the church that night would even remember that they had ever been only one person, to be paid with covering shifts at the cafe for three days. That in turn had led to them both being hired on full time when it became clear to the faerie, who went by the name "Sam", that they really didn't mind moving permanently to the little coastal New Jersey town and staying on.

Three months later and frequent after work visits plus the occasional babysitting of Sam's adopted son Jack, and both Jimmy and Cas were completely and awkwardly smitten with their faerie boss and equally clueless about how to deal with it. It was a question that Jimmy found himself pondering during a rare moment when he was alone at the front of the cafe, Cas in the kitchen with his baking wizardry while Sam and Charlie, the other barista, were in the back office going over the cafe's finances in preparation for tax filing season.

The door chimes jingled, and Jimmy shook off his thoughts in order to attend to the newly arrived customer. "Welcome to Lighthouse CommodiTeas; what can I get started for you?"

"A large Trickster Special and two of whichever cookie's coming out of the oven next, please," the man said with a friendly smile. "Didn't think a faerie would risk serving food to humans."

"All the baked goods are made by my brother, actually," Jimmy explained with a wry smile. "While he uses magical ingredients sometimes in the recipes, we're both human so there's no risk, just reward."

"Your brother, huh?" the man hummed, looking up at Jimmy with thoughtful golden eyes. "Both of you work here, then?"

"Sure do," Jimmy nodded. "I guess some siblings might not enjoy spending so much time together even after becoming adults and leaving home, but it works for us."

"You're both happy then?" the man asked, pinning Jimmy with that golden gaze with an intensity that sent a familiar shiver up Jimmy's spine.

"Yes, sir," he murmured, left thumb curling in toward his palm to press against the band of Cas's fidget ring. "You don't have to worry about us. Ma learned her lesson, and our boss helped make it stick."

"Good," the angel murmured with a faint smile. "I'm glad. How much for the drink and cookies?"

"Uh--" Jimmy hurriedly punched in the individual prices to ring up the total. "Ten-fifty, sir. Er... can I get a name for the order?" It was a longshot, especially when the customer knew he was in a faerie cafe, but Jimmy had been up front about being human and he hadn't specifically asked the angel for his name--

"Gabriel," the angel - Archangel - said, smiling up at Jimmy with a touch of humor glinting in his eyes. "They call me Gabriel."

#fluffy february 2024 #rk writes #supernatural fic #jimmy novak #castiel #gabriel #urban fantasy au #sastimmy

[hoetolegist]

Okay so… I have a twilight- JASPER HALE, request where it’s like, the reader (any gender- idc) and their Indian and their super insecure about their culture, looks, and skin color and their insecurities only get larger when JESSICA STANLEY insults them about being Indian and so they distances themself from Jasper and all the Cullens who love y/n more than Bella. And then Jasper, being heartbroken turns into the major and demands why they’ve been ignoring him and they’ll like, burst into tears and explained what happens and he’ll be so mad and feel bad for yelling at them it’s all cute and fluffy at the end cause he tells them HE LOVES them AND INDIA and it ends in rough, loving smut But it doesn’t have to be Jasper it can be Stefan Salvatore or Steve rogers or blah blah blah but i’d prefer one of those three especially the vampires

Title: You're beautiful to me

Summary: an Indian teenage girl moves to a small town where she's seen as different. Can she get through it with her best friend by her side

The smut is so anticlimactic I rushed the ending 😭 I'm sorry

~

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder" is what they always say. "Stop saying stuff like that, you're pretty" they repeat every time you feel off about yourself but none of that helps. None of that stops you from knowing that you just aren't that attractive and that guys wouldn't even look at you twice. You honestly wouldn't even consider yourself average, you have a big nose, thick eyebrows, big puffy lips, shabby hair and dark skin that irritates you to no end

Everyone around you has milky white skin that dazzled in the sunlight but you and your family are so dark. Your family moved to Forks, Washington a few years ago because your mom wanted to see things outside of India, she wanted to explore and make her pottery business worldwide. When you first moved here you immediately noticed how different it was. It was very dull, always raining and surrounded by rainforest

You eventually got used to it and the humidity stopped bothering you the way it did at first. Your first day of school was hectic, you saw and felt people staring at you all day. They were whispering and pointing and you didn't know wether it was because they liked you or because they disliked you. Now you've also gotten used to the stares which still often happen but now they probably stare more because of who your best friend is

"Hey! Are you ready to go?" You heard a deep voice shout from the other side of your door. You looked around, making sure that you had your backpack and your keys. You opened your door to a tall, gorgeous man smiling down at you, leaning up against the door frame. "Yes I'm ready Jas, we have to stop somewhere for breakfast though" you replied to him

Jasper Hale was your first friend here in this small town. When you first saw him you thought he was so beautiful and to this day he still has such inhuman beauty. There was just no way he could be real! He has this pale marble-like skin, wavey honey blonde hair that fell just a few inches above his collarbone and the prettiest golden brown eyes that glisten in the sun

Maybe you kind of had a tiny crush on him but you'd never even think about acting on it

-

Chemistry class is so boring and you have no friends in here. You looked toward the door and saw Jasper walk past, oh good he's out. Your hand quickly shot up "may I go to the restroom?" the teacher stopped talking and pushed her glasses up "yes go ahead. Take the pass and if you're gone for more than-" you were already out of the room before she could finish

You practically skipped down the hallway with the biggest smile on your face but your smile slowly faded as you turned the corner and spotted him walking hand in hand with the one person you hated most, Jessica Stanley. She's such a bitch! She always has something to say about you. She cracks non stop jokes about your hair, your clothes, your skin, everything. It's annoying

Before you could turn around and sneak back to class you saw her glance back then stop walking. "Oh if it isn't y/n" she said as she dramatically turned around, her hand still in Jaspers. You rolled your eyes and turned around to start walking back. "Don't even start Jessica" you said trying to stay confident. She can be intimidating sometimes, you just never know with her

"What kind of eye sore are you wearing today?" she shouted after you, you stopped walking and turned around. You kind of liked your outfit today - you wore a white lehenga, decorated with gold polka dots and a white and gold choli, a dupatta draped around your shoulder. You were always insecure about wearing your traditional Indian clothes and the main reason is because of Jessica but your mom never allows you to wear anything else

She looked you up and down and laughed "I can't believe you walked out of the house with that ugly skirt on and do you need a jacket? No one wants to see your mid drift it's ugly". You looked at Jasper but he just stood there, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. You scoffed and bit your lips to stop your tears from falling. You ran to the bathroom, the jingle of your many bracelets echoing off of the walls

-

Jessica's laugh rang in your ears, why does she have to be so mean? She has been ruining everything for you since you first got here

You started to think about that time you celebrated your 16th birthday at school with friends and classmates since your parents had no time for it. "Happy birthday to you!" This was the most attention you've ever gotten at this school, you smiled at everyone and blew the candles out as they cheered. "Thank you everyone I-" your thanks was cut off as a monotone voice spoke out "ew are we really going to eat that?" Of course it was Jessica Stanley, she never lets up on you

You sighed "it's red velvet cake Jessica, not poison"

Her face scrunched up in disgust "but it's homemade right?" You nodded slowly, not knowing what she's getting at

"We don't know what you people do to your foods" she eyed the cake like it was the most disgusting thing she's ever seen "I won't be touching it" she grabbed her bag and walked out of the classroom, a few people following close behind her

You shook you head to stop yourself from thinking about such moments and lifted a hand to wipe your cheek as a tear rolled down. You feel so much more ugly than you ever have in your whole life

Suddenly the bathroom door swung open and in front of you stood Jessica. "y/n I wanted to say sorry" you stood there in silence knowing that she had more to say

"I'm sorry that Jasper just doesn't like girls like you, he likes girls like me or Bella. You will never be more than a friend. Got it?" You had no more fight left in you, not like you had any to begin with, so you just nodded. She smiled and looked you up and down again hate etched into her features "oh and do us all a favor and stop wearing those horrendous sheets that you call clothes". She soon walked out of the bathroom, you couldn't hold your tears back this time

-

A few days passed by and you stayed away from Jasper and the Cullens completely. You started wearing baggy jeans and oversized sweaters, your mom begged and pleaded for you to not give up on your culture but she didn't understand what you were going through

You sat in the back of chemistry class, giving Jessica the satisfaction of changing you completely. You saw a figure standing at the door from the corner of your eye, looking up you saw Jasper waving you out but you quickly looked away. He's the last person you want to see and talk to

When you were walking to your car, you noticed someone leaning on the front of it. You recognized the silhouette, soon realizing that it was Jasper's brother Emmet. "fuck" you whispered to yourself as you closed the distance between you and your car

He smiled at you and laughed "you know I heard that right?"

You chuckled dryly, just standing there with your arms crossed "yeah your super hearing is so cool" you said sarcastically "can you move please?"

Emmet just stood there looking at you, studying your facial expressions and your body language. He knew something was up. "I've never saw you in jeans before y/n" he sighed. You looked at him dumbfounded, why does he care? It's none of his business what you wear

"I can wear what I want Emmet" you sneered "I saw the way you guys looked at my other clothes anyway, someone just let me know what all of you were too afraid to tell me" he looked shocked "so move" but he moved fairly quickly

You were getting angrier with every word that came out of you mouth. You didn't want to look at his face anymore. You jumped into your car, starting it as quick as you can and driving off

Emmet was one of the siblings that you were close to, alongside Rosalie. They were the ones you could talk to when you just couldn't talk to Jasper. You don't know why you had treated him like that and you wished you could take it back but what's done is done

Maybe this'll keep them away from you

-

Knock knock knock

Three soft bangs woke you up quickly. Was someone knocking on your window? You sat up in your bed and rubbed your eyes, the clock showed 2 am

Knock knock knock

You heard the knocking again, it sounded more frantic. What if it's a kidnapper? Or a robber? What if-

"I'm not a kidnapper y/n open the window" you knew that voice! It was Jasper, what was he doing here so late? You suddenly sprung into action thinking he might be hurt or someone got hurt. "What happened?" You questioned as he jumped inside "did someone get hurt?"

He looked like he had been crying for a couple of hours. He doesn't have that glow in his eyes that he usually has. "Talk to me, tell me what I did wrong please" he whispered in the hush of the night. You stood there confused

What were you supposed to say? You've never seen him cry before, he's never this vulnerable. "Come on Jas you have to go" you tried hard to make sure your voice doesn't waver "uh you probably just need some sleep okay?" You were trying to walk him back to the window

Jaspers sadness quickly turned to anger. He was upset with how you were treating him, he's heartbroken and now you're trying to just shove him back out the window? "I don't just need sleep y/n!" he shouted in your face "I need you to tell me why you've been ignoring me. What did I do to hurt you so bad that you would rather shut me out of your life completely!"

Your eyes watered, you were never able to take people yelling at you too well and you take Jasper yelling at you one hundred times worse. "Fucking say something y/n!" he continued. He saw the tear drop from your eye and he immediately softened

Jasper grabbed you, hugging you tight as you cried into his shoulder "I'm sorry" you eventually said. You started telling him everything that was happening "it's been going on for years so you would think I'd be use to it by now". He rubbed circles into your back as you spoke, telling him about how you felt in the hallway "...and you looked at me, you looked at me and said nothing while she said the most disgusting things about me"

He looked displeased with himself, like he could just kick himself right then and there.

"The bathroom...she said a lot of things" you told him everything that was said to you and he looked livid. His eyes went black and you knew exactly what was happening

"Hey, she's not worth it" he faced the window, trying not to show his fangs. When you first found out about him he was hesitant about being around but soon he became comfortable with you. Sometimes his lack of control over his emotions is what keeps him from fully showing his true self around you

Your voice calmed him down "it's not worth it Jas" you repeated. His breathing eventually evened out

The silence was deafening, you just wanted him to say something

"I love you" is all he said

You nodded "I love you too Jasper" you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind him, resting your cheek on his back "I'm sorry for not being the best best friend like I promised I would"

You could feel him inhale before you felt yourself being disconnected from him. Next thing you know it you're face to face with him, his arms wrapped around your waist this time "no y/n, I love you. I love you so much it hurts" you gasped and tried to step back but he just held your waist tighter

"I'm not the type of girl you want Jasper. I don't fit in with you or anyone else. I think it's best we stay friends" you softly spoke out, your voice shook despite your efforts to keep it from doing that. You managed to get out of his hold to go sit on your bed. "Please leave" you finished firmly

Silence washed over you. You felt your bed dip as Jasper sat next to you but neither of you said a word

Eventually he spoke up "I think you're beautiful". You looked at him with your mouth opened in what could possibly be shock or disbelief? You don't know it's a mix of emotions right now. Your eyes stared into his, trying to find a lie within them. No one has genuinely called you beautiful like this. "I love the clothes you wore, they were so colorful. They were what made me fall in love with you. The real you"

You stood up after he said that. Fall in love with? In love with? Oh my fuck. "Uhm" you were panicking now. What if he was just lying to you? Him and Jessica will probably laugh at you about this tomorrow. But now that you think about it Jasper has never laughed at you, even when he was stuck in the hallway situation with you he didn't even pretend to be amused

You slowly sat back down at the realization that he's being real with you right now. Jasper slowly brought his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb slowly caressing it. "I love everything about you and where you're from. Did you know that I ordered a cookbook from India so I could learn how to prepare all of your favorite meals?" he smiled a small smile "that was going to be our first date"

He was going to do all of that for you? Really? You chuckled softly, flashing him a small smile "I had no idea" now you felt even worse for treating him the way you did. "I'm sorry Jasper. I didn't mean to push you away I just thought it would be better for you if I wasn't in your life anymore. I've had a crush on you for years and I always thought you wanted someone like Bella because she's like one hundred times prettier than me" you were talking too much, something you did when you were nervous

"No one is prettier than you. Not in my eyes" There was a moment when you just sat there looking at each other. Jasper shamelessly stared at your lips for a few minutes before looking back up at your eyes. You don't know who leaned in first but one second you were having a tension filled staring contest and the next second Jasper's soft lips were smushed up against yours. The kiss was hot and desperate and neither one one of you had came up for air yet

Jasper was the first to pull away "you don't know how long I've waited to do this" he breathed. You took that time to just look at him, admire his beauty but that didn't last long as his lips were back on yours in no time

He layed you down and began kissing your neck sucking a hickey under your ear which which you now know is a sensitive spot "Oh" you moaned. This is a new feeling for you

He kissed all the way down lifting your shirt up to kiss your stomach. When his lips touched your skin it felt amazing but you still panicked "wait wait stop" you cried out. Jasper stopped immediately upon hearing your voice, he looked up at you with concern. "It's just uh" you didn't know how to say this, you didn't want him too laugh at you

"I've never done this before" he just looked at you confused "I'm a virgin Jas" you finally said

His eyes grew wide for a split second before returning to normal size. "Oh I- uhm do you not want to do this?" He stood up awkwardly, scrambling to fix himself just in case you were going to kick him out. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back down "I know I want to do it and you're the one o want to do it with, I'm just scared that I'm not going to be what you are expecting"

Upon that confession he grabbed both of your hands and kissed them gently. "you're everything I've ever wanted y/n. We'll go slow and I'll be gentle if you want". You shook your head "okay, I trust you"

You began kissing again, this time slowly. You laid back and he smoothly started to kiss your jaw and down your neck. "Ah" you whined when he nipped a sensitive spot on your neck. He looked you in your eye as he kissed down, lifting your shirt up to place searing hot kisses on your chest. You sat up to take your top completely off, he practically drooled at the sight

You had no bra on "fuck your boobs are so pretty baby" you blushed at his words not knowing if you should say thank you or not. You moaned loudly as he wrapped his lips around one of your hardened nipples. His hand slowly crept down to tease the waistband of your shorts. He looked up at you for approval

Almost hesitant you shook your head yes. You shivered when his fingers slid between your soaked folds. You clawed at his shirt

"Off" you desperately pleaded, wanting to feel his skin against yours

His chest on yours felt nice, both of you were warm, this was nice for you. It was with someone you truly loved

-

"I want to be inside of you so bad" Jasper rubbed his cock between your wet folds

Once you guys were fully naked you were wondering if you should be having second thoughts about this but you don't. He had to talk to you about covering yourself up though "you're perfect, don't hide it" he had whispered against your lips

Your breathing was heavy as you waited for him to put the condom on. So far you had cum twice and you never knew how amazing that feeling was until now

Jasper rubbed your thighs gently sweat g to relax you "I'll talk you through it" he promised

You nodded and tried to lay as relaxed as possible. Okay it won't hurt too bad

Oh how wrong you were

The first few inches were hell, he whispered softly in your ear "you got this" and "just a little more, you can take it"

You looked at his face once he was fully in, he was sweating and breathing heavy. "y-you can move now"

Jasper tightened his grip on your waist and slowly pulled out then slammed back into you "fuck you're so tight" he moaned

You scratched his back as he thrusted harshly into you. Both of you had agreed on going slow but the pleasure mixed with a tinge of pain felt too good

"faster please" you panted, you were dripping with sweat. You didn't have to tell you twice he picked up the pace, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the once silent room

You felt dizzy with pleasure a bubble if heat was forming in the pit of your stomach. You knew that feeling all too well now

Jasper was now leaning over you, hands on wither side of your head, face in your neck. You held his hair out of your face as you both chased your highs. "Come for me baby" he whispered in your ear. His deep raspy voice was enough to pop that bubble instantly and you cried out as you came on his cock, your pussy squeezing him tight

"fuck fuck fuck" he squeezed his eyes shut as he continued to thrust in and out of you. You caressed his back and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. "I'm gonna cum, mm" he grunted before he stilled completely, filling you up

He collapsed on top of you, still holding himself up a little as to not crush you. You both were a mess of sweat and cum

He rolled off of you and layed next to you "I love you" he smiled at you softly

"I love you more" you threw your arm around his waist and cuddled up to him

Never in a million years would you have thought that this would be your life

#jasper hale #twilight #this is bad #the smut isn't that good forgive me #chrissy 🐾 🐾

[hekateinhell]

Vamptember, Day 6

Armand/Lestat sort of, mention of Armand/Nicki | Rating: T | Prompt: 1960s | Word Count: 543

The newspaper Armand notices discarded into the overgrown garden reads 1962. It vaguely registers, as time so rarely does for Armand.

Years, decades, and centuries more so defined by an idol in stasis. Marius once, then Santino. And afterwards, Lestat had swaggered in, a veritable bull in a china shop. An interlude when Nicolas came and passed with a vengeance, and subsequently so did sweet, sorrowful Louis.

It is not lost on Armand — the irony of being left behind not only by Lestat, but by two of Lestat’s children. He idly wonders if Lestat had ever imparted onto Louis his memories of Nicolas.

Armand certainly never did. What benefit would it do to relive his time with dark, defiant, tormented Nicolas?

He, whose hands had once touched Armand's skin with a foreign kindness, daring to awaken a long-dormant sensation before the inventible madness could not be staved off any longer.

How sad for Nicolas. How sad for Armand.

And yet, Nicolas had hardly been the most disastrous of Lestat’s many fledglings. 

Armand shudders at the memory of the child vampire — abhorrent, agonized creature that she was. Manipulative and embittered, and rightfully so. Condemned by her maker to be locked into a doll’s countenance for all entirely, Armand surely could not fault her. He remembers how weightless and hollow she had felt when he plucked her off his pet.

She had no right, no recourse to exist. And if she posed a threat to Lestat, well, that sealed her fate long before anything else had.

Lestat… 

It did not matter how many times Lestat denied, broke, abandoned, forgot, and rejected him — Armand will always return to him.

If Marius had been the dream king, Lestat was the golden prince. He who succeeded where Marius never could.

Tonight, Armand decides he will present his most seductive, alluring image — stares at his reflection in the broken mirror in this wretched, dilapidated house. Prowling the empty bedrooms like an angry wraith, tearing things out of closets and drawers until he has found something worthy of being presented to Lestat.

Armand needs to see him, embrace him, convince himself he has not gone mad somewhere along the centuries, contriving an entire delusion based on a forgotten fantasy of a savior.

“Lestat… Lestat, wake up.”

He has broken his own rule and desecrated the resting place of another vampire — clawing through earth in the moonlight like a wild, savage thing that truly belongs to the catacombs.

Lestat has to be real, because if he is not, then where is Armand still?

“Lestat!”

He finally unearths him, and seeing him this way — gaunt, unresponsive, dusty — is an entire nightmare onto its own.

No, no, no!

To behold Lestat’s golden hair caked in dirt and uncombed, his pale cheeks sunken in like a corpse’s in the later stages of putrefaction, his warm blue eyes hidden away…

Tonight, Armand is not the stoic coven master nor the watchful guardian, but rather a lonely orphan weeping against a cold, dead body. Clinging to it, hitting it, pleading wake up! wake up! wake up!

A small voice in his head admonishes him sternly — this is not an acceptable madness.

Of course it is not, but what is left to contain Armand now?

#it’s still Day 6 somewhere #this would’ve been the period after Louis & Armand separate but before Daniel Molloy fucks around and finds out #Lestat’s taking his little dirt nap before ending the world #we know I’m capable of not writing sad stuff I just choose not to #vc #vamptember #prompts

[hecatemoon87]

The Insatiable Vampire: Freddie Jackson - Part I

Ugh, I'm sorry! I know people are more into drabbles. Reading a billion word fic isn't always an option. But how can I not go down the rabbit hole? HOW? I mean, Tom Hardy Characters as Vampires? I could literally write stories for this genre until I die. So, behold Part I and Part II is on it's way.

Inspired by my Vampires!! Post (here)

You can also read: The Vampire Devil Delaney & The Brooklyn Vampire (Bob from the Drop)

PART II

Warnings: Mention of Sex & of course, Vampires!

Words: 1966

Jessamy sat opposite of her supervisor, Martin. She was uncertain if she had misheard the instructions he’d just given her.

“So, you want me to find a vampire, but instead of staking him…I bring him in for rehabilitation?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Martin said, clasping his hands on his desk.

Martin was a man of Indian descent, entering his mid-fifties. He had a heavy cockney accent and tended to smoke a pack of cigarettes each day. He recently had given up smoking and wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods that afternoon. 

“Do you realize how mental that sounds?” she asked.

“Yes, Jessamy, I bloody know how it sounds!” he snapped, pounding the desk with a fist. 

“Good, then mind telling me what the fuck is going on? When did the agency stop killing monsters and start singing kum ba yah with them?” she said, leaning forward from her chair.

“These fucking days, everything’s gotta be politically correct, right? Well, the agency is no exception. People are demanding change, a better world and all that. Petitions are coming in urging us to start treating monsters in a humane manner,” Martin said, sitting back in his chair.

“Interesting, can they tell us how to treat something humanely when it isn’t even human?”

“Jess, I’m on your side. But you will do what I tell ya, cause that’s what bloody management wants,” Martin said, picking up a manila folder from his desk top and tossing it to Jessamy.

She opened the file to find a glossy five by eight photo of an attractive looking young man. He had a cheeky grin plastered on his face and she immediately pegged him as a trouble maker. She quickly scanned the details of his biography.

His name was Freddie Jackson and he was thirty years old. He had been part of a gang and had done some time in prison during his human life. According to the file he had not been a vampire for very long, yet somehow managed to score an impressive body count of a total of fifty-two people. 

“He kinda looks like a chav,” Jessamy said, laughing softly. 

“Laugh all you want, that little psycho has been a real problem,” Martin said.

“Fine, but why me? Why not Harker? I have three other cases I’m working on,” Jessamy said. 

“This is your new case. The other three have been reassigned,” Martin said.

“Why?”

“We need someone of your…caliber on this,” Martin said. 

“Bullshit, tell me the truth, Martin,” she said.

“Fuck it, fine. The agency wants a pretty woman on this case,” Martin said. 

“And I thought we were trying to be more politically correct?” Jessamy said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, well, the little shit likes his women. Just charm his socks off and bring him in.”

— o — o —

Jessamy had done her research and determined the proximity of Freddie’s hunting grounds. She’d take a stroll around those areas, using herself as bait to draw him in. Being an experienced hunter, Jessamy wasn’t too worried about being confronted by Freddie.

She walked without care as the day drifted into night. She had a dress on, a summer one in particular as it was June in London. It wasn’t a hunter’s outfit, but she thought it would be more enticing for a womanizing cunt like Freddie. 

An hour passed when she heard footsteps approaching her from behind. She smiled to herself, knowing it was him and kept moving forward. The footsteps suddenly ceased, but she knew better than to turn around. Keep your eyes forward, always, she knew. And then, lo and behold, Freddie Jackson materialized by a lamppost in front of her.  

“Look at you, luv. Absolutely fucking stunning,” he said with the same grin that had been smeared on his face in his photo. 

“Hi there, you must be Freddie,” she said, giving him a pretty smile. 

“You know me?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Oh, let’s not go and ask boring questions like that,” Jessamy said, pretending to pout. 

In a flash, Freddie appeared just a foot in front of her. He approached and leered down at her. 

“You’re very pretty. I’d hate to go and bruise you all up,” he growled. 

Jessamy kept her cool. She had always intended to tell him everything. She wanted to test his temper and clearly he wasn’t very in control of it. 

“My name is Jessamy O’dell. I’m from an agency known as Defensio Contra Malum,” she said, flashing her badge at him. 

“Fucking supernatural MI6, right?” Freddie said, scoffing. 

“Something like that,” she replied. 

“And you’re here to bring me in?” he asked.

“I’m here to talk. You have, after all, killed fifty-two people,” she said. 

“I’ve only killed fucking bad people,” Freddie said. 

“Yes, I noticed that during my research. Why exactly? You weren’t exactly an exceptional human being, are you trying to redeem yourself as a vampire?” she asked with interest. 

“Something like that,” he said, coldly.

She was a few inches shorter than he and she had to look up into his eyes. He had lovely blue eyes, fabulously clear cream colored skin and gorgeous bee stung lips. She knew that he was handsome from his photo, but in person, he was completely captivating. Suddenly, she felt sleepy, her eyelids feeling rather heavy just then. 

“You’re feeling a little tired, huh?” he said, looking deep into her eyes. 

Jessamy had dealt with mesmerism before, but from much older vampires. She couldn’t believe that a young vampire such as Freddie could possess such powers at this age. 

“What…no, I…” she said, shaking her head. 

“Yeah, you’re very tired. I think you need to have a little lie down, yeah?” he said, slipping an arm around her waist as she dipped toward the ground. 

“Why you little shit…” she said, just before passing out completely. 

— o — o —

Jessamy slowly awoke to find herself in a dark room. There was some light coming from her right side, so he glanced over and saw a window with the curtains drawn back. The light of the city illuminated the room and she pushed off the bed to go look out the window. The neighborhood below appeared to be Soho. She had to take a moment to recall how’d she gotten here and she clenched her fists upon remembering Freddie’s enchantment. 

“So, the baby vamp bought himself a flat in Soho with his victims’ money,” she said, whispering to herself.

“Yeah, I did. Not bad, eh?” a voice from the corner of the room said. 

Jessamy nearly jumped out of her skin. 

Freddie stood up from a chair in the corner of the room. He switched the light on and walked over to Jessamy. 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Now, let me go,” she said, sternly. 

“Why would I do something stupid like that? You go off, telling your fancy agency that Freddie Jackson needs to be locked up. Nah, I don’t think so, luv,” he said. 

“You’re not going to be locked up. The plan is for rehabilitation,” she said. 

“Yeah? Tell me then, what does that mean exactly?" he asked. 

“Well, it means…um, you’ll go through a program and, um…” she said, now realizing she didn’t know what it meant. 

“That’s what I fucking thought. I go with you and I’m fucked. Besides, I only kill bad people. So, go tell your agency, Defensio whatever, to go fuck themselves,” he said. 

“If I don’t return, they’ll just send someone else after you,” she said. 

He walked up on her, close enough to kiss her and hooked a finger under her chin. Not wanting to be hypnotized again, she averted her eyes from his gaze. He chuckled as he watched her pretty brown eyes look up at the ceiling. 

“Afraid I’ll make you drop your panties instead of asking you to sleep?” he said, grinning. 

She tried to push him away, but he was like a brick wall. She only succeeded in hurting her wrists a little. 

“Stop it. I’m a highly trained hunter, so don’t fuck with me. Besides, you’re just a baby vampire, how the hell did you do that back there?” she grumbled. 

“Dunno, just have a knack for it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Well, jolly good for you. Now let me go,” she said. 

“No,” he said, flatly. 

She began to struggle against him, so he grabbed her wrists and kissed her. She whined against his lips, attempting to wiggle out from his vice-like grip. But then she started to relax, because it all started to feel very good. His body was firm and muscular, his lips had such a pleasant bounce to them that she couldn't help but kiss him back. He tasted like gum, spearmint specifically. And his tongue, oh god, his tongue had slipped into her mouth causing her knees to grow weak.

When he broke the kiss, she regained her senses and tensed up.

“What the hell? How are you doing this?” she asked, completely surprised that he had entranced her with a kiss. 

“I told you, I have a knack,” he said, grinning. 

She rolled her eyes at his cockiness. 

“So, what is your plan? Keep me locked up and hope my agency never finds you?” she questioned. 

He thought for a moment, then said offhandedly, “I wanna taste your blood.”

“Pardon?”

He brought her close to him again, tilting her head away and tracing his nose over the contour of her neck. 

“You smell like…honey. I bet your blood tastes like it too,” he said, sniffing her neck. 

Her heart started beating rapidly, afraid he’d bite her. He at first placed a gentle kiss on her collarbone, then abruptly licked upwards to her jawline. She squirmed in his arms, at first rocked by fear, then ending with an overwhelming sensation of arousal. 

“Stop it,” she said, her tone not entirely convincing. 

“Do you know what else I smell, luv?” he said, purring into her ear.

She closed her eyes, not daring to ask.

“You’re on your menses, ain’t yeah?” he said, inhaling sharply. 

She felt the intake of air around her neck and she shivered in his arms. 

“Yeah, you are, luv. I can smell that sweet little cunny of yours,” he said, opening his mouth up, scraping his fangs over her throat. 

Jessamy could feel the outline of his cock against her leg. He was rock solid hard.

“You’re deplorable,” she said, trying to stay in control of her willpower.

“Nah, that’s not how you feel. I can smell your hormones too. You’re randy,” he said, pulling back so that he could gaze down into her eyes. 

“It’s…it’s because you're using your bloody mesmerism,” she said, trying to justify it.

“Funny thing is, I’m not,” he said.

She could tell that he was dead serious because that cheeky grin was nowhere to be found.

“What…I, uh…what are we going to do now?” she asked, uncertain what else to say. 

He carefully released her from his grasp and continued the conversation. 

“I’m gonna leave you for a few hours. I haven’t eaten tonight and I tend to get a bit cranky if I don’t feed. I don’t wanna rip out that beautiful throat of yours, now do I?” he said.

Her hand involuntarily fluttered to her throat and shook her head.  

“No, I don't want that either,” she said. 

"Hang tight, luv. I'll be back. In the meantime, keep that fine arse of yours in this room," he said.

Before she could say anything in return, he simply vanished once she blinked. She sighed and walked back to the window and looked down upon the city. She was much better suited for ghosts or even werewolves. Vampires were such a pain in the neck (pun intended)

#freddie jackson #freddie jackson smut #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fan fic #tom hardy smut #vampires

[goldenguillotines]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! give me all you got this is a stickup.

Dedicating this one to ocs I don't talk about/too new :3c Just for you Claire. Though some might have some shorter information due to uh.. kicking rocks. Found out I have a lot of drinkers/vampires on this post whoops

(Design/Art by @trollbriidge !)

Darius Xheime | Lime Blood Seadweller | Scene | Troll hot topic employee

Darius is a loud silly.. They don't know how loud they're being or maybe it's all the fuckinf music playing overhead on loop that makes it hard for them to hear just how loud they're being. Sporting a energy drink addiction and a penchant for collecting the cans..

(Design/Art by @damistrolls )

Dimvis Asyoqa | Fuchsia Blood Seadweller | Actor | Rainbowdrinker | Poet

Dimvis is an eccentric man.. You know that theater kid? Yeah that was him, now he's an adult and he's worse. Currently the face of a certain company and can be found on the silver screen or on stage

(Design/Art by @leethetrashpage )

Vieden Pasele | Indigo | Bodyguard | Maid | Tea maker

Vieden is one of Nasuki's loyal Maids.. She is her bodyguard and fiercely loyal at that. Ex fleet.. she left her position on Cormai's crew to serve her mistress. She's quiet and a listener more than a talker. She'll remember information you've forgotten!

(Design/Art by @leethetrashpage )

Krazel Eshket | Purple blood | Clown | Informant | Trapeze artist

Krazel is Natani's loyal right hand man.. ok maybe not as close as Taeyon is to Natani.. But right up there. Krazel has been serving the Yaukul family for some time and sees this as a rather good change of pace between his time at the circus. Don't underestimate him just based on all those sparkles.. he's rather devoted and dangerous.

(Design/Art by @norts-trolls )

Monark Keehvu | Mutant Bronze | Fae | Mutant | Forest Guardian

Monark was a Fae just like any other.. but beholding the terrors warped them into their current form. Moonkeeper had exiled them from their community.. and now ghost among the forest as a rumored "monster".. They miss the days where they met The Sun in person for comfort..

(Design/Art by @trollbriidge )

Silias Fvyoni | Bronze Sea Dweller | Rainbowdrinker | Cowboy

Silias stop causing problems. Thank you. A young man with bitey tendencies.. hes known for dine and dashing after hookups. Being know as the town menace.. though not as bad as everyone makes him out to be. Keeps some.. unsightly things out of the town and does so to keep order.

(Design/Art by @greedkinggreaser )

Dorain Liesce | Jade Blood | Rainbowdrinker | Rich | Writer

Dorian is a very smug Rainbowdrinker, a fortune at his finger tips that he has either amassed over the eons from 'work' or swindling from his many devotees and fans. He's made a large collection or books that can be found in almost every library, horror stories and romance stories.. all thought out wirh upmost detail.. Kinda a little too much detail. Almost feels real..

(Design/Art by @shinsart / @/ambivalence-and-torpor )

Ashoku Erceim | Jade Blood | Rainbowdrinker | Lounge singer | Guitarist

Ashoku is one of Navika's loyal students! Brought in by her girlfriends ♤ ( Fuetre, Cherie and Siyahi), she's been a rather interesting character among their students. More brash and prickly than the others.. not a fan of dressing up for their performances either.. She does bend and dress up for it. She's got a lot of potential.. maybe if she was just as dedicated as some others others

(Design/Art by @cadavertrolls )

Merlot Camfae | Rust Blood | Fae | Record shop owner | Piercer

Merlot is one of the older Fae around, escaped their village as a young adult, they chose to seek after the moon and sun in secret. Rather than under someone else's orders. They do so in secret.. often some interesting looking butterflies can be found flapping about on the search. Luckily, Wicatas magic does wonders to hide their Fae presence..

(Design/Art by @leethetrashpage )

Jisoou Hayeun | Cyan Blood Seadweller | Idol | Mafia | Jewlery maker

Jisoou is Otromes twin! Who's blood color is the original one? uh.. Pass? After some sweeps as a Trainee she's finally made it at 7sins! Apart of one of the smaller girl groups.. she's known for having a very bubbly personality, often sticking close to Yufaun and spreading some sunshine where she goes! A very smiley gal

#Ask meme #long #A lot in here #🌸 #Doin this instead of work because yolo #also a LOT shorter because otherwise itd be too duanting with ten characters under here #sorry for all the tags i love these guys and wsnna make sure people know who i got them from tbh

[backscar-archive]

The tiefling tilted her head at him curiously, her loose dark hair that she's yet to re-plait tumbling over her shoulder as her eyes washed over him in thought. ❝ You look like a painting. Did you know that? Like someone plucked you right out of an oil canvas and placed you out in the real world with everyone else. ❞

She shrugged then, turning back around the face the large mirror that she'd originally come to borrow in the first place. ❝ I wouldn't be surprised if some starry-eyed bard wrote a sonnet about you one day just by having the luxury to gave upon you but once. ❞

—— ❝ You should let me try to braid your hair. I think you'd look rather regal. ❞

He feels seen in her presence, feels dark eyes looking at each detail written over that pale face of his and for a moment, Astarion had felt bashful. Embarrassed to be so thoroughly looked. Inspected as if he were merely that of fresh meat, chopped and ready to serve. For a minute, though he does not say it, he felt as if he were back at the palace. Entertaining guests with how he looked. Eye candy to be adored and felt. Though he knows that she means no harm and spoke only the truth when seen fit. Sweet yet terrifying when she needed to be... he knew of her urges and sometimes in his own sick praise of gratitude, he wanted her to often paint herself within vampiric blood that belonged to him, alone. Arms cross now, originally they stayed by his side as hands clenched and unclenched, the feeling of his fingernails dig ever so gently within the palm of his hands. Now such claws rub delicately over clothed arms as he offers Melinoe that of a white brow cocking up. Lifting his chin as he inspects each little detail that she had offered, " You aren't the first to say such romantic little things, you know. " And yet, he's grateful. Small smile planting itself like an infectious seed, blooms. " Though I do find it hard to believe that I look that good. Painters are such masterful artists... sculptors as well. I always dreamed of being marbleized, to see how I truly look. Every nook and cranny. " A wishful sigh leaves now but he knew that such painters only made unruly kings, queens and those with such status look exceptionally good... out of fear. Laughter escapes, sharp and airy. Covering his mouth as the tips of his finger rubbed at his bottom lip and his sanguine hues roll out of pure disbelief, " They've tried but I pay them no mind. Bards usually aren't the ones I often ever want to hear praise about my good looks. Some had written me letters, though, I've never treasured them in fear that Cazador would use it against me. " And how he feels utterly defeated, " Burnt to ashes. Words thrown into the air... I do remember one little line; A man as bright as the sun, blinding such innocent eyes. Behold his beauty and divine smile. Either my smile was that pretty or perhaps this was their way of wanting to see what kind of jewels I held. " Oh... oh, how absolutely cheesy. Even Astarion had another chuckle.

A hand comes up... pushing his white locks up and back. Simple curls coming back into place as he offers Melinoe another quizzical look, " Then come braid it. No need to make a grown man blush with all talk, darling. Who knows... I could simply be that of a king. I could be a cousin or a son... who truly knows. If that's the case, imagine us ruling together! My dagger-happy love and her dear spawn. A story to be told for ages. "

#﹙ 🗡 ﹚ in character. 𝙴𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 &. 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 #cimmeriana. #the way he's telling the truth about the letters but lied about what they said . #cryign a bit .

[bluiex]

howdy i had a dream about vampires and mumscarian so behold the ramblings of my drowsy brain. i've also gotten distracted like seven times trying to write this lmao boatem as vampire hunters but scar gets turned (because of course he does) and the group is torn between team 'well-he's-a-vampire-now-we-gotta-kill-him' (impulse and pearl) and team 'how-about-we-don't-do-that?' (mumbo and grian) mumbo's got a spine like a wet noodle though so he flip flops between both groups. grian puts up a front of wanting to kill scar but every time the two come face to face he seems to always miss when it counts the most.

it doesn't help that scar's fully embraced the aesthetic and is like 20% hotter with the fangs along.

the two do a lot of flirt-fighting, grian insistent that he can take on scar by himself only to come back battered and even more determined to "handle" scar on his own.

everything boils over when grian's has scar pinned to the floor, sliver chains on his wrists to keep the vampire down, stake poised over his heart, and he just can't kill him. scar does his best to convince grian that he doesn't need to do this, that he can just let scar get away yet again, and grian quietly confesses that he doesn't want to let scar go.

he misses when they were on the same side, and his heart's split in two.

dropping the smug facade, scar bares his heart in return, that he hasn't been attacking humans, he hasn't hurt a living soul, that just because he was turned he wasn't suddenly a completely new person.

"i might be a vampire, but that doesn't make me a monster."

grian caves and lets scar go, but not before making a small side comment about enjoying their chasing game, but that it has to end sooner rather than later.

the two find each other yet again, but it's different, grian's not geared up for one, his only defense a silver cross at his neck, he's slower, he's not putting up a real fight. and he's grinning the whole time.

scar gets grian pinned up to a wall, eyeing up the chain with an annoyed grumble. a contingency plan, grian explains, flushed and breathing heavy.

grian makes scar promise that if he's turned, he'll still be good. it's that blurry line between monsters and humanity, and he promises.

grian yanks off the chain in one clean snap, when they're interrupted by mumbo, silver knife out and ready. he's already lost scar, he wasn't going to lose grian too. mumbo tells scar to stop controlling grian, because surely that was the only reason grian hadn't killed scar yet.

but grian holds up the chain in clear view, and lets it fall. with an open hand he asks mumbo to come with them, that they can all be together again, no more fighting, to run away and live the rest of eternity happily.

grian can feel scar getting impatient, the vampire's breath hot against his neck, fangs lightly pressed to his skin, and he pleads with mumbo to come with him.

mumbo hesitates, and in the distance, pearl could be heard shouting, her voice drawing near. he turns back, and looks down at his knife.

scar didn't want to fight him, and neither did grian. but pearl did.

he steps close, picking up the chain, and for a moment he really considered the offer. but a pair of footsteps grew close, and mumbo pocketed the chain, rushing back down the alley. "i'll cover for you." grian opens his mouth to beg again, but scar's bloodlust had reached its peak, and he sinks his fangs into grian's neck. he lets out a shrill scream, and the last thing grian sees is mumbo warding off two shadowy figures, being carried away in scar's arms. grian wakes up with a vial of blood pressed against his lips, and drinks greedily, curled up into scar's side. "we'll get him," scar reassures him. "we'll bring him home." tl;dr two vampires and their human boyfriend try not to die hope u enjoy like halfway thru this ask basically turned into a fic in it of itself - ☾ anon (im new here :D )

WHY CANT I HAVE DREAMS LIKE THIS BRUH

this is such a great idea too. Scar getting turned then force to run from them </3 Grian can't bring it in him to kill Scar cuz LOVE and Mumbo so on the fence.. waaah theres so much angst potential before Grian decides to be with Scar forever amazing amazing, i love this crescent moon anon- sososo much <3 the little ficlet itself is amazingly written too aaaaa

#mumscarian #bluie gets an ask poggers #vampire hunter au #long post