#considered for the briefest moment on adding breeding kink to this but i had to physically restrain myself i add it to EVERYTHING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unholyplumpprincess · 3 years

Text

Corrupted Angel

For twitter user @/EnEssTimesTwo bc I fell in love with her vampire Bloodhound art and this is based off one of her art images which I can’t seem to link back to!

Summary: Essentially a monster au where human Elliott is a burlesque/exotic dancer who has caught the eye of a owl masked person who tips very well yet is too damned polite when Elliott just wants them to grab him and make him a meal. Not knowing, well, what kind of meal they’d really want.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Mirage

Warning: NSFT/R18+, monster au involving vampire Bloodhound, Bloodhound has body mods so if you don’t like those!, Elliott has a fang kink, Bloodhound’s nasty oral fixation, basically Mirage’s dick is a caprisun and Bloodhound is Hungry, nothing really like ‘terrible’ in here as far as kinky just oral and some dirty dancing.

Words: 7k

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In a world like this, getting clients that were of inhuman breed wasn’t so uncommon.

Other folk, or commonly known as the monster breeds of their species, were just as normal to have around as humans were. Beasts of great heights and strengths covered head to toe in fur and too many arms, or to the more human looking ones with sharp teeth and a wicked grin, to the ghostly apparitions that haunted your very heart.

Elliott had been one of four children to end up being a human. His brothers had all been lycanthropes like his mama, Maria, while he took after his mom Evelynn. Not that it had been too big of a deal, just that his brothers had a higher appetite than himself and he needed to learn to not laugh when his eldest turned into the fluffiest little wolf pup he’d ever seen.

Old memories that would forever fill him with nostalgia and happiness, he missed them dearly.

Elliott nowadays kept himself busy at the club he worked at. Twirling on poles, racking in delicious clientele who were to die for in their own very beauty, dancing and working them up in certain costumes. He was a crowd pleader, widely beloved in the club as one of the best around. A beautiful tease with an award-winning smile.

~Rest under the cut~

The problem? Well, most dancers liked to get some extra cash by bedding their regulars. It wasn’t an issue here, the way it was run was a safe environment for the dancers. Body guards rested around at the ready, panic buttons in the hotel rooms that were upstairs above the club; Condoms and lubricant supplied- not to mention anything else you may need when dealing with clients who were more...monstrous. Or those who weren’t interested in bedding you, but feeding.

Elliott, however, didn’t just let anyone take him upstairs. He enjoyed intimacy, sure, loved to tease and plead the masses, but you had to get his attention in order to even pay for his services. Tips weren’t hard for him to come by, not when he used long, strong legs to frame his client’s lap and purred in their ear with a low tone of voice. Letting his stubble scratch over their flesh and murmuring teases.

A rumor had spread around about him that he would laugh at. That he would not bed humans, that he liked the danger too much. Whispers in the club of how you had to be tall, had to have cash, that you had to not want sex but instead be seeking out feeding or discipline, all sorts of rumors that were just false. Or at least, vaguely correct but not quite.

He...he liked danger, he’ll admit that much, but in the end not a lot of people caught his eye in that way. He had to want and enjoy it too, right? And not just for the sex that came out of it.

Yet, the only client that came to mind that he’d oh so willingly bed to the point he was ready to beg THEM to go up to a room with him, was one who was too polite.

Devilish red, glowing eyes, always coming masked like most people were to enter a club such as this. Dressed in tight old-fashioned leathers and an old owl style look to their mask, and though full faced, Elliott could feel the hunger clearly through it. They only spoke with him after dances, never for him to come to the back with them, just offering generous tips in the politest way of giving it to him straight forward. Compliments that spread redness to Elliott’s cheeks as they’d boldly brush their knuckles over his cheek, only to retract and apologize for the act.

The person was loaded, that was for sure. Their gloved hands always had wads of cash that would pay his rent in one sitting. He’d tried offering more, a private dance, a private...event even. Trying not to make himself look TOO desperate.

But they would always kindly decline, saying they were busy and only here for just a moment. Even going so far as to kindly tell him that they did not wish to take up too much of his time. Always so damned polite .

What Elliott would do to take a peek under that mask and see his most fantasized about person.

A small note of the club was a twist on the old concept of burlesque dancers, their clients were masked, while the dancers could choose to wear one or not. Elliott thought it gave excitement for their clients to be masked, while providing privacy for their identity if they chose to not be recognized outside.

Wraith preferred the mask, one of his coworkers and closest friend. Though, not human. Her class was a banshee, long since caught between death and life as she’d told him.

Her pale skin was ice cold to the touch, her voice sounded like multiples and could send chills down your spine. She always took upon a laced mask and some sort of leather costumery. You could find her perched on the lap of her most regular client, an old soldier who went by the alias Bangalore and showed up with an upper half face mask designed like a fluffy dog.

Elliott’s eyes drift in the dark room over to where Wraith’s stage was. Vaguely seeing her outline in the low dim of red LED’s surrounding her. He had seen her in the dressing rooms before they went on stage, he’d meowed at her and winked as she laughed and told him to get his outfit on. What? She looked hot; He could appreciate it.

She dressed in a leather body suit with matching thigh highs and killer heels that made up for her short height. The body suit looked more like an upper corset or bustier, the clasp at her crotch secured but the cut of the hip area coming high up above her hips for a sexier cut. Horns perched atop her head with a matching devil tail and red eyeliner to match. Her lace mask suited well for it, something he’d adjusted as he passed by and brushed her hair from her face affectionately.

It settled her own quiet anxieties as well as grounded him when Wraith had smirked at him and told him she was fine. Two peas in a pod, he’d always tell her before wishing each other luck.

A breath escapes Elliott’s lips now as he hooks his fingers around the pole. Motor motions, a slow warm up with the lights off as he idly twirls on the pole. The quiet, slow rising of the beginning of the remixed song. He lets his head fall back as he feels the anticipation, feeling his curls fall onto his chin where he’d purposefully made them loose and messy today.

It fit his own theme for the song of choice for both himself and Wraith.

His own is a lovely little angel get up. His hair had been loosely done today, curls allowed to fall freely and beautifully to curl onto the side of his face. Soft makeup had been applied of lipstick, kitten liner, and soft highlights. His facial hair had been trimmed up a bit for the event. His outfit consisted of a white ribbon choker with a matching harness that tied over the top of his chest and at the bottom of his ribcage, coming up over his shoulders for small wings to sprout from his back.

A white, see through bralette rested over his chest, yet the harness presses his pecs to give the appearance of more cleavage. A small pair of white shorts, small enough to be considered panties, rest over his lower half, as well as white thigh highs with garters and black boots.

He looked cute, if he would admit that to himself. He liked getting all dolled up and showing off his strong body, fit with lean muscle and sharp curves. He liked being drooled over, liked being watched. Not to mention the fact anyone in this club didn’t mind whether he dressed feminine or masculine, or what name he went by. All they knew was his stage name-

“Presenting- Mirage and Wraith! Give it up for them whilst they give an electrifying performance to the song: Horns!” Natalie- better known as Wattson was always a good show host, standing a little ways away on her own stage in her ring leader outfit, she throws one gloved hand in the air as she speaks, a big smile on her face and her other hand full of the microphone. The crowd cheers before quieting down just as the song begins.

The song is a remixed version, starting slow as the lights begin to flash. There’s the briefest moment that Wraith and him share a look as it begins before they’re matching movements.

There’s a slow twist of his head thrice that he knows she’s matching. The grinding movement of hips downwards into a crouch that leaves the crowd cheering matched with the slow rise up with a dramatic bow of the back to make eyes fall to his ass. The repeating humping motion until the lyrics begin and he’s doing a twirl around the base of the pole. Followed by the low, slow grinding crouch with too much leg pushing out, his head falling to the side as his eyes narrow sensually and he looks for his targeted prey in the audience.

The sight of an owl mask never leaving his form makes him grin.

The desperately cried out word of ‘ breathe ’ in the song makes him slow to his knees, wrapping fingers around his throat and adding up the sexuality with a flutter of his lashes. It’s so brief before his body is dragging itself upwards, both hands gripping the pole as he hoists himself up onto it, turning his body upside down to hang off in a back bending twirl before beginning to ascend with each grab and pull. All never breaking his own innocent flutter and smiles. He knows damn well without looking that Wraith has an opposite expression of a snarl and sexual energy.

Every time he comes back around to be able to look at the crowd, normally he’d let his gaze sweep the crowd, let them all feel attended to. But Elliott can’t help it when his gaze keeps settling on that owl masked wearing stranger. Even when it comes time to the part of the song where he sings ‘Heel stomping down my throat’ and he rolls onto his back, arching himself upwards with a dramatic bow of his back and letting his eyes flutter when his hips thrust into the air and roll.

His gaze never falters.

Elliott swears he could hear a growl from them, but the music and bass is so loud, there’s no way he could have heard it. Right? But why was it so clear? As if it echoed in his mind.

He doesn’t falter regardless in his routine. He likes the hungry gazes on his body, but more important how that full faced mask never loses him for a moment. Even at the end of the routine where Wraith ends with her back facing the crowd, head tipped over one shoulder, tail curled around her wrist and a red glow over her frame, and Elliott reflects by facing the crowd, head tipped to one side as if bashful, and thumbs interlocked to fans his hands into wings at his chest, the light reflecting blue.

With the crowd cheering and the lights dimming, both of them are able to make their way off the stages towards the crowd and begin to find people who wish to engage with them. Wraith, as Elliott notices, works her way through the crowd with her polite ‘thank you’s as she finds her way to her favorite client. He could laugh, really, but honestly was he any better?

When Elliott enters the crowd, he works his magic all whilst waiting for the telltale feeling of gloved fingers stroking over his arm to gather his attention. When he feels it, he excuses himself with promises of returning with playful winks.

“You shall not be returning.” Comes a voice in his head, practically a purr echoing throughout and Elliott’s eyes blink a few times, tempted to look around the room- but that voice was familiar. The same person who now rounded a corner ahead of him, cloak billowing behind them.

Well, damn, mark Elliott down as scared and horny.

Normally this stranger liked to give him the cash and let that be that. But the idea of them wanting to keep him around longer this time? His heart flutters, wondering if he’d get to see them unmasked, to hear that gorgeous accented voice sing his praises and stop acting so polite and let him see them absolutely unhinged -

Wait, could they hear his thoughts or just talk to him through them? Quick, Witt, think something less horny! Uh- Old mcdonald had a farm, E I E I--

“Come here,” Comes the haunting voice around the corner. The one Elliott has been following down and down the halls until they’re near the staircase that led up to private rooms. His heart is pounding when he turns the corner, already ready with a pick up line and a thank you from the bottom of his heart. But fingers hitch into the straps at his chest, yanking him close until next thing he knows he’s pressed up against the window nearby. The flashing neon lights outside of the sign reflecting across his skin.

“H-hey there! A little eager for the bedroom, aren’tcha?” Elliott manages to get out, his voice nervous as that mask is so close to his own face. Near nose to nose—or rather, nose to beak with the mask. Able to make out the respirator so close, and the dark fabric on the owl’s eyes seeming to hide a pair behind them much brighter. He also notes that their gloved hands are resting politely on him, one on his shoulder, the other hovering over his waist. And oh, how he wished they’d just give up the mystery already, maybe even yank him closer-

As if blessed, the hand that had been hovering at his waist lifts to their mask. Grabbing at its beak to pull it up, “No. I am simply ready for my meal-- if you are willing.” And the entire time they say this singular sentence, they slowly pull up their mask to set on the stairs nearby. Elliott’s heart races because of course they’d be attractive. With a voice like that, honestly what was he expecting?

Their hood still remains on their head, a few loose red curls framing their sharp face. He notes the red face paint on their face- before realizing that’s tattoos. The scarring across the right side of their face looking like they got into a fight with a beast, the eye blinded and appearing like a mini solar flare. Yet their other a deep, dark red with a slit pupil focused entirely on him. More scars edge at their throat, climbing up like lightning across a sky over their jawline.

Elliott’s already dizzy, eyes tracing over their deep olive skin tone, over their pierced roman nose and down just in time to see their plump lips part. Showing a double set of fangs and a split tongue with vertical piercings up each tongue- good lords.

“Th- th -those are some serious chompers.” Is all Elliott can manage to get out, his breath caught in his throat as his hazel eyes focus on their teeth. He could beat himself up for THAT being the thing out of his mouth. Not how attractive they were, not how he really wished they’d just skip the tip and take him right to the bedroom- free of charge!

The phrase makes their head cock charmingly, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that their teeth would be the focal point. Though he hadn’t said ‘no’ nor did Elliott look AGAINST said ‘chompers’. They lick over their fangs, only serving to make Elliott’s head fall back as if he was already preparing to be the most delicious meal.

“Do not worry. I do not ‘chomp’, as you say.” They speak lowly near his ear as they lean in. Elliott can hear the way they inhale his scent, sounding like they’re swearing under their breath and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t ragingly hard in his already too tight of shorts. Especially when they come closer to him, lips brushing over his throbbing pulse and Elliott can only hope he’s making it quite clear that he’s all game for whatever ‘not chomping’ they’re about to do.

Vampire. It all made sense, really, when he put it all together. The get up was rather old fashioned, their politeness even more so. Or the fact he’d noticed that they’d adorably pause at the bar every single time, never ordering anything, but always seemed keen on counting all the bottles. Then of course the mental communication- seems his client was one of the older of the breed, maybe a few centuries old.

Thoughts he’d save for later. When he’s not being distracted.

Lips brush up the length of his exposed throat, just brushing and making Elliott shiver. Their lips press to his pierced lobe, lightly nipping and making Elliott gasp out a low moan. When they chuckle lowly at his reaction, he swears he could cum right then and there.

“Wait,” He starts, amazed at how quickly they back up but he’s quick to whine to ease their worried expression. Cute how they thought they had crossed a boundary- anyone else would probably have tried ripping off his clothes right then and there. “Your--your name. I never got it?”

His client’s furrowed brows relax near instantly, their worried expression easing up as a soft, relieved breath leaves them. Idly, a gloved hand comes up, tucking a curl behind Elliott’s ear and making his heart throb. There’s only a pause longer before they murmur out. “Bloodhound. You may call me Bloodhound. I assume your tongue could not handle the original pronunciation.”

“But your tongue may be able to handle other things much better.” Comes the echoed purr in his mind, though their lips do not move to speak, they do curl into an attractive smirk that makes him about whimper.

“Bloodhound,” He breathes out, enjoying the way their eyes seem to narrow at the sound. It’s as if he knew they’ve wanted to hear it this entire time. It’s almost a power trip, almost, if he weren’t the one pinned to a wall and about to cum in his own shorts from some gentle petting. “You said meal- now-now I’m absolutely willing! Promise, absolutely down for it, it would be a ple- pleas- pleas— absolute delight to do that for you.” Curse his need to talk too much when he was like this.

Bloodhound's eyes seem to grow darker at that, despite his clear mishap, they don’t mention it. A quiet gesture that honestly put Elliott at ease. The hand on his shoulder slides up to his neck and Elliott’s eyes flutter, willingly moving his head to the side with the gentle touch so they could trace their fingers up and grab his jaw lightly.

“...You mentioned a bedroom?”

Oh, fuck yeah.

Elliot had never moved quicker in his life. Bloodhound had slid their mask back on, following him up the stairs and towards one of the hotel rooms that were available for their work to continue. He could laugh at them politely waiting outside the door before he remembers to invite them inside.

It’s a standard room with soft lighting and a bed fit in the center. Toys are lined on the wall, a pole in the room and a few comfortable chairs. There’s a bathroom for freshening up too, fit with anything that may come in handy.

The lights and any music could be adjusted via a panel on the wall when they entered. Something Elliott is quick to shift the lights to a deep red and letting music play lowly. When he looks over at Bloodhound, Elliott gets the pleasant view of watching them remove their mask and cloak.

They shake their hair loose, moving a gloved hand through it to toss their curls. Now, Elliott had seen plenty of attractive people around here. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful in his life. Not even himself, and that’s saying a lot.

He feels his mouth go even drier when he looks down at what they’re wearing. Normally they were always in an old fashioned get up or in leathers. But now their outfit consists of a plunge neck black dress reaching just beneath their chest to show cleavage. The dress skirts the floor, a long slit up each leg and heeled boots resting upon their feet. They looked dressed to kill. Even more so when Elliott’s eyes are trailing back up slowly, feeling ever so dizzy when he meets their gaze, a smirk on their lips quirked ever so to show one fang on their lower lip-

“I have not looked into your rates.” They speak casually, walking towards him with one foot slowly in front of the other. As if they’re stalking him. A devil stalking an angel. Oh, Elliott would be a good sinner, he swears. His knees wobbling by the time they reach him, their gloved hand cupping his cheek and their thumb running across the sharpness of his cheekbone.

“Consider this a ‘thank you’ for your gen- generous tips.” Elliott manages to practically whine out, hating how his voice pitches up when their hand slides down his throat to trail down and rest on his chest. They’re walking him backwards, until the back of his knees hit a chair and he’s sinking right down. He has the pleasure of looking up at them, seeing their hair curling around their face beautifully with the red light illuminated behind them. Now, Elliott prides himself on being a good boy, so he lets it known he’s very interested by cocking his head to the side, straining his neck and trying to look as appetizing as possible.

“Ah, but those were merely for watching your beautiful body dance, Elliott.” They croon out his name in a way that makes heat roll down his spine. He REALLY needs to be out of these shorts yesterday, but he’s willing to wait a little longer if it means wearing some nice bruises and puncture marks on his neck. He whimpers at the thought, rolling his hips up into nothing and he swears he hears Bloodhound inhale like someone inhaling the scent of a bakery.

He’s waiting for them to pounce him, sink those deliciously sharp looking fangs into his throat- maybe they’d even let him grab their ass while they were at it? They had such a nice ass, rounded and juicy even in their dress. He wonders vaguely if they’d ever done dance work as well-

But before his mind can wander too far. Elliott watches them pull their hair back, tugging it up into a ponytail and tying it. The visual makes his cock jerk in his tight little shorts, a whine escaping his throat as they tuck loose strands of hair behind their pierced ears. And instead of pouncing on him like he expected and is tensed for, they sink to their knees.

Wait a minute.

“I thought you were hungry?” He manages to squeak out, watching as they rest between his spread thighs. A small grin makes its way to their lips, and it truly should be a crime how attractive they are, fangs and all.

“You must not be aware of feeding habits,” Bloodhound softly laughs out, their hands running over his thighs and the leather feeling just as sweet as it did over his throat. Elliott’s breath catches when they skirt his inner thighs, his legs trying to fall apart further. “If you would prefer I sink my teeth into your pretty neck and mark you as my own, I would not mind.”

Elliott moans freely at the idea, head falling back and hips rolling into nothing. He could just imagine it, the teeth marks in his neck, the bruises. He imagines they’d snarl if they saw he’d tried to cover them up with makeup. Normally he’s not about someone trying to stake some sort of claim on him, especially in a situation such as his job. But something about Bloodhound made him want more and more and more.

“Or,” They murmur, catching his attention again as their hand finally slides over the front of his shorts. Elliott cries out, over sensitive as they apply pressure to grope him. “You shall feed me everything you can from here. And we can discuss regular feeding sessions in...other manners, if you so choose.”

Other manners?! OTHER MANNERS?! Elliott’s catching onto the whole ‘life force’ rumors not being rumors like he’d thought. Blood and cum, yeah, he could do that- fuck what else could they do to him? What would they do to him?

They’re loaded with cash, absolutely drop dead gorgeous, AND implying they’re kinky. Call Elliott a sucker all you like for even offering something for free, but could you BLAME HIM?!

“I shall not continue if I do not hear verbal consent, sweet one.” Bloodhound’s voice pierces his loud thoughts, not having even noticed he’s practically dry humping their hand that they’ve so generously kept pressure with. Elliott’s dizzy already, panting and rolling his head to the side so he could finally look at them again.

Oh, yeah, he could definitely get used to that sight.

“Yes! Yes- fuck, yes, absolutely. However you- you- you want to feed! Whatever you want, Hound, please just- fuck stop teasing. Please? Come on I’m not supposed to be the one- the one begging here!” The nickname slips out, truly, as does his pleading. It rolling right out of his mouth as easy as breathing. They don’t seem to mind, in fact, they seem pleased by his begging. Going so far as to give him this wolfish sort of grin that shows a lot of fang and- yeah he’s definitely going to cum in his shorts if they do that--

“If you insist.”

That’s the last thing he hears from that torturously delicious looking mouth. His shorts are immediately tugged off, hanging off one of his ankles, but when he goes to discard the harness and angel wings, they stop him with a dangerous look in their eye. He wonders if they like that sort of thing- roleplay. God, he could just imagine them in some devil get up seducing him. Fuck.

Elliott’s mind immediately stops when he looks down, however. His cock is out in the open, heavy and drooling with pre-cum in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever done. The head is reddened, desperate with arousal, a prominent vein on his cock more pronounced. He’s always thought he’s had a nice dick, the foreskin coming up to rest just about the round of the head, a good size of seven inches and a good girth around. He’s trimmed his body hair to look more presentable on stage, but is clean shaven on the mound and his balls.

The best part is the way Bloodhound’s gloved fingers wrap around the base of his cock, giving it one full stroke to pull the foreskin down. Their lips are parted softly, enough for him to see the way their split tongue wets their lips with prominent saliva as if they’re drooling.

He’s never felt more look food before.

Elliott’s not sure if he’s more turned on at how desperate and hungry they look or the fact he’s about to get what he’s pretty sure is going to be the best blowjob he’ll ever have. He’s already tensed, whimpering low in his throat and flexing his fingers on the arm of the chair in anticipation. But before he can start begging again, they move.

First their tongue presses to the very bottom of his cock, licking up in a slow stripe in a way that Elliott can’t tear his eyes away from. Their glinting fangs look so dangerous, only to vanish when their plump lips seal around the head to give a soft suckle to, practically a wet heated fleeting kiss. Elliott would never admit to how he sounds now, not even faking the noises of his cries at just the smallest of touches.

It makes it even worse when Bloodhound has the audacity to moan. This soft little sound in their throat like a content fucking kitten. Ridiculously, Elliott only feels closer because of the sound, his fingers practically clutching the arms of the chair for dear life. His thighs are trembling, his skin feeling far too hot even in something so little as a harness, and his voice isn’t feeling like his own as moans and sobs slip out.

They repeat the same motions a few times of licking him up and suckling the head briefly, and he has half a mind to tell this beautiful vampire with insanely sharp teeth to stop playing with their food. But once their lips finally suckle around him, their head comes down in one go, swallowing him down a strangely cool throat with the threat of teeth resting at the base of his dick.

Elliott cums.

He cums harder than he thinks he’s ever cum before in his life. His body reacts on instinct, hands coming to Bloodhound’s head to hold them right where they are as beautiful sobs leave his lips and swears flying out. His thighs tremble, his hips weakly trying to hump against Bloodhound’s face with nowhere to go since they’ve deepthroated him entirely.

“Such a delicious taste,” Comes that haunting voice in his head. It only serves to make Elliott’s hips weakly jerk again, feeling their throat constrict as they swallow his cum with a moan. “ You were a deserved wait. You taste divine, lítill engill. Better than I have imagined. ”

“Thank you,” Elliott practically sobs out, his fingers still pressed to their scalp as he sobs out again. “Thank you, thank y-you- fuck-”

The gentle lift of their head signals for his hands to retreat. Watching and feeling how their mouth slides over him with a fleeting kiss pressed to his still reddened head. Elliott just about goes cross eyed at the sensation, leaning back in the chair and throwing his head back as he tries to focus his panting breaths to narrow out into something normal.

A cry leaves his lips when their gloved hand wraps around his cock to jerk him a few times. Over sensitivity ringing across his skin as he sobs out, “Wait, wait- can't go again that-that— fuck- quickly!” He’s practically begging, yet his hands stay glued to the arm of the chair again. Only able to look down at them and the way their eyes dance with mischief.

“And I am yet sated. Do you wish for me to starve, little one? You were so eager to be made a meal of.” Their tone is taunting. As if they know exactly what they’re doing. And fuck, they probably do. Curse their fucking beautiful, stupid face and how their eyes make Elliott feel so small and yet so adored. So...paid attention to- more than he had in forever.

Elliott’s immediately whimpering, shaking his head and rolling his hips up against their hand despite how his motions are quivering with the strain of his muscles. “No! No, no, no, promise! Promise I can be good for you, I want to be good for you- oh god just let me-” Elliott’s breathing is wet, strained with tears pricking his eyes as their hand squeezes his cock to wring out anymore cum he may have. Just to watch them lap at the head of his dick to take it all eagerly.

“God -” Elliott sobs out again at the sight alone.

“You flatter me.” They respond with a teasing tone, letting their lips brush across his slick flesh with each movement.

They’re a devil in disguise, Elliott is sure. This is what he gets for wearing an angel get up today, of course he’d find himself at the mercy of a demon who’s going to suck the absolute soul out of him via his dick. And he isn’t even mad is the funniest part of this, he’s willing his body to try and relax, despite their teasing motions and the way their lips part so he can see their fangs again and how hungry they look.

Elliott’s fingers flex again on the arms of the chair, wanting so badly to maybe pull their hair or ease them back to him to show he’s ready. He’s too busy wondering if he’ll get chomped by them that he doesn’t notice they seem to sense his inner turmoil, not until their free hand gently grabs his wrist and begins guiding it to their ponytail for him to grip.

Elliott’s face flushes deep red at the simple action, a blinding smile crossing his face and showing off his dimples. His heart twists pleasantly at such a simple gesture, and vaguely he’s wondering if he can’t get Bloodhound’s number and make this more than whatever sort of sugar baby relationship this feels like.

What he doesn’t realize is how Bloodhound is looking at his smile, at his flushed face with a healthy glow about him. Thinking how beautiful he is, how darling he must be to have as a lover, how obedient and kind he must be. Even so willing to accept their claim on him already as to get excited at the prospect of being bitten and exposed to being claimed on stage. They could supply him everything he needed. Could fulfill every sexual desire, make sure he had enough money for anything he wanted.

Longing. Yearning. Emotions that Bloodhound should not have whilst trying to play with their food.

“O...okay, okay I think I’m ready to go.” Elliott finally says after a comfortable pause of silence. Their gaze is so intense on him, making him feel like the star of his own show right now. Even more so when they smile, this genuine little thing that makes his heart pound and not just because he’s thinking about their fangs on his cock again.

Way to go, Witt, already falling for someone.

Their lips wrap around the head again and Elliott’s breath is taken away again. He groans, head lolling to the side and eyes half lidded, making sure to watch them. Their own eyes flutter closed, their thumb tracing along the underside of his cock in their grip as they stay suckling and toying with the sensitive glands at the underside of his head. They keep his foreskin pulled back, their tongue lapping at the slit and making his thighs jerk with sensitivity at each brush.

Bloodhound is clearly starting slow, but still keeping him on the edge of overstimulation. Elliott’s toes curl into his heels, his other hand coming to rest on the back of their head and feeling over the shaved hair with his thumb idly. A whimper blossoms from his throat when their hand moves down from holding his cock to slide down to cup his balls, thumbing the seam and gently squeezing.

It’s like they know exactly how to play him.

“Fuck, baby-” He hisses out, not paying any mind to what is coming out of his mouth. They hum at him regardless, and vaguely he can hear this sort of hum in the back of his mind that he can feel pressing until he hears their voice curling into his mind like delicious smoke.

“You taste divine, little one.” It’s a purr in his head, resounding and making his cock throb at the praise, let alone the pet name. He wants to say thank you, but his mouth feels like honey, only spilling out soft whines and moans. “You are being such a good boy, so pliant and willing for me.”

Yep, that’s really doing it for him.

His hands press at their head as his hips come up, finding that they go with ease and no resistance. It gets to the point where he’s able to hold them still, fucking up into their mouth as their hands slide under to grab his ass to urge him to continue his thrusts. Elliott’s mind is swimming, swears finally able to come from his mouth and filth following along with it along the lines of, “W-want to touch you. Want to make you- ah!- feel good, want you to-to-to bite me-” All promises and praises keening from his lips like a singing bird.

In his head he can hear phrases murmured back at him, some in a tongue he doesn’t recognize. Some make sense like ‘ good boy ’ and ‘ you taste divine ’ echoing again and again matched with deeper snarls that make his skin sing like ‘Mine ’ and ‘ I shall ruin you for anyone else ’.

When Elliott cums again, their fingers sink into his ass and hold him up with amazing strength. They have him in their throat again, swallowing everything he has to offer as he sobs out his praises. His body feel tensed, overstimulated and ringing with a pleasantness of ’too much’. But he doesn’t feel like he couldn’t go again, feeling like he could just be their toy forever.

When they finally lower him back to the chair and slide their mouth off, Elliott feels the whine coming from his chest as his fingers scrabble to press back down on their head. It’s like they were a drug he couldn’t get enough of, even if he is shaking. “Please, please, more, please, baby, please, please, please- ”

The snarl he hears from their own chest sounds possessive and pleased, a low grumble as they take him again.

He cums two more times through the night before Bloodhound is finally sated. Elliott is an absolute mess, babbling away once he’s finally come down from his high. He expects they’re going to maybe just pay and leave, but for a small moment he kind of blacks out.

When he comes back to, he’s naked and been placed in a cool bath. The temperature is soothing on his too hot of skin, and when he lolls his head to the side, he sees Bloodhound resting on their knees by the tub. Their eyes flick up to him, the washcloth they were using to wipe at the glitter on his chest pausing. They offer a small, almost nervous smile. “It appears you passed out momentarily. I assumed you were overheated. My apologies.”

“Can I kiss you?” Elliott blurts out in reply before he can even think differently of it. He almost laughs at their surprised look, not knowing that their confident expression could drop into such a look so quick. Their eyes widen ever so slightly, eyebrows raising before a soft laugh leaves their chest, almost...flustered sounding.

Man, what Elliott would do to hear it again.

“I...Yes, you may.”

It’s all the consent he needs before he’s reaching over, resting a hand on their cold cheek and vaguely understanding why they wore the gloves now. They felt chilly to the touch. Bloodhound, in turn, looks at him expectantly as they lean over the bath tub, hovering above him and letting their breath mingle at their closeness.

It’s intimate.

When their lips meet, both of Elliott’s hands come to rest on their cheeks, sliding into their hair with a low moan in his throat. They kiss him gently in turn, their hand resting on his chest to steady their body as they guide the kiss. When they lick into his mouth, he can vaguely taste himself, only serving to make a familiar whimper resound from his chest.

When they part, Elliott takes the chance to surprise them again with a murmur of, “Can I have your number? You...you know, in case you get hungry again and I’m not working...?”

Their looks is definitely worth it again when they lean back slightly, a crooked smirk upon their lips. “You are bold, Elliott Witt.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I suppose it is not.” They agree, eyes dancing with mischief as their eyes flicker to his lips when he licks them and bites down on his bottom lip. Bloodhound could sigh, he was too cute, even if they know the exact reason he’d want their number. And not just due to him wanting to get ‘chomped’ as he so put it.

When Elliott beams brightly at them and tilts his head for another kiss, they feel that they are too weak to even consider denying him. Leaning in to take his lips again and again and again.

They suppose that this was a rather unconventional way to try and seduce the dancer, but in the end it pays off when not a day later they receive a lengthy text of Elliott saying of what a good time he had and thanking them for the tip, as always. And that when could he catch them for a date?

It would certainly be sweet, if he didn’t leave the damned vampire emoji at the end.

#miragehound #Bloodhound #Mirage #apex legends #apex lemons #vampire bloodhound #nsft #lemon #princess writing

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 years

Text

31 Days of Fanfiction - Day 4

Topic: A pairing I don’t ship. Pairing mentioned: Cullen x Dorian (not shipped), Dorian x Inquisitor (very much shipped) Summary: The gossip’s been getting juicy in Skyhold as rumors fly of secret affairs between key agents. Inquisitor Adaar’s heart can’t take much more of this. However, what he thinks is affection may just be a desire for a good game. Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be adorably dense. Word count: 2026 ---

“Did you see the way they looked at each other in the garden?”

“It was positively scandalous. I'd dare wager the Commander fancies him.”

The damn Orlesians were at it again that morning as Kaaras entered the hall, ducking just in time to avoid his horns colliding with the top of the door frame. Despite polite requests to go the fuck home, there they were, chatting away like they owned the place.

Maybe he should've considered a less polite request with more expletives.

“We've all heard the rumors about Ser Pavus. He's probably stringing the poor Commander along. Such a dear, he has no idea what he's in for.”

Someone waved their fan in front of their face as the rest giggled like they were reading through the latest edition of The Randy Dowager Quarterly. That's what someone's life was to them, nothing better than tawdry entertainment.

It would've made him sick if his stomach wasn't so busy sinking into his shoes.

Kaaras tried to ignore the rumors, of course. Often times he was so busy being pulled in every direction that he didn't have the time to really think on them. This one followed him like a bad habit, smacking him in the face whenever he got the chance to breathe.

They weren't... were they?

Truly, he had never paid attention. It was no surprise that his so-called Commander was one of his least favorite people in the Inquisition. To put it bluntly, he hated the mother fucker with everything he had in him. It seemed impossible that someone he was so fond of could get along with such a cancerous sore.

And yet, when he entered the garden, there they were. Cullen and Dorian sat across from each other, the chess pieces set out in front of them. From the overhead view, the mage was losing rather badly with not much hope left for victory.

“Are you making your move or forfeiting then?” The commander was smiling, the scar over his lip stretching with the effort. With the fur on his cloak and his puffed up demeanor, he quite resembled the cat that begged outside the kitchen for scraps, only he wasn't nearly as cute or useful.

Dorian chuckled, and the sound made Kaaras weak in the knees as he clung to a wall for support. He considered the board for a few moments, before toying with one of the pieces in front of him, not quite moving it all the way.

“I'm thinking, Commander.”

“You said that the last time I beat you.” When Cullen chuckled, it had the opposite effect. “Winner buys the next round?”

Behind the wall, Kaaras bit his lip hard and slumped. They had progressed to drinks. What else had he missed in his attempts to close up the massive hole in the sky? At this rate, he'd be fixing a much more dire crack in his heart. However, he never made a sound, and instead shifted away from the game. Somewhere, someone probably needed him to do some task.

He never saw how the game ended, but the aftermath was written all over Dorian's face later. The mage was deep in thought, so much so that he bumped into his secret admirer. Their difference in size meant nobody went flying, but the sudden contact still made the qunari's heart race.

“Oh, forgive me. A certain queen keeps tormenting me.” A smile slid across Dorian's lips as he made himself proper. “Is something the matter, Inquisitor? You look rather depressed.”

Kaaras had never been good at keeping his feelings to himself. He was no Jackel, nor could he hide them with a smirk and a quip like Akri. No doubt he looked like shit, bouncing about from room to room in the main building to try and keep himself busy.

“There's a lot on my mind.” It was harder to put a smile on his face, and it pulled. “Er, how's the research going?”

It was almost painful, watching the life explode into the mage's eyes. While good breeding a lot of social training helped with most things, deep down Dorian was just as big a nerd as his brother when it came to magic. It was charming, in its own weird way, but right then he wished he would've said nothing at all.

“Glad you asked, I think I found something that might help us out.” Dorian was turning on his heel, heading towards the library. He only stopped upon realizing he was alone, and then turned back towards the qunari. “Are you coming?”

Maybe in his dreams.

Still, Kaaras couldn't help but follow along as they left the main hall to travel towards the library. Here, without the eyes of the great hall among them, it felt easier to breathe. It wasn't perfect, but it helped smooth things out.

“I thought of it during my chess match with the Commander, actually. The way he waves those pieces around got me thinking.”

The crack in his heard was audible, but Kaaras kept moving. He kept his eyes on the approaching door; once, a relative had told him it was the easiest way to hold back tears. Worst came to worst, he could blame it on some allergy.

“Oh, I didn't realize you two were so close.” He attempted the friendliest tone he could, cursing when his voice wavered somewhere near his damned head tone. There was soon a dent in his tongue as he waited for the response, bracing.

Honestly, Kaaras hadn't know what to expect from the remark. Maybe he could've seen Dorian's face turning blotchy, or he would turn away. He could have even changed the subject, showing for a brief moment a rare flustered sign. All of them would've killed him, but they would have been understandable given the subject matter.

Instead, he got laughter.

Dorian was laughing – not at him, it didn't seem anyway. The wonderful sound filled the room for a brief moment, leaving a tingling sensation down the qunari's spine when it left all too soon. At least it left a smile on the mage's face as he allowed one last chuckle.

“Hardly, it's just he's the only one I can play chess with since a certain someone refuses to learn human rules.”

This was accompanied by a light nudge to the side that sent Kaaras' heart straight into his nose so fast his head spun. Suddenly, even with Red Templars and magisters from the dawn of time about, the world didn't seem so bad.

Still, there was some sass required for that remark, and he found it a little easier to talk. “It's not my fault you've decided to do odd things with the keepers.”

“Oh don't start that again, last time I got into that argument it lasted an hour and I'd gone hoarse.” Dorian chuckled again. “We're getting a bit off track though. There's a certain book I need to show you before anyone else gets their hands on it.”

Kaaras felt a hand on his back guiding him along as the mage continued chatting. Words were lost on him in that moment as he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Maybe he was smiling, maybe he was red. Either way, the afternoon had just gotten a lot better.

If only all rumors turned out that way.

---

“Bullshit.”

“I'm telling you, Krem, I've seen it happen!”

Jackel was on her second mug of something she would only call the Dalish surprise. She had hidden away in the tavern that afternoon and had found herself among the Charges, swapping both stories and bullshit with a side of mead. Even with Bull away on some business, it was one of the better places in Skyhold.

Up on the back of his chair, Krem snorted into his bottle. “Lavellan, I can't see any dwarf trying to fly.”

“Well, they did. Got pretty far too before they hit the ground. Last time I checked they were still working out the kinks.” Her cheeks puffed as she sipped from her mug. Apart from his lack of belief, she was feeling pretty good.

What shook up her boring afternoon was when the side door slammed open. Jackel felt her eyebrow journey towards her vallaslin as Kaaras sprinted over, practically radiating heat. She ran the mental checklist as he ran. Wasn't hurt, didn't look to be dying, but she wasn't sure what was wrong with him. That didn't make her comfortable to say the least.

He didn't look upset, though. There were no tears, and she was pretty sure he was smiling. It was pretty hard to tell why, though, because of how damn red his face was. And here she had heard tomatoes didn't grow this far north.

When he slowed down to stand next to her, he was practically bouncing. The floor shook for the briefest moment, but the wooden boards held. It was good they did, or Jackel might have found herself among the casks and bottles, swimming in some brew like a piece of fruit that would be somebody's dessert in a couple months.

It sounded amazing but she didn't want to experience it first hand.

“Something up, Kaas?” She hazarded words as he eventually sat down in a chair next to her. The bouncing continued, but it was mostly manageable. She just had to hold her mug away from him so it didn't spill.

Kaaras was positively beaming by the time he got the words out. “He doesn't like Cullen!”

Obviously. Anyone with eyes could have seen that, and even some without. However, her beloved cousin was what she would have affectionately called as dense as a stone when it came to people's romantic intentions. That he was just discovering this now was an added benefit.

“Well, what do you know. Pavus has taste after all.” Jackel made a mental note to pay him a visit sometime after midnight in the near future, perhaps with snacks. She was pretty sure she knew where he stayed, and if not a good friend of hers could fill in the gaps, maybe provide the key to the mage's tower if her picks melted like they had the last time.

The bouncing was getting a little annoying though. “Are you going to get something to drink, or is this just to help aerate the shit?”

She had heard Dorian use that word in relation to booze before, and the fact it made Krem snort into his drink only made it better. Much to her disappointment, Kaaras did stand, carefully though so not to hit his head on anything.

“I actually have to go see Josephine about something but I just had to come tell you.” He reached down, squeezing her in a tight hug before heading for the door. “I'll tell you more later tonight!”

Jackel got her breath back sometime after he left. Shaking her head, she turned back to Krem. He was chuckling as he put his bottle down for a brief moment, maybe to catch some of the left over bouncing effect.

“You're right, he is dense.”

“Thank you! Nobody believed me when I said it last time!” She sulked into her mug. “It's going to take months if I let him do things his own pace.”

That meant months of watching her cousin sigh and mope over whether or not the mage held affection for him when she bloody well knew he did. Bluntly, she just didn't have time for that. There were more important things to be done, like eating cake.

Krem shook his head at her brooding. “Going to interfere, then?”

“Hell yes I am. I leave them alone and they might be dancing around things well into next year.” She drained her mug, then stood. Jackel was a woman with a plan, and that required some rope and a couple cookies before nightfall.

If she did this right, she might cut the brooding time in half, and Skyhold would be better for it.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Kaaras Adaar #Jackel Lavellan #Dorian Pavus #I'm not going to tag it with the pairing I don't ship because that's rude

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