#nico.fic

[aezyrraeshh]

; wip day!

i was tagged by @arklay @nokstella @leviiackrman @nuclearstorms @florbelles and @unholymilf; thank you all so much! <3 tagging @aartyom @reaperkiller @indorilnerevarine @steelport @swordcoasts @girlbosselrond @honeysofte @devilbrakers @faarkas @shadowglens @calenhads @aelyosos @moiragf & whoever else wants to do this! surprisingly, i have two wips to share this week!

; vtm, sasha/candy, they are going through some shit, but dw they'll be fine. probably. 😶

Sasha hisses at the sharp pain once his back hits the cold wall. Harshly, brutally. The impact sends his head spinning, white flashes obscure his vision, again and again, making him even more disoriented. And for a moment there, it’s his sire standing on the other side of the room, and not his lover, but just a moment later a bitter thought sneaks itself into his mind– they are not your lover anymore. 

He’s coughing now, choking on his own blood, tasting metal on his tongue and smelling it in the air around him; images of his past cloud his mind, and he is panicked, terrified even, when a strong hand wraps itself around his neck, trapping him in place, but the sharpness and familiarity of the grip sobers him up, violently snapping him back to the present. His sire is long dead, and he knows exactly who is in front of him and why he is here. 

Despite his body screaming at him to allow himself at least a second to gather his footing, Sasha tries to lift his head and open his eyes only to feel the claws dig into his throat even harder, forcing him to shut his eyes again. The pressure on his neck is so strong that he can feel the waves of pain reaching all the way down to his weak legs. He’s trembling, aching, and not at all from fear. 

He should’ve planned this better, he should’ve known how they would react to his presence. Especially after what he’s done, but the guilt has been tearing Sasha from the inside for months now, getting worse and worse after each unanswered text, each declined call. He couldn’t take this madness anymore: the sting of heartbreak keeping him up day after day, the empty space in his bed that they used to share with him mocking him with their absence, their abandoned belongings in his closet, the memories of their eyes on him as they found out about his part in events that gave them nightmares every time they tried to get some rest, their shaking voice as they told him to stay away, the what ifs, the what ifs, the what ifs– 

What if he’d been honest? What if he wasn’t such a coward? What if he could have been enough?

Even if he meets the final death tonight, he needs to set things right. Just this once. 

Sasha finds the courage to look up at them again, and this time they don’t stop him, but he almost wishes they did. Candy’s eyes are wide and full of hatred, they glare at him like a predator eyeing a cornered deer. Their lips stretch into a scowl, displaying the sharpness of their teeth; he wants to grasp their shoulders and ease them with his touch like he’s done so many times before, but he doesn’t reach out to them. Not now, not when both of them wouldn’t be able to take it, even if he longs for any sort of connection with them– the feeling of their fingers, tearing the tender skin of his neck should be enough. He doesn’t dare to ask for more. 

“Candy–”

“Shut the fuck up.” Their voice is hoarse, trembling with rage, it sounds almost broken, ruined. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing yourself around me after what you did. I told you I would kill you if I see you again, I fucking told you.”

; pwotr, luna/daeran, prompt wip in which they are messing with each other.

Absorbed in thought, Luna doesn’t notice the presence of another, who’s watching her closely with barely hidden amusement. And when she does, finally, turn around she’s met with Daeran, sitting comfortably on a bunch of cushions with a wine glass in his elegant hands. The ties on his shirt are loosened and the curve of his lips is nothing short of inviting; it’s a familiar look on him, Luna’s seen it before, but she lets the moment linger nonetheless.

And he is all too happy to bask in her attention, judging by the way his eyes light up even more, yet when he speaks, it’s in that typical mocking tone of his, “Ah, my dearest Commander, you have finally decided to grace me with your presence. I’ve only been waiting for almost an hour now.”

Her reply comes in the form of a self-satisfied smirk along with words, laced in fake innocence. “Perhaps, I wanted to keep you in suspense a little, Count. Leave you helplessly guessing whether I shall show up or not.” 

Luna approaches him slowly, purposefully slowing down her steps, as she looks him up and down again– any hits of subtlety in her gaze are gone, and there’s a flash of sharp teeth in her growing smile. Once she notices Daeran’s eyes dart down to her lips, she instantly pretends to lose all interest in him, focusing instead on the bottle of wine which stands near him, but not without brushing her hand against his shoulder as she leans down to pick the beverage up.

#sasha will be fine besties dont worry ! (<- lying) #also im a little bit worried abt writing canon characters and writing the way daeran speaks is a challenge so hopefully it feels at least #somewhat in character #anyways ty again for the tag everyone! <333 #♡: tag games #nico.fic #my oc: luna arendae #my oc: candy #my oc: aleksandr romanov

[morvaris-archive]

; six sentence sunday

i was tagged by @camelliagwerm to share six sentences from a current wip; thank you so much harper!

this is from the spice™ fic i've been writing for over a week now(?), and i am proud to say that it is almost done!

Glancing at them now, Candy seems unbothered, and that’s the exact opposite of how he feels. Sasha can smell the vitae running in their veins, pursing and alive. Sweet and so addicting– the taste of it on his tongue is strong even from just imagining it. Maybe it’s some predator instinct of their kind, but he can feel his throat tighten at the thought of their intoxicating blood on his lips, of their strong hands on him, pinning him, keeping him in place. His nostrils flare as the Beast inside him awakens– he wants to devour.  He wants to be devoured.

tagging: @arklay @aartyom @nuclearstorms @aelyosos @swordcoasts @faarkas @steelport @ianeiras @avallachs @reaperkiller & whoever wants to do this!

#this fic is almost done ALMOST DONE #thank you again for the tag harper <333 #nico.fic #♡: tag games #my oc: candy #my oc: aleksandr

[aezyrraeshh]

; WIP DAY!

i was tagged by @unholymilf; thank you so much! <3 tagging @serenedy @nokstella @aragorngf @leviiackrman @risingsh0t @florbelles @indorilnerevarine @devilbrakers @faarkas @liurnia @calenhads @arklay @aartyom @swordcoasts @reaperkiller @nuclearstorms & anyone else, who wants to do this! <3

i'm gonna give a warning for this one, just in case; there are descriptions of blood and violence.

the "candy wipes the floor with sasha" wip

The adrenaline spreads through his body in little shocks like a myriad of needles pricking the skin. Terror rattles his very soul, and he bites his tongue. Hard. The metallic taste grains him the small mercy of clarity– the veil over his vision lifts right in time to see Candy lifting their other hand, clenched in a fist with so much force their knuckles turn white. 

It makes his brain go into override until something snaps inside him, and before he can realise what he’s doing, his hand reaches out, wrapping itself around their wrist. Gently, despite the alarms going off in his head to overpower them, to run and never come back, to survive. 

At first, Candy just tightens their hold even more, almost breaking the bone, but then they are blinking rapidly, letting out a sharp breath through their nose. Their eyes dart down to where his skin is torn apart by their claws and the deep, warm crimson seeps through their fingers, and it’s as if they are seeing all the blood for the first time. The heat of anger in their eyes dissipates, giving way to confusion, defeat, guilt. Energy visibly drains out of every part of their body: their shoulders hunch forward, legs tremble and hands unclench slowly. They seem so incredibly tired. 

Candy lets their fist fall to their side slowly without once looking away from him. There’s fear in their expression as they lean in, pressing the entire weight of their cold body onto him, and this close he can feel the shudder passing through them and their erratic breathing cooling his wounds. The embrace is crushing and desperate, but Sasha doesn’t complain, doesn’t dare to say a thing. 

“I hate you so much.” They push their fingers in his hair, bringing him even closer, practically moulding their bodies together. But this.. Whatever this is, is almost delicate, fragile. A silent apology, and he wants to laugh at the absurdity until his broken ribs grind against each other. Candy is the last person who should apologise. Not after what happened. “You can’t even imagine how much I hate you.”

“I know. I deserve it.”

“You deserve far worse.”

#once again he'll be fine dont worry 🤡 #he's totally not getting out of this one with his heart broken noooo they'll be fine 🤡 #this wip is nearly 5k words and im not done help #anyways ty again for the tag!! #nico.fic #♡: tag games #my oc: aleksandr romanov #my oc: candy

[aezyrraeshh]

; wip day!

i was tagged by @aartyom; thank you so much rena!! <33 tagging @arklay @nuclearstorms @devilbrakers @girlbosselrond @faarkas @indorilnerevarine @florbelles @camelliagwerm @steelport @reaperkiller @calenhads @aelyosos @swordcoasts @galacticvales @celticwoman @shadowglens & whoever else wants to do this!

the name of this wip, which is already 2k words 🤡 btw someone stop me, is "luna being a spooky asshole to strangers" and i honestly can't describe it any better.

Lys sees a surprisingly familiar figure, though describing her this way doesn’t feel natural under the circumstances. Questions swirl in his head as he eyes her, approaching carefully: why is she all alone? And what exactly is she doing here so late at night? Their investigation was put on hold, and she told him she was leaving first thing in the morning. Something doesn’t add up, uneasiness bleeds its way into his already troubled mind, making the man lower one of his hands on a hilt of the sword. 

She is still wearing the long, dark robes Lys has already seen her in, and the commander notices the glim of a golden brooch on her chest, but where there once was a delicate flower, now there is a snake nestled between the folds of her clothes. 

The only way he can describe her in this very moment is wrong; her entire appearance is refined and strangely regal: long, silvery locks of hair cascading down her back and framing the pale face, delicate purple fabric wrapped over her shoulder and, of course, the golden mask. It’s still securely in place, covering the upper half of her face and exposing her mouth, which is set into a thin, disapproving line. Gone is the kind smile of hers that shone brightly when Lys needed it the most, although it was his choice alone to ignore the sharpness of her teeth at the time. 

Foolish, how foolish he was.

Her elegant, almost serene stance makes her appear strangely harmless amidst the odious red covering the floors. When she steps forward, it’s with the quietness and confidence of a trained spy, and a chill runs down Lys’ spine as his eyes dart up to where hers should be. Despite not being able to see them through the mask, he finds himself trapped under her gaze. 

Perhaps, it’s a primal instinct within him kicking in– something inside him screams that he is in danger, and the best option is to turn on his heels and run far, far away from here. His commander was right, Lys should’ve ignored the call of his weeping heart to bring justice to his dead brethren. Now, the terrifying thought strikes him, he will be yet another victim of a massacre for he cannot even move his legs. Is this how the first touch of death feels like?

“You are here.” She breaks the silence, finally, even if it doesn’t make it any easier to breathe through the tension surrounding them. She seems to notice his inner turmoil for her lips stretch slightly in what seems like amusement. “Oh my, you are shivering. Scared, are you?”  

She says it as if it was a joke, but she doesn’t laugh– instead, she pauses like she expects him to find it amusing as well. When he doesn’t, she huffs and takes another step in his direction.

“You saw the blood on the walls, yes?” The venomous hiss catches Lys off guard, the smooth, silken tone of her voice is raised slightly, letting the irritation slip through the facade of calm. “So, please, do be so kind as to enlighten me, what about the pools of blood, mysterious disappearances of your men and the sign that clearly says to not enter made you think «looks decent enough to go inside all alone, surely I won’t get myself killed»? I highly doubt you wanted to play a hero considering how.. Shaken you are, oh mighty commander.”

#luna stop messing with people challenge (she wont) #she sees a clearly traumatized man and went ''oh yeah i'll mess with him bc it's funny🤪'' rip to lys you were a good side character i've #created just for the sake of this wip 😔 #nico.fic #my oc: luna asterie

[aezyrraeshh]

; wip wednesday!

tagged by @girlbosselrond; thank you so so much! <33 tagging @arklay @aartyom @leviiackrman @galeboettichergf @risingsh0t @camelliagwerm @indorilnerevarine @steelport @devilbrakers @florbelles @shadowglens @shepardgf @reaperkiller @faarkas @weisshaupts @nuclearstorms & whoever else wants to do this!

more on that "luna is being an asshole just for the fun of it" bc i can't work on anything else at the moment.

Her words echo in his head loudly, mocking him over and over again, but with her being so close Lys can finally truly look at the mystery in front of him. Now, with the Moon shining her light on both of them, he takes in the woman’s appearance once more: at the robes and the mask, and he ought to slap himself across the face for how ignorant he has been, how oblivious to everything around him. All the warnings surface in his mind– the intel of spies coming from the capital, sudden increase of knights in the otherwise unremarkable city in the middle of nowhere and the mysterious cleric taking interest in a couple of false crusaders. He disregarded her from the start because of how simple and uninteresting she seemed. 

Lys is a fool, and his men paid the price for his mistakes. The truth was right there, but he chose to ignore it, chose to listen to his pride for there was no way a meek cleric could get ahead of a unit of strong mercenaries, and this woman, this snake, used this to her advantage.

“You are no cleric.” Lys’ words are almost completely drowned by the hiss of steel when he quickly readies his sword. The knot of fear around his neck loosens easily once he lets the anger overtake his senses. 

She only chuckles, but stays put nonetheless, lifting a hand in a pacifying motion. Lys can’t help but wonder whether the woman really feels threatened or she is simply humouring him. “Look at you, finally using that brain of yours. Congratulations, Commander. I am not a cleric, that is true. And since we are sharing each other’s secrets openly now, I am well aware that you are no crusader. And neither are your men.”

A moment of silence, then. “Or were, I should say.”

“You witch!”

#she is just terrorising him at this point rip lys i am sorry #but he plays a role in the hole carina setting luna up for failure arc so it had to be done sdhjasdhja #♡: tag games #nico.fic

[aezyrraeshh]

; wip wednesday

tagged by @camelliagwerm @ianeiras and @swordcoasts; thank you so so much! ♡

tagging: @aartyom @arklay @faarkas @swordcoasts @steelport @jillvalcntines @aelyosos @reaperkiller @avallachs @shadowglens @nuclearstorms & whoever else wants to do this!

The tavern is, for the lack of a better word, rowdy. However, it’s not surprising to any of the patrons inside – and to the people, who have to listen to the drunken and loud singing, outside – the place, for the pirates are here, and not just any pirates– victorious pirates. Their victory can be read in how much gold they spend on drinks and music without a care of it running out; they know they have more and more on the ship. Manoeuvring between the tables is hard when the crew behind each one tries to lure Ilya to them to have a drink and partake in storytelling of their adventures, but they wave them off with a smile and a tilt of their head towards the biggest table in the tavern. The looks of other pirates quickly change to the ones of understanding with a tug of mischievous smile– they know exactly where, or to whom, Ilya is going. 

#TEEHEE I LOVE MISSED WRITING THEM SO MUCH #thank you the tag beloveds <33 #nico.fic #♡: tag games #my oc: ilya morvaris

[morvaris-archive]

crave + aleksandr 👀

; NO PRINCE, NO KING, NO GOD

characters: aleksandr (oc), candy (oc)

word count: 6522 🤡

warnings: oof mentions of blood, death, also of burning and scientific experiments (all of this is described but not overly explicit), negative self-talk, a lot of negative thoughts in general, thoughts of self-harm, but he doesn't harm himself physically in any way. please, let me know if i missed anything.

also note: some lines (a few) are in russian, because sasha's first language is russian, and so is the person's speaking to him. the translation is under the fic, and i know it might ruin the experience, but it's more real for him this way.

He is in a trap he could never escape– it threatens to close on him, but it never really snaps shut, and the anticipation, the fear of it finally doing so when he least expects it is so much worse than the sharp pain shooting through his body; the concrete walls are closing in on him, the smell of chemicals in the air is so strong he can taste it on his tongue. 

Sasha’s sitting in the pool of his own blood; the edges of his lab coat are torn, the pieces of it are drowning in the red liquid that covers not only the floor, but the walls as well. It seeps through the cracks, clinging to his back, his legs, his face.

The green of his eyes is lifeless, dull. He grips a scalpel in his hand without realising that the blade is digging into his hand, breaking skin, tearing him. Open and raw. The blood from the newly made wound drips down, and he paints the whole place red one more time. 

Sasha has no one to blame for ending up like this other than himself. The thought causes him to swallow a lump in his throat, and it feels like he’s chewing on glass. Failure after failure, and the progress has gone nowhere since day one, but there's no resentment, no anger and sadness as strong as it was in his early days. Instead, he feels dreadfully empty.

Empty and rotting on the inside, the living corpse with the single purpose in his life that he can't achieve, can’t even grasp. It would be a funny joke, if it would’ve been about anyone else. He's nothing, and he will always be nothing, even in death. 

And why did he think death would change everything? After all, it’s not the turning point everyone thinks it is– it’s bleak, and it feels like falling and freezing mid air, never reaching the ground. Being stuck is just another kind of torture.

He wants to fall finally, to see the ground getting closer and closer, to feel his breath stutter as he nears the end. To feel something change. But he is stagnating, has been for over fifty years now, and it became a struggle to pretend otherwise, for putting up an act gets old at some point even in one’s long, long life. It’s not a routine if it makes him terrified of what he’ll see next time he looks in the mirror. 

Something clatters on the ground as he tries to stand up, but his foot slips on the blood, his and the dead man's on the operating table, and he falls down again. Collapsing onto the many tools that were supposed to help him reach his success, to achieve something he craved for so long, but now they lay on the dirty floor with him. The lab that once felt like haven, now reeks of failure. 

Defeated, all Sasha can do is watch and be watched and judged by his many, many mistakes in the face of the vampire laying in front of him. His legs are still strapped, but one of the hands hangs free, claws glinting, covered in Sasha’s vitae. His mouth is open, teeth bared in a silent threat even after the final death has taken him, but it’s not what has Sasha’s attention. It’s his eyes. 

Open wide, staring, full of hatred. 

There was a fire in him, and as Aleksandr was planning to use him as his playground, the man managed to strike, to catch him off guard because he got too cocky. It has never been a problem before. They've never put up a real fight for he could bend their minds however he wanted. But it seems that he fell victim to his own delusions– his own mind deceived itself, twisting the reality to fit Sasha’s desires. And now he paid the price, but it’s not the physical way that matters. 

The wounds will heal as soon as he gets some blood in his system. He doesn't feel pain, however, he feels nothing, and he lets out a helpless snort. It echoes in the hollow room, bouncing from one wall to another. The snort quickly turns into a quiet broken laugh, which erupts into a fit of laughter as the void expands within him, consuming his still heart. 

He laughs and he laughs until his vision is clouded by tears, and he feels his cheeks getting wet. Sasha can’t help it– the irony isn’t lost on him. The man, who thought himself a king, has fallen to his knees in front of those he considered were lesser than him. He's no king, he’s no Prince, he’s just dirt under someone's shoe. Nothing has changed, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Ты просто трус, Саша.*

What?

The voice strikes him like an electric shock, and the pain he wasn’t feeling before hits him in a sudden crashing wave. His muscles and sinews tense, the lab becomes a mix of red and white with black clouding the edges of his vision. Maybe it’s his delusions, or frenzy creeping in, but he can hear a frantic heartbeat in his ears. The pang of fear makes his hands shake, he needs to get away, away, away. 

“Я не..” His protest is weak, voice laced with terror, and Sasha isn’t even sure if he really said it out loud, but it doesn’t matter, because it does nothing to soothe his mind– it only makes his attempts to calm down fail, makes everything much more real. 

Ты был готов бежать, как только он вырвался.** 

Gritting his teeth, he throws his head back, banging it against a wall hard. In an attempt to wish everything away, Sasha raises his hands to his face to rub his eyes until he sees white spots behind his eyelids, but he halts his movement mid way once he sees the blood on them. His blood, when it was supposed to be other's. He wasn't supposed to bleed anymore, he has the power in his hands to make sure of it.

Or so he thought. Foolishly. 

Ты был готов бежать, когда твоя попытка убить Кэнди провалилась.***

Candy.

He snaps his eyes away from his hands, pulls his mind away from falling into a trap as he hears their name. It’s familiar, and he uses this familiarity as an anchor to snap out of the paralysing fear. Sasha grips on to their name, trying to claw his way out as the remainder of his consciousness clings into it, frantically. 

He needs them near, needs to hear their voice, grounding him, bringing him back to reality, assuring him that the last six years were real, and he didn’t make it all up to hide from his past. Patting the pockets of the lab coat weakly, he ends up with yet another disappointment as he finds nothing. 

With his throat tight, he lifts his eyes, trying to locate the phone, but the hiss slips past his lips when he is blinded by the bright lights of the lab. They force him to keep his head low and bowed, suppressing the fight that ignites in his system. 

Sasha slumps further, shielding himself from the main source of irritation. He tries again, just barely raising his head to look over the room again, ignoring the broken glass and the dead kindred. It’s hard to find a single thing, when everything spirals so fast, but he manages to spy it laying on the other side of the room. 

Encouraged by the barely there hope, Sasha jolts upright too fast, causing his head to spin and almost falling again in the process. His legs are wobbly, and his knuckles are pale as his grip on the table he used to get up tightens. Slowly, moving one feet in front of another, he stumbles towards his destination.

Ты умер трусом - трусом и остался.**** 

But once he stood up, he quickly realised his mistake. His condition becomes so much worse; the dull headache erupts, and his head is just about ready to explode– the buzz in his ears, the dull ache where the vein in his temple throbs almost makes him scream, and maybe he does yelp for mercy, but it gets stuck in his throat as he chokes on his own blood. 

The hunger overwhelms him completely, and for a moment Sasha is convinced everything is lost, and the Beast will take over when the black in his eyes turns red. He is starving, and it’s spreading through his body like an infection, making his veins itch. Getting under his skin, twisting his guts, brutal shocks rattle his brain to scratch it away, to hurt, to open his skin wide until it’s all gone. 

Forcing these thoughts away becomes harder and harder by the second, but he drags his weak body forward, to the only lifeline he has at the moment. Sasha tries to reason with himself to not give up– Candy will help him, they won’t leave him like this. Right? 

When he finally reaches the table, his body has become so heavy that his limbs feel like useless blocks of ice, and he must’ve bitten his tongue at some point, because the taste on it is strong and coppery. Sasha can barely fight the hunger as his mind surrenders piece by piece.

He grips the phone tight, vision going dark as he barely manages to dial Candy’s number from memory. The ringing echoes in his ears loudly like klaxons wailing in his skull, and it’s downright agonising– the sharpness of it sets every nerve in his body on fire, makes his skin crawl, and he is half-prompted to hang up just to stop this, but his thoughts are pleading.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

Then, finally. “Who the fu–” 

“Candy.” Sasha’s voice is broken, choked in his throat. It’s nothing more than a pitiful croak in the thunderstorm that is taking place in his head, and he has never felt so small, so weak. Pathetic. But he doesn’t care how he sounds to them right now– there’s not a second of silence in his head, and it’s like sirens going off and off. One after another.

Sasha hears them moving on the other end of the line, Candy’s tone quickly changes from one of annoyance to one of urgency. It’s sharp, heavy with concern and concealed emotion. “Sasha? What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“I–” Sasha stops mid-word, hypnotised by the splatter of scarlett on the surface of the table. There’s blood, and it’s not his. The hunger roars, screaming at him to take, to have that blood on his tongue, to lick it away with all the dirt and glass. To swallow it, and hurt and hurt and hurt. It pains him physically to draw his focus away, gritting his teeth with so much force they might shatter. “I am at the hospital. Can–”

They don’t let him finish, and he thinks he can make out the sound of them putting their jacket on. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Sasha can’t understand half of the words they are saying as all of them blur together, but he still focuses on the sound of their voice, firm and secure with a slight edge of anxiety to it. He lets it pull him in, and it’s gentler than the other sounds, not as deafening. He wants to say something to urge them to keep them talking, but they beat him to it. “Do you need me to stay on the phone while I’m on my way?”

“Yes,” Sasha breathes the single word out even before Candy finishes their sentence. The weight drops from his body as Candy doesn’t mention how pleading his own voice is, almost on the verge of begging, how vulnerable. They simply continue to talk, bringing him to the current and keeping him there as best as they can. 

“Yeah, okay.” Candy doesn’t wait too long to say something else, probably sensing how easy it is for Sasha to lose the fragile control he has. He’s pushing everything back even if it threatens to send him spiralling again, even if surrender would be so much easier. “Just stay where you are, I’m already in the car.” 

He doesn’t know if he replies when everything goes fuzzy again. Sasha hears them at the edges of his consciousness, talking about something– nothing and everything. They call out his name occasionally, to ground him by saying something familiar, something fundamentally his. 

The world around him sways, – or maybe it’s him sinking to the floor again – his knees hit something sharp, causing his teeth to close on his lip, tearing the skin. The feeling makes him wince and take a sharp intake of air, which burns through his lungs. 

But why is he even breathing? He doesn’t need to, but the shallow breaths he lets out only prove that fact that he doesn’t want to admit to himself– he is scared. So, so scared. He presses the hand on to his chest hard, almost feeling the bone shift and crack, but he doesn’t care. He needs to stop breathing– he shouldn’t be scared anymore. 

Blood trickles down his face and neck, under his collar, on the floor, and with each breath he takes it gets into his nose and mouth. Sasha feels like he’s about to collapse completely, face down on the floor, and it takes all of his remaining willpower to stay somewhat upright on his knees. 

As he waits for the Beast to take him, all he can do is wrap his arms around himself. Everything around him goes dark; Candy’s voice is drowned by the cacophony in his head.

He isn’t scared, no.

He is terrified.

He doesn’t remember much from there. Which is petrifying on its own– feeling the control sleep between his fingers, trying to latch onto it, but failing again and again and again. Sasha can only sit still as he’s losing the only thing he was sure of before with calm acceptance. 

The lab was clouded by the fog of pain and exhaustion, the strong metallic taste in the air keeps his mind afloat even when he wants to succumb to sweet nothingness. Cruelly keeping him half-awake, half-unconscious, it repeated the events of the day like a movie for him to watch until he’s sick of it. And he is, but it still doesn’t stop. It never does. 

At some point it got too tiring to fight for control over his mind. Desperately clawing on to the whatever is left of his humanity with bleeding fingers and broken nails became too much too soon. As he let go, his vision that was hazy around the edges was now completely black; the sounds that had been tortuously loud for so long seemed to dim after another minute passed. 

Surrender didn’t feel as harrowing as he thought it would, instead, it felt like he was floating in the endless freezing space. No stars around, no light– only cold and darkness. Falling into the arms of the beast was mind-numbing: he couldn’t think, he couldn’t stop. Sasha was ready to be eaten alive by his own mind, but – fortunately or unfortunately – it never happened. 

He was taken by the collar and pulled back to reality, cruelly and fast, too fast, please leave me be, please, when Candy entered the lab like a tempest. The veil over his eyes lifted, and he saw them reaching out without sparing the dead vampire a single glance. They put themself between him and the embodiment of his failure, blocking his view completely. Candy was saying something to him – or was it him who was talking? – but he was still submerged in the nightmare that was way too palpable; he wanted to listen, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

Next spark of consciousness rattled his brain when he felt the insipid blood breaching his lips; he opened his mouth for it at first like a man starved, but as soon as he swallowed the first drop of it, the nausea overtook him– it tasted like cardboard and chalk. Bile burned in the back of his throat, and he almost spat it all out, but Candy persisted. They brought the blood pack to his lips again, forcing him to drink it no matter how much he wanted to kick and push it away. 

Sasha heard Candy’s reassuring but commanding voice, there was no anger in it, no malice or censure, but it was an order, and in the end he obeyed. As he always did, he was beaten into obedience long before they came into his life. Gripping their wrist tight, he drank and drank until the pack was empty. 

After the blood made it through his body, everything became sharp again. The cold bite of metal, the excruciating feeling of his bones getting in place, the itch from his flesh knitting itself back slowly; wound after wound, his skin healed. His mind, however, was still slippery; the supernova of sounds and thoughts made him press the heels of his palms to his ears in hopes of everything finally being quiet. 

The storm died down slightly as Candy’s fingers ran across his jaw, down to his arms, checking for any remaining injuries. It was the only truly solid thing he remembers. Their hold was supportive, secure as they threw one of his arms across their shoulders, helping him stand and keeping him upright.

The ride home was a hurricane of blue and orange lights, and it almost made another wave of long forgotten memories to surface– the deep destructive orange of flames, the blue of the sky that was painted grey by the suffocating smoke. The heat, the scars, the grinding bones and burning flesh would make him tople in anxiety if not for his body feeling so heavy, so numb. 

In search of an anchor, Sasha found the blue of Candy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, their eyes were bright, too bright, too blue, but it wasn’t the same deep cobalt that made his fight or flight instinct act up again. Rather the light colour of the sky after a summer rain, cool and refreshing. 

He watched the lights dance across their eyes, closing his own peacefully.

When Sasha awakens fully it’s to someone else’s hands on him, leading him somewhere. It makes his wake less than gentle– it’s as if a bucket of freezing cold water is dumped on him. The million questions invade his brain; where is he? With whom? And where are they taking him? 

He’s like a panicked animal, ready to fight and claw, scrape the walls to get away, to escape, to run. Sasha knows there’s no other way to do so other than engaging in a fight, physical one. The powers of his blood are worthless at the moment, and using them will leave him in a worse state than his opponent. With that in mind, the muscles in his body tense as he readies himself to strike, and if he manages to attack at the right time, to catch them off guard– 

“If you punch me now, we’ll both fall down the stairs, and I won’t drag your ass up them again.” The person’s voice is unimpressed, and when Sasha lifts his head he’s met with the glare Candy’s throwing his way. They raise an eyebrow at him, and despite the hardness in their eyes, he instantly feels better. Though he doubts he knows what better feels like at the moment. “One time is more than enough.”  

With a groan, Sasha tiredly moves his legs along with theirs as they support him, but they at least listen to him now, and he can take a step without falling like a ragdoll. Even if it was the case, Candy’s arm around his waist is strong, and they would catch him if he stumbles. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but it’s too dry, and all that he can manage is a coughing fit. Patiently, Candy stops to let him find his footing again. When speaking doesn’t feel like a challenge anymore, he wets his lips before trying again, completely ignoring the way Candy’s thumb is stroking soothing circles through his clothes. “You know, laying down anywhere sounds pretty good right now.” 

Candy snorts at that, and Sasha looks away with a small tired smile. He tilts his head to the side, and it gives him the chance to finally look around. His previous panic was pointless as it turns out, because he actually knows this place– they are near his apartment door. Sasha immediately relaxes, the feeling of familiarity eases the nerves. They are home, he is safe. Or as safe as he can be at least. 

When they reach the door, Candy rests him against a wall carefully, hovering their hands over him for a second more, just to make sure he won’t fall again. Sasha scowls, jaw set stubbornly. 

He hates this helplessness and the ache of despair that makes his stomach twist. He loathes how pitiful he must look right now. He despises how he still longs for them to support him, to take him in his arms. Their embrace is lighter than the one of the Beast inside him. 

When he glances at them, he sees no pity, only the furrow of their brow– are they concerned? Or as confused as he is? Sasha isn’t sure.

Candy banishes the expression of their face as quickly as it came, and they distract themself by looking around for the keys. Their movements are slow, methodical, like they always are– they know for sure where the keys are and which one opens the lock. Once they get them out, Candy spares him one last look before they open the door in a smooth motion. 

Once it’s done, they make sure he sees them approaching him, outstretching their arms to wrap them around his lean body again. He just nods absentmindedly; the uncertainty ties a knot in his stomach, he doesn’t know how to feel about how careful they are with him– they are never this deliberate, but they also don’t treat him like he’s fragile.

The apartment is silent, the air is cool against Sasha’s damp skin. It’s dark inside, the dimmed light that is coming from the kitchen does nothing to illuminate the room. Because of that, both of them almost trip on the shoes that are tossed around near the entrance. 

Sasha’s lips quirk up as he realises they were in a hurry to reach him. He knew they would.

“Home, sweet home.” He croaks, trying his best to appear flippant as if he wasn’t curled in a ball on the dirty floor just an hour ago. He knows they see right through him – it’s not hard to do so right now with how emotionless his voice is – but they still chuckle as they kneel in front of him to take his shoes off. 

“Just don’t get blood everywhere again.” Candy bites back as they always do, and it’s not entirely mean-spirited– there’s a spark of amusement in their eyes, but their muscles are tense, movements rigid. 

He barks out a quiet laugh at that, but it’s different from the fit of laughter that took hold of him earlier, when he was in the clutches of his own mind– it’s gentler, more genuine, and it helps to keep him in the moment. This talk brings a sense of normality, and he revels in it, throwing his head back, exposing his throat. “Wow, Candy, what a way to greet someone home.”

“Well excuse me for not professing my undying love for you the second I dragged you here all bloodied.” Candy retorts without missing a beat. Both of them know this game, and right now Sasha is grateful that they are here with him for he can almost pretend that the previous accident has never happened. “I'll do better next time.”

“You better.” He agrees with a grin, earning a light smack on the leg. 

Candy stands up, helping Sasha to his feet. He leans into them harder than necessary, but they don’t complain, so he stays like that. When they guide him to the bathroom, Sasha avoids his reflection in the mirror; the sharp, pale colours of the room help him with that as they sear his eyes. He doesn’t want to see a ghostly look in his eyes, the ashy skin. 

He’s grateful when Candy ushers him to sit on a bathtub edge, interrupting his trail of thoughts. They gently reach to his neck to take off the jewellery that sits around it– a small silver feather on a thin chain. Sasha doesn't protest when they do; in a way it feels like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Everything around him holds some sort of connection to his past, and he just wants to be in a vacuum with nothing else around. 

Candy’s hand on his arm brings him back. As they pass a critical once-over his roughed up figure, their mouth turns downwards. Sasha’s not injured anymore, but he looks like hell– all bloodied with clothes torn. 

After another moment of silent examination passes, they finally speak. “Take your clothes off.”

Now, he could just silently obey, and do as they asked, but it wouldn’t really be him, would it? Sasha might be beat up, but he didn’t have a personality switch; he absolutely can’t let the opportunity like this slide; so he glances at them, his lips twitching. “You just want to see me naked, don’t you?”

“Relax, pretty boy. You can barely stand.” Candy rolls their eyes, the slightest smirk graces their lips, but they don’t linger on it too long. Always moving, always fidgeting when nervous, they settle on drawing him a bath. 

“Yeah well,” Sasha shrugs, grinning sharply. This close, their shoulders are brushing slightly, and they don’t move as he chases them some more; they just glance at him out of the corner of their eyes, gaze strangely unreadable. “I don’t need to stand to show you a good time.” 

Candy actually laughs at that. A short, harsh and rasping sound from low in their throat. Whatever heavy thoughts were plaguing them before, seem to have gone away. “If your definition of a good time doesn’t involve you taking a shower any time soon then I’ll pass.” 

“You are breaking my heart, I’ll have you know.” 

“You’ll live.”

The banter dies down as they shut the water off; eerie silence settles over the room with single droplets of water interrupting it occasionally, but it’s anything but silent in his brain. Loud, running thoughts are bouncing off the walls of his skull, and they haven’t stopped ever since he brought the man down to the basement. 

Weighted down by his thoughts, Sasha doesn’t notice when Candy starts to remove his shirt. He goes to help them, but his fingers are so numb it’s hard to undo even a single button, but he still persists, gritting his teeth. At some point he wants to just take it off over his head, but Candy insists they unbutton it, saying something along the lines of you’ll whine about that shirt being ruined tomorrow, you and I both know it. 

When the clothes are taken care of, Sasha gets into the bathtub with the water just about reaching his waist. It's pleasantly warm, but to his freezing body it seems hot, suffocatingly so. The heat makes his chest raise rapidly, and he makes a mistake of glancing down. 

The water turns pale red – more pink than scarlett – from the blood. It bubbles to the surface, small waves carry around the streamers of blood. The light overhead flickers, and for a moment he is in the lab again, staring in the black abyss of the man’s dead endless eyes.  

Sasha tenses, curling forward into himself, trying to run away from it all. Instead, it all comes rushing down onto him again– the dimly lit space with more than two shadows around, the shattered glass and dreams, the large sharp claws tearing his skin, the feeling of him taking deep gurgling breath, feeling his own blood going down his throat. 

“...okay?” 

There’s a voice echoing around him, and Sasha raises his head violently, looking like a deer in the headlights, pupils blown and gaze slightly manic. For a moment he sees the dead body on a stretcher, but now it’s him who’s lying there. Lifeless, rotting. 

The words - or is it a scream? A shout? - get strangled in his throat, and all that leaves his lips is a choked cry. He blinks the vision away, and he sees Candy with a washcloth in their hand. 

Their eyes are warry, with a spark of urgency to them, but they make no attempt to get closer. They sit back on their heels, simply watching him, a faint furrow between their brows as they lower their hands slowly as if afraid to spook him. 

He wonders what they see. How does he look to them now? Weak? Pathetic? Unable to take a beating? 

When Candy speaks next, their voice is soft, but they still keep their distance, and he’s more than grateful even if he curses himself for reacting in such a way. Sasha doesn’t know what he would do if they touched him now without any warning. “Are you okay?” 

He doesn’t know. “Yes. Fuck, I–”

There’s something pleading in his voice, and he isn’t even sure what he wanted to say– maybe an apology or maybe an excuse. But his eyes express everything his mouth can’t; he seeks, begs for understanding, and Candy is merciful for they grant it to him.

They lift a hand in the air, signalling him that he doesn’t need to explain himself. “Don’t. Just– Can I touch you? I want to wash the blood away.” 

Sasha nods slowly, letting out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. Candy makes a low approving sound in the back of their throat as they get closer again. Their movements are slow so he would be aware of everything they are doing, but he doesn’t feel alarmed. Not this time. 

Gently, Candy brings the washcloth to his skin. He still flinches at first, but soon after his body starts to melt under their touch. Taking a shaky breath, he relaxes, the tension in his limbs slowly leaves, vanishing into the dark, scarlett water. 

As their fingers trace over his body, they leave a trail of comfort, solace. Sasha lets himself close his eyes, lets himself simply be in the moment, focusing on the feeling of soft fabric of the washcloth, on their smooth skin against his. 

He’s weightless when they take his hands in theirs to clean the dried blood and skin behind his nails; it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s unfamiliar– they’ve been close before, they’ve seen each other’s naked bodies, but this is the intimacy they have never shared earlier. 

And how much he enjoys it is even more unexpected.

He cracks his eyes open when he hears the shower being turned on; his hair getting heavier when Candy wets it carefully. The water lingers on his eyelashes, slowly falling and trickling down his cheeks. They take some shampoo in their hands and massage his scalp, untangling the knots in his hair, wary of pulling on it too harshly. 

The sheer gentleness of their touch, their smell, their presence make him finally feel secure. It’s a dangerous feeling for he has taught himself to be ready for an attack, for a knife in his back, so he would always have an advantage. 

He doesn’t want them to let go, but all good things end eventually no matter how much he wishes otherwise. As they rinse the remaining shampoo and clean his body one final time, Sasha can feel them leaving his side. He wants to stop them, but he just slamps back, twisting his hands together.

As Candy gets up, they silently offer him a helping hand. He accepts just as silently, gripping their hand and using it to stand up. They can handle his weight easily enough, and the world is momentarily spinning when Candy hauls him to his feet. 

The floor is icy against his feet, a puddle of water forming underneath him. Candy turns to take some fresh towels, placing one over his shoulders. Another one they use for drying his hair. Sasha leans into their touch, tilting his head forward and clasping the towel in his hands tightly.

They step back, passing an examining look over him. Satisfied with what they see, they nod, mostly to themself, as they say. “I’ll go get some clothes for you. Dry yourself off a bit.”

The peaceful silence that covered him like a comforter evaporates the second Candy exits the bathroom. The blood comes rushing in his ears, thoughts cloud his mind like a swarm of deadly insects, stinging him again and again. Sasha grasps the bathroom edge so hard it might crack under pressure. 

He looks down, shaking his head with a tight-lipped smile crossing his face. It wasn’t just a delusion in the clutches of the Beast, it wasn’t the strike of adrenaline in the face of a threat of hunger overtaking him. Sasha truly was scared. He still is.   

Frozen in place, Sasha remembers the voice that was speaking to him through the veil of frenzy. He tears his gaze off the floor and turns to find his reflection. The mirror is slightly foggy when he looks in it, his shape is distorted, shadowy almost, but he can still see his eyes glistening in the bright room, and for just a second he stares in the eyes that are not his own.

Taunting, cruel eyes stare at him across the pyre, screaming at him a single word– coward.

No. Sasha's not a coward anymore, he's not the person he was, not the person he had to be before to survive. He fought, he killed to earn the place he has now, and he will have much more. And he will burn everyone who stands in his way, watching their flesh peel off their bones, slowly and agonisingly.

He did so once, he could easily do so again. 

He might not be a Prince, but he has never wanted to be one. He might now have the power of a King, but it doesn’t matter– Sasha doesn’t need it, he’ll have so much more with time. Why settle for something so insignificant, when he'll be able to achieve the might that will rival the Gods’. 

He won’t be at the feet of those at power again, never again. His sire has paid the price and so will the Camarilla– he will make them all bow to him, every single one of them; his face will be the last thing they see before they die at his hands. Before they see what he has become.

Submerged deep in his thought, Sasha doesn’t hear Candy enter the room at first; he sees their silhouette in the mirror next to his, tall and dark, they stand there and they fit. The puzzle in his head clicks. 

He can share his future triumph– he’s not that selfish after all, but not with everyone, no; he’s worked too hard to just throw it to the world. But Sasha will offer it to Candy, and if they agree to work with him, then it will be their victory. Both of them went through enough, and existing only to survive won’t be their final point, they will feast and feast and then they’ll thrive.

Greed is something that can be shared. 

The pile of clothes in their hands reminds Sasha that he didn’t dry himself as they asked, but they don’t question it, simply laying the clothes on the washing machine near him. Giving him some privacy, Candy turns to clean the bathtub from the red still sitting at the bottom, clinging to the white of the room. As they clean it up, it feels like the events of the night are being washed away as well. 

Clothes are more than uncomfortable when Sasha finally puts them on. The remaining water on his body makes the fabric cling to him, making him purse his lips. It’s like he’s caged again with how constructive it is. His fingers dig into both the clothing and his skin, his grip is threatening to rip it apart, fibre by fibre. Sasha’s almost set on doing so just to drive away that feeling, when Candy’s hand on his wrist interrupts him, tugging it away. 

They are gentle, painfully so– there’s no usual force to their touch, no biting words and taunting jokes as they reprimand him, no harshness in their eyes as they look over him to make sure they’ve cleaned all of the blood from his exhausted and fragile body, to make sure he is alright and safe. 

Sasha blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat and looking away the second Candy meets his eyes. There’s something in the way they are looking at him, in the softness of their hand as they lay it on his cheek like they are trying to reassure themself that he is real and he is here, with them. Like they were scared for him. 

Candy’s fingers trace the outline of his lip, delicately removing a droplet of water, and Sasha’s grip eases as he leans into their touch eagerly, chasingly. His body relaxes, mind calms; the storm is gone and now they are here to see the sunrise. 

Sasha reaches for their waist, hands wrapping around Candy tightly, bringing them to him, needing them as close as possible– under his very skin, into his ribcage, making his dead heart beat. He feels himself drowning in them as he grazes his lips against their pulse point, and he doesn’t want to emerge to take a breath, instead he wants to sink to the bottom of their embrace and stay like this– together. 

His world is zero focused on them now, on how they stand in front of him, shielding him. Protecting him. Sasha’s mind is set, clear for the first time tonight– he’ll ask them tomorrow, he will show them everything he’s been doing, they won’t turn on him, he’s sure of it. 

Candy reaches for his hair, softly running their fingers through it, tracing the skin on his neck, prompting him to close his eyes and all but stumble into them. They let him fall, but they’ll be there to catch him. Pressing their lips to his temple, they whisper softly without breaking the moment. “I am here, you are safe now.”

Sasha’s nose is cold against them as he nuzzles the skin of their neck, and he tilts his head some more, tucking himself under their chin. He presses into Candy almost desperately, nails digging into them; Don’t leave glows against their skin. 

“Thank you.” Whispered in the dark. 

TRANSLATION:

*You’re just a coward, Sasha. 

**You were ready to run as soon as he broke free. 

***You were ready to run when your attempt to kill Candy failed. 

****You died a coward, and you remain a coward. 

#my poor little meow meow is in a situation #there's so much hidden lore in this besties omg #like why did he freak out the way he did? why is he so scared of going into frenzy? what happened to the sire? why the fire is mentioned so #often?👀👀👀 #ANYWAYS DON'T COME ONTO ME AFTER THIS I DON'T MAKE HIM SUFFER FOR NOTHING I PROMISE I PROMISE #nico.fic #my oc: aleksandr #steelport

[morvaris-archive]

no one expected, but @arklay's comment on the templates inspired me. and here's a little one shot of not yet vampire candy trying to cook and their brother saving the situation

“What the fuck!” 

Theo jumps off the couch, almost tripping and falling face first, but he manages to keep his balance and sprints towards the kitchen. The shout came from their sibling, and it brings back bad memories that leave him shaken. 

Screaming, Murphy’s skin torn, they can barely stand and they’re bleeding on the floor. Dying.. Are they dying? 

He chokes on a breath, and the room is spinning, but he reaches the kitchen anyway. Barging inside, Theo’s eyes frantically search for Murphy, trying to understand what’s wrong. 

He can’t go through this again. 

----

Murphy’s trying. They really are. But who knew that cooking something other than instant noodles is so damn hard?

Their fingers itch to have a smoke to help with their nerves, but smoking right before the kid’s food is a bad idea, and they for sure won’t serve him something that smells like cheap cigarettes. 

Sighing, they continue to cut vegetables in very uneven pieces, but then they hear a hissing sound behind them. Looking over their shoulder, Murphy sees the soup boiling inside the pot, but they must’ve put too much water because it’s spilling over the edges.

They run to the stove, quickly turning it off, but it’s too late. 

“What the fuck!” Shouting way louder than necessary, they run a hand through their hair. Anger makes them curse under their nose even more, quieter this time; they just wanted to cook something nice for the kid, something homemade so he would feel like they’re a family. At least once in his life. “Fucking shit.”

They throw a knife on the kitchen table, tears of frustration in their eyes. Theo.. has been through a lot recently, and it was all because of Murphy and their less than careless actions. He tries to act like it’s cool, but they can feel his eyes lingering on them longer than before, and their heart tightens when he squeezes their hand in his when they need to leave him alone for a while.

Murphy put him through a lot, and he reacted to it better than they did. They are more immature than a thirteen year old boy.

They jump when they hear someone violently barge into the small kitchen space. Theo chokes on a breath when he sees Murphy, and his eyes are as scared as when he was five years old, crying to them as he realised that their parents abandoned both of them. 

Murphy whinces, but they try to cover it with a shaky smile. “Hey kid. You- uh, came to help?”

Theo looks between them and a stove, and then his eyes dart to the knife on the table, and Murphy quickly steps in front of it. He still notices it of course, but upon his inspection his shoulders sag a little, and he lets out a calming breath. 

Murphy eases too. They don’t want him to worry, and the terror in his eyes when he came here almost made them panic as well. But it would only create even more of a problem if neither of them knew how to be an adult. 

He fights a smile, and opens his mouth to say something, but then a look of alarm settles over his face again. “Wait.. Are you cooking?”

“Hey!” They protest, crossing their arms. “Yes, I am. What’s this look for?”

Looking down for a second, he glances back at them. A wide toothy grin makes it into his face this time, and he snorts. “I didn’t know we were having food poisoning for dinner.”

Murphy rolls their eyes; Theo is just like them. Martha and Will would be disappointed for sure, saying how much of a bad influence they are on him, but it only makes them mirror his grin. They are not a good parent, but they are a better sibling and they’ll try to give Theo everything he might need.

Except stability, of course. 

Murphy frowns, but the expression softens a bit when they look at him once again; it’s nice to see him like this– enjoying himself and teasing, they don’t mind to be a butt of the joke if it means they’ll see him happy more often. 

“Okay, smartass.” They nod to punctuate their words, and Theo giggles. It’s melodic, nostalgic even. It’s been way too long since he did that, and it makes them remember good times. Easier times. “If you are done making fun of your sibling, will you help me choose a place where we’ll go for dinner or do I get the privilege?”

“You don’t want to continue cooking?”

Murphy looks to the pod again, and to the soup spilled near it still. They’ll have to clean it sooner or later, and the prospect makes them groan. They watch as Theo goes to the stove, and glances inside the pod. 

He staggers back then, coughing a bit, but trying to hide it. When he speaks next, he ignores his previous question all together, making Murphy bark a laugh. “Yeah! I’ll help you pick a place.”

“Smart, kid.” Murphy ushers him out of the kitchen, listening to him bubbling about the new menu at his favourite fast food restaurant. There are new combos, and toys! Murphy, they got the dinosaur toys! Can we order one, please? Please? 

He describes to them all of the different dinosaur types as he puts his shoes on faster than ever before, spurring Murphy to hurry up. They obey of course, and let him take the shotgun, showing Murphy the way as if they didn’t know where to go. 

And when they finally reached the place, and Theo got his toy, they looked at him playing with it, roaring rather impressively. Murphy feels relaxed for the first time in ever, and their face hurts from smiling. 

Maybe they are not a “normal” family, but they still are one. And Murphy will do whatever is necessary to ensure that Theo will always have a family who loves him more than anything, and who will always be there for him.

Always. 

#this is not my best writing but i wanted to write this sm #it's not focused on cooking as much as it is on the Lore #also yes candy is murphy here because they are still not a vampire #anyways i hope you don't mind me @ you leah !! but your comment inspired me lmao #they are so different here :( it makes me sad how much trauma they went through after the embrace and even before it #and that always will haunt me forever because in the end they had to leave him too and i am screaming #nico.fic #my oc: candy

[morvaris-archive]

; wip day!

i was tagged by @arklay and @mendev; thank you both so much! ♡

tagging: @aartyom @nuclearstorms @aelyosos @reaperkiller @cultistbase @montliyets @shadowglens @steelport & whoever wants to do this!

“Do you know how to open locks?” Dove grumbles, taking the instruments in her hands and trying to pick the lock again. Another unsuccessful attempt and she’ll probably smash the door open. Now that would be entertaining.  Candy takes a cigarette in their mouth and lights it, exhaling the smoke in Dove’s direction. On purpose, of course. The Nosferatu glares at them, but they just blow another puff of smoke. “Sure, you do it with a key.” “Very funny, you have hilarious written all over you.” “You set yourself up for this one.” Deciding that they haven’t annoyed Dove enough, Candy tosses the lighter up in the air, again and again. After it flies up once again, Dove catches it in quick sharp movement, looking extremely annoyed. Candy smirks. “But your lucky day has finally arrived– I do know how to pick this thing.” Dove shoves the lighter back at them, and they stagger back a bit. Seems like they’ve finally pushed her buttons as much as she did theirs during the ride here.“And you didn’t bother to tell me this earlier, after I’ve been trying to open it for so long?” “I wanted to see when you’d become desperate enough to ask me.” 

#thank you again beloveds <33 #i dont think i've shared this one #it would a really clown moment if i did #nico.fic #tag games ♡

[morvaris-archive]

aleksandr + sated 👀😳

sated + aleksandr warnings: nsfw (teasing, oral sex but it's described vaguely), blood. i might've got carried away a bit. maybe.

Vampire’s hunger is a peculiar thing– it demands, it blinds, it never leaves. 

With time, Aleksandr learned how to live with it, how to control it a little better. He doesn’t turn into a mindless creature in its hold anymore. No, he’s better than this. Blood has never been a luxury for him, working at a hospital ensured it, and even if it was no longer an option, he has enough influential, mortal and immortal, friends, who will provide if it’s needed.

Sasha often goes to them out of sheer boredom, but feeding off of his friends awakens.. Another type of hunger within him. The one that is less demanding, but no less euphoric to indulge. And Sasha is nothing but indulgent– he’s a creature of need, after all.

And he will never be truly sated. 

He’s pressing Eli against a wall, hard and almost suffocating; they feel his body more intimately than their own. They’re surrounded by him– by the coldness of his body, by his smell; their hands grasp his shirt in an attempt to keep him there as if afraid he’ll leave after getting what he wanted. 

Sasha smirks, and it looks lethal– his teeth are all red, and he grazes his fangs with his tongue, slowly licking any of the remaining blood. Eli is hypnotised, watching his every move, eyes never leaving Sasha’s bloodied lips. He smiles then, and one of his knees settles in between Eli’s thighs, earning a whine out of them in return. 

Close.. Closer.. But not close enough.

Eli looks away, their breathing erratic. They feel Sasha leaning in, his hand gripping their chin tightly, shifting their focus back to him; they should be focusing on him, and how he is making them feel. Wanted, desired, cherished even. At this moment, there’s no one for him but Eli, and they are addicted to this way more than Sasha is to blood.

His other hand slowly slides up their chest until it reaches their neck and then lips. His hold isn’t strong, but it’s demanding, and when he traces the outline of Eli’s lips, painting them bright red, they almost choke on a breath. They try to lick the blood away, but Sasha sneers, gripping their chin even tighter. 

“And who said you can do that?” Aleksandr’s voice is harsh, but he still traces a finger across their jawline. Without breaking eye contact, he takes the bloodied fingers to his lips and wraps his mouth around one, sucking on it. He moans, closing his eyes; the taste is nothing short of divine. “It is for me to indulge, and if you want something, you’ll have to ask nicely.” 

Eli’s head is spinning, strangled gasps escaping their mouth as they try to speak. “Kiss me.” 

But Sasha just raises an eyebrow at them as if daring Eli to take despite his earlier words. They curl their hand in his hair, tugging him closer; Sasha’s lips are soft, but the kiss is bruising, just like he knows Eli likes it. He’s leaning his weight against them, his hand now settled on their throat, squeezing slightly. 

Tongue dragging across their lower lip, he licks the blood away and scrapes his teeth just enough for Eli to feel the sharpness of them, the danger, the thrill. They arch up to him, gasping for air as he applies more pressure. His other hand moves down, unbuttoning their shirt, exposing even more skin. They shudder against the coldness of him, and he grins. 

The shirt ends up on the floor soon enough, and Sasha’s touching everywhere he can reach, leaving marks, pulling the sounds out of them, more and more. He closes his fingers over a nipple, before grazing his teeth across it; Eli whispers his name - like a curse and a prayer - to the darkness, and the way Sasha moans because of it is filthy, loud and unashamed. 

They let out a frustrated noise, when Sasha moves away suddenly; they almost stumble without him pinning them with his whole weight. But when Eli looks down and sees him get on his knees before them, they swear under their breath. His hands settle over their stomach, nails digging into soft skin. Aleksandr tugs the remaining clothes down until they join the shirt. 

And soon he’s onto them again, sucking a deep mark on their hip bone. Sasha drags his tongue over it once, and Eli aches; their hands are in his hair, tugging Sasha to where they want him. And then he finally puts his mouth on them, and the sounds spilling from Eli’s mouth are so obscene they’d be embarrassed if their thoughts were something other than his name. Sasha Sasha Sasha.

They’re so hot they can’t breathe, and he’s persistent, curling his tongue against them. Encouraged by the sounds, Sasha doubles down, his fingers joining his tongue against them, stroking fast, and he almost purrs from his own pleasure. When he looks up, he sees Eli trembling, covered in sweat, desperate for the release, and they’re close, so close. But then.. Sasha stops.

Leaning back a bit, he just stays there, looking up at them. Eli’s hips jerk violently, trying to get him to do something, but he’s simply rubbing circles on their skin. Waiting. Smirking. He’s enjoying their attempts, until he bites down on their thigh, and Eli screams, throwing their head back. 

“You fu–”

“You’re so spoiled. What did I say about asking nicely?” Sasha is watching the blood from the freshly made wound go down and down, his eyes hooded slightly. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and heavy with unsustainable hunger of a different kind. 

“Say please, darling, and I’ll give you anything you want.” 

#Y'ALL KNEW WHAT U WERE DOING #Y'ALL KNEW #I HATE HIM BUT I LOVE HIM BUT I HATE THIS SMUG ASSHOLE FDASGHJFKRFGHOHJKSA #IM SO NORMAL ABOUT MY OC IM SO NORMAK ABOUT HIM #someone should put him in his place #thank you for the ask rena <3333 #my oc: aleksandr #nico.fic

[morvaris-archive]

17 for sasha (utmost beloved) <3

empty + aleksandr

word count: 2842

warnings: smoking. i don't think there's anything else!

Tiredness weighs down Aleksandr’s body, slight hunger makes him annoyed at anyone who’s smiling at him in greeting. He just wants everyone to leave him alone– no questions, no useless gossip, no loud interns, no “Dr. Romanov, do you mind helping me with this?”. None of it. 

His face itches after forcing a polite smile for so long after trying to be a perfect picture of a patient and kind doctor; if someone dares to interrupt him now, he won’t be able to stop himself from baring his fangs at them. It would be a funny distraction, if not for the stupid Masquerade regulations. 

Alas, it would only cause even more of a headache and force him to have a talk with Danielle about how she is very sick of keeping Camarilla busy and away from him. 

He scowls– Danielle’s patronage is useful, but he feels as though her tolerance for him is stretching thin, and soon enough she’ll decide that it’s more beneficial to give him up. The only thing that keeps her from doing so is Aleksandr’s research in which Danielle is very interested in, and she also knows she won’t be able to complete it without either him or Julian, and the latter is quite… busy at the moment. Especially considering what a certain courier is putting him through.

Aleksandr smirks to himself upon remembering the troubles Sim is facing right now. 

Good, if the Camarilla is after him, they will ignore Aleksandr for just a bit longer. Time is all he needs.

However pleasant the thoughts of Julian potentially getting executed are, they do nothing to ease his mind. The desire to crash something or someone gets even stronger, when Aleksandr reaches into his pocket and finds a cigarette pack dreadfully empty. For fuck’s sake, can this day get any worse? 

The door to the roof opens with more force than necessary, but he can’t bring himself to care about the potential property damage. Fresh air feels nice against his skin; the wind is harsh, but also soothing like a cold shower to tired muscles. The smell of the city isn’t the best even this high up, but it’s way better than the suffocating one inside the hospital; the view, however, is absolutely breathtaking. Million artificial lights illuminate tall buildings, people moving like bees in a swarm, cars roaring– this bustle helps keep his mind distracted. 

But Aleksandr’s intentions to enjoy it to the fullest shatter once he realises that he’s not the only one out here.

He doesn’t believe his eyes at first when he sees a very familiar silhouette sitting at the very edge with their legs hanging over it– slightly hunched and embraced by shadows, the cigarette light highlighting their face. They almost look relaxed if not for the slight tension in their shoulders. 

Aleksandr feels somewhat relieved it’s them and not, well, anyone else, but the irritation still makes itself known in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Candy doesn’t spare him a glance, doesn’t even flinch; they probably sensed him coming from far away. They take another drag off of a cigarette, and when they finally decide that he’s worthy of an answer, they speak with smoke framing their words. “Hello to you too, asshole.”

“Yes, yes.” Aleksandr huffs, waving his hand dismissively, he’s had enough of small talk for today. Suspicion rises up within him; Candy is quite close with the Camarilla now, and even closer with the Prince of Tucson of all people. It’s a healthy concern, one they have to understand. “Why are you here?”

They shrug, throwing the cigarette off of the edge of the building, watching it fall slowly. “I’ve come to bug you obviously.”

His stance eases– their tone has a joking edge to it, and Candy doesn't seem like they are here for a fight with the vampire much older than them. But you never know with someone as violent and unpredictable as Candy. Aleksandr still calms to some degree, moving towards them, and heaves a dramatic sigh. 

“Lucky me.”

“That you are if you’re here in my delightful company.” Candy turns to look at him, eyes glinting playfully. Their scarred lips twitch a bit as if fighting back a smirk or a grin.

Sitting down beside them, Aleksandr pulls one of the legs to his chest. Tiredness he felt earlier quickly shifts into amusement– Candy has changed after they last saw each other, not drastically, no, but it’s nice to see that working for the all powerful Camarilla didn’t turn them into a brooding vampire cliche. 

“My god, Candy, what wonders has Tucson done to your ego?” He leans against them, their shoulders brushing. Meeting no resistance from Candy, he grins. Aw, they missed him. “Made it even bigger?” 

“My ego still can’t compete with yours.”

“No one’s can.”

Silence washes over them, and Aleksandr looks at the city again. They’re so high up, above the people on the busy streets, but Aleksandr feels more trapped here than they are. He’s like a fish outside of a fish bowl, slowly dying on the ground, trying to get to the water. Clinging to life.

Or to delusions of safety.

He ended up just like June said he would.

The thought hits Aleksandr like a train incapable of stopping, getting even faster and faster instead. He hasn’t thought about June for a long time– it was better to force himself to forget everything about their time together and about him. The feel of his skin against Aleksandr’s, the sight of his warm smile, the colour… What was the colour of June's eyes? 

Frowning, Aleksandr tries to fight the memories that flash in front of his eyes. He’s loudly taping his fingers on the roof, trying to distract himself and completely ignoring the glare Candy sends his way, but hope is a stupid thing. It never gets farther than simple wishful thinking; he knows this lesson well, he should know it. She taught him better than this. 

He hangs his head low as if trying to throw the memories off the roof– the reminder of June is bad enough, but to remember his sire on the same night is practically agonising. Aleksandr doesn’t need the reminder of what she did, of what humiliations he had to go through for her to be proud of him. Not now, not ever. 

This pain is the past, and he is the future. If he succeeds with the research, no one will dare to try and hurt him again. He'll be the one causing pain instead– he deserves this privilege after being reduced to less than mud under his sire's shoe. It's only fair that he gives some of the torment back to the world.

Aleksandr is nothing if not generous.

He can feel Candy's gaze on him, they're not even trying to be subtle. They narrow their eyes, deciding whether it’s worth prying; Aleksandr lets them suffer a bit, hoping they’ll leave this alone. He should know better– they have never been a merciful type. 

“What are you thinking about?” Their voice is gruff, and the question is almost barked at him. “I can see the cogs turning in your head from here.”

Aleksandr throws them a look, but they ignore it. He considers doing the same to their question, but Candy might not let this one go, so he surrenders in the end, simply stating. “Life.”

“You’re literally dead.”

“And you’re still not funny.”

Candy turns to face him fully, brows furrowed; they reach for another cigarette, and even offer one to Aleksandr. He accepts, but doesn’t take it to his lips– he just needs something to keep his hands busy. He knows Candy wants him to elaborate, but they won’t push him if he doesn’t want to. 

There’s no harm in talking for a bit. “We’re living during times of change. It’s been a while since I saw things evolve so drastically around me.” 

Candy thankfully saves him the remark of how old he is, instead settling for something far worse. “Is this about June?”

“Who?” Aleksandr’s chest tightens, and he tries to laugh it off in retaliation. Putting some distance between them, he doesn’t meet their eyes. When did they learn to read him so well?

“Don’t try this shit with me.” Candy says it louder than necessary, the cigarette falling out of their mouth, but they manage to catch it just before it lands on the ground. “You know who I am talking about.”

Aleksandr clenches his fists so hard his knuckles whiten. The wave of anger threatens to overwhelm him; his jaw set tightly, eyes ablaze with rage and hurt. But when he looks at Candy he doesn’t see any ill intent in their eyes, only genuine and poorly masked concern. Do they- do they really just want to talk about this with no secret motive?

His hands still shake a bit, but he manages to cool off. It doesn’t look like they are trying to provoke him at least. “It is. In a way.”

Neither of them talk for a moment. Candy looks like they are trying to come up with a question, and Aleksandr snorts. Good to see he is not the only one losing his footing here, but he needs to slow down– they are not attacking him, there is no need to be so defensive. It will only show his vulnerability. 

Easier said than done.

“You never told me what happened to him.” Candy says, if only to fill the awkward silence. They probably regret asking anything in the first place.

The air around them tenses, it feels like static against their skin. It’s getting hard to breathe even for those that have no need for it. “He got tired of me and left; that’s enough of an explanation for you?”

Candy actually winces at that, probably cursing themself for probing an old wound, but they don’t back down. They never do. “Listen, maybe it’s not my place to ask, but I’m giving you a chance to talk for once. So either talk to me or tell me to fuck off and I will.”

The implication is clear– they won’t ask about this ever again if he tells them not to. Aleksandr is given a way out, something he would usually question, but he quickly finds himself at a crossroads. Candy asks painful things not to hurt him, but because.. Because they care? Because they think he needs someone to talk to about this?

He throws his head back, unable to deal with whatever he feels right now. Instead, deciding to focus on the dark and lifeless sky. It’s void of any stars and there’s not a single cloud in sight– it is as empty as his existence is. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of life with all its pollution. 

Or maybe it’s him who is poisoning everything. Aleksandr has stagnated for so long, and he has seen many people come and go. Some hurt more than others. 

He probably does need that talk, huh.

“June found out what I did in the hospital.” He starts slow, keeping his voice monotone. No need to get emotional over it– it won’t change anything anyway. Candy keeps their eyes on him, but it seems like he’s talking more to the city than to them. “I told him my research was necessary for me to survive, to have leverage against the Second Inquisition and the Camarilla.”

“You told him it was the only reason?” Candy asks, gentler than usual, no bite behind the question. They are not here to argue, they made it clear enough.

“It was the only one he needed to know.” He fumbles with the cigarette again, putting it behind his ear a second later. “He tried to fight me, told me there's another way– there had to be. He suggested leaving with him, to lay low for a while; he said no one needs to suffer for my freedom. I called him naive, he didn’t know this world.”

Aleksandr’s laughter is a quiet thing, more self-pitying than anything else. He shouldn’t have approached June in the first place– another one of his many, many mistakes. The list of them grows longer with each year, and he is over a hundred years old. “He didn’t listen, and told me I could do better, be better. I said that I was already so much more than he will ever be. I thought-”

Clearing his throat, Aleksandr swallows down what he really wants to say– that he drove away the only person who was willing to put up with him. Longer than the others at least. “We agreed to talk about this later when both of us had some time to calm down, but when I woke up he wasn’t there. He just left without saying anything.”

Candy plays with a lighter, closing and opening it again, and they keep quiet. The emotions with which air is charged are unfamiliar. Neither of them usually talk about such things– it’s easier to pretend you don’t care, to shrug it off. Aleksandr feels too exposed, and judging by the frown on Candy’s brow, they don’t know how to feel either. But it feels… liberating to talk about this finally. 

“Did you love him?” Candy whispers after another long minute passes. 

“I don’t know.” The smile on his face is sad, melancholic. Aleksandr asked himself the same question once, and he still has no answer. “How do you know when you love someone?”

They pause, rolling their lips together. “No idea.”

They have no answer, and the city doesn’t either when he glances at it again. Aleksandr doesn’t feel better yet. Maybe it’ll come with time or maybe it’s one of those wounds that never really go away and he simply needs to bottle it down again. Won’t be the first time.

The conversation dies away, drowned by the sounds of people moving around, of cars driving faster than they should. People laugh, some cry and argue on the streets– it’s life in all its glory. Aleksandr felt out of touch with it for so long, but this talk, the emotions caused by it brought him a little bit closer to feeling alive again. 

“Candy?” His voice is almost fragile in the dark where there is nothing but them– only the void of the sky and the cold, cold city; he feels strangely soft, strangely safe.

“Yeah?”

The words die on his tongue, and he’s not even sure what he wanted to say. A thank you perhaps? For being the only one to ask, the only one to care enough to listen? For being here when he needed it the most? 

Aleksandr sighs quietly, and Candy doesn’t force him to elaborate, they’re staring somewhere into the distance. Something troubles them, but he doesn’t ask. It would be too much, too soon.

Eventually, he takes the cigarette from behind his ear and puts it into his mouth. He reaches out his hand, silently asking for a lighter, and Candy gives it to him, grumbling only slightly. 

Aleksandr smiles, inhaling the smoke. Nice to know he’s special. “Didn’t know you were such a softie, worrying about your friend like that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, too.” Candy rolls their eyes, something they do way too often around him, and his smile grows even wider. The sincerity of it would be shocking to anyone else, but Candy just elbows him, grinning. 

They sit like this some more, but the expression on Candy’s face goes as quickly as it appeared. They get up, overlooking the city one last time. There’s a heaviness in the way they stand, shifting from one foot to another. Aleksandr’s smile falls, and he waits for a catch.

Because of course there is always one. 

“I came here to tell you that I'll be leaving for Tucson in a few hours. I drove here to pick up a package for Lettow.” They say, answering Aleksandr’s much earlier question of why they were here in the first place, completely ignoring the previous conversation as if it never happened. “But I've heard the Inquisition forces are gathering here. I'm not sure I'll stop by any time soon until everything settles.”

It feels like a goodbye, and it probably is one. If the Inquisition strikes, they might not see each other ever again, one of them might even end up dead or be forced to pick an opposite side. He nods, scholing his expression into an emotionless mask once again, but the unease still rises up to his throat. 

Aleksandr isn’t good with goodbyes, neither is Candy. 

“You have my number in case something happens.” With that they glance at him one last time.

When they hold his gaze, the look they send him says more than they ever could– be careful, Sasha. He doesn't reply, but the you too, Candy is clear in his eyes.

He watches them go silently, his heart empty again.

#thank you so much for the ask bones i had a lot of fun !!! #SAD ALEKSANDR HOURS #SAAAAAAAAAAD #you can descride this fic as two assholes who are also friends are being assholes and try to hide that they care abt their friend #CAN U HEAR MY SCREAMING AT BOTH OF THEM? BECAUSE I AM DOING IT SO LOUDLY #PYHJIOFGHGHFDOIGHKDFOPGIDFDPF;KSDOIH IJKOFGHG #NEITHER OF THEM KNOW HOW TO COMMUNICATE AND CANDY WANTS TO HELP AND SASHA IS GREATFUL BUT THEY JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO SAY IT OR WHAT THEY #EVEN FEEL AND LIKE #THEY ARE EACH OTHER'S CLOSEST FREINDS AND LIKE THERES TRUST THERE ITS SUBTLE BUT THERES AND LIKE #SASHA DOESNT LET PEOPLE CLOSE OFTEN AND HE DID WITH CANDY BUT THEY HAVE TO LEAVE TOO AND IM HFGJDKSFJASDOIFDAS #love them and i WILL talk more abt their friendship <- this is a threat #nico.fic #my oc: aleksandr #my oc: candy