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eruden-writes · 1 year

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Room & Board - Part 14 (Vampire x Reader)

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Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

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The dinner passed without further hitch, thankfully. Ewan, Tabaeus, and yourself managed to fall into an ebb and flow of mild conversation while eating. Talking of experiences - mostly you and Ewan - and interesting tidbits of information - this time, mostly Tabaeus and yourself - had stumbled across recently.

Near the end of dinner, after leaving out your debit card to split the bill with Ewan, you duck off to the restroom. On your return, a prickle of agitations crawls up your spine before a hand closes around your elbow. With a start, you yank from the touch and spin around. With heart pounding, you find yourself glaring up into the face of a stranger.

They stand tall, raven black hair cropped fashionably and clothes milquetoast in style, but expensive. A pair of round glasses - with transition lenses - perched on their nose. You can’t shake the notion their deep brown eyes are somehow distorted, but focusing on that makes your head hurt. Their smile takes on an amused curl the longer you stare up at them.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they finally chuckle, holding their hands up with palms toward you, as if to show they mean no harm. Before you can ask them what they want, they nod to your table. Tension weaves through your muscles as they say, “I simply wish to tell you that your friend is very entrancing.”

“Why tell me?” You cross your arms, shifting a little on your feet. “Go tell them yourself.”

The atmosphere around the stranger feels off. It raises your hackles and makes goosebumps rise to your flesh. Something is wrong. Without thinking, you throw a glance in the direction of the table. Neither Ewan nor Tabaeus seem to have noticed you and this stranger.

You wonder if something would happen, if either should look in your direction.

“You are funny. I wouldn’t dare get closer with that dog there.” Their chuckle is one without humor, though they continue to smile as they shake their head.

That gets your attention. With a whip of your head, you turn to face the stranger again. However, they are gone. You stare at the spot they were, realizing the sounds of the diner are suddenly loud and obnoxious in your ears. Had it always been so loud? Or had speaking to that stranger made everything else go quiet?

Shaking your head, you return to the table. As you approach, both Ewan and Tabaeus smile up at you. A new sense of dread - not as serious as with the stranger - crawled over your thoughts.

They are planning something. With food in their stomachs, you had half-hoped they’d forgotten their little joint venture to tease you. “What are you two grinning about?”

“We have decided on a theater venue.” Tabaeus claps their hands together.

“Theater venue?” Ewan snorts and rolls his eyes. He stands from the table, handing you your card and receipt. “It’s not that fancy. Just a drive-in.”

“A drive-in,” you repeat deadpan, raising an eyebrow. As you put your debit card and receipt away, Tabaeus also slides from the table. They take up a position at your elbow, close enough for you to sense their presence.

“Ewan explained it’s like a theater you can drive your car into.” Well, at least Tabaeus sounded excited. Their red eyes are shining with delight behind their sunglasses. You wonder if they’ve ever seen or been to a drive-in before, but something subtle shifts in their expression. A lowering of their eyelids, a hint of teasing in their tone. “And the dog says he has a roomy vehicle.”

“A roomy vehicle. Right,” you snort, heat licks across your cheeks as the pieces fully fall into place. Ewan did indeed have a van, but you also remember he’d tell quite a few stories about such set-ups. Mostly in regards to a girl he was hoping to bed. “With the mattress and pillows in the back?”

“Ah, you remember.” Ewan shoots you a wink before offering you his arm. Beneath your hand, you realize how warm the man is and, suddenly, you recall you’re wearing his own jacket. His scent has sunk into you, enveloping you. Woodsy and warm and tickling at something in your chest.

As you accept Ewan’s offer, Tabaeus flanks your other side, coiling their own lanky arms around your free arm. Where their skin touches you, you can sense the somewhat cooler body temperature.

Stuck between the two, your thoughts shift to the contrast of their relative body heats. Which distracts your imagination with other imaginings. Knowing it was a better idea to avoid such thoughts - especially as you climbed into the enclosed van with your companions - you try to focus on other things.

Which is a bit difficult, you realize, as you’re squashed in the three-seat front of the van. Pressed close to Tabaeus on one side and only having the gear shift buffering the space between yourself and Ewan. You try to focus on anything but your quickly guttering thoughts.

Overhead, a full moon hung bright, spilling across the environment. The van rumbles around you and the radio is low enough to miss but just loud enough you occasionally catch static. Tabaeus and Ewan manage to hold a civil conversation as you input vague replies in turn.

It’s not until you’re near your destination you focus back in on the situation at hand. You cast a curious look to Ewan as he drove past their presumed destination. “We’re not going into the drive-in?”

“Nah, I know a better spot that can still tune into the drive-in’s FM station.” Just beyond the opening of the theater, the van pulls into an almost-unseen road that cleaved through a copse of trees.

Your lips curl with a wry grin, very much aware of Ewan’s unorthodox penny-pinching ways. Your words are sarcasm-laden as you say, “Oh no, this is a plot to get me out into the middle of nowhere to have your way with me, isn’t it?”

“I am more than capable of protecting you from him, amata.”

You’re not sure if Tabaeus caught your banter or is merely playing along with the game. Either way, you shift until your back leans against their form, tilting your head back to look up at them. With your eyelashes batting, you croon, “My hero.”

“I do not know about that.” As Tabaeus stares down at you, there’s a brief catch of conflict in their gaze. You’re about to say something when their cool hand presses to your throat, pulling you back further against them. Then their hand is cupping your jaw, tilting your head to the side. Tabaeus leans down, their breath ghosting over the side of your neck as their free hand traces the front zipper - not undoing it - of the bat pajamas you were swindled into.

A soft sound escapes you and you angle your head, stretching your neck to invite further touch. Their teeth scrape over your throat, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. Just as Tabaeus’s hand delves between your thighs, making you arch, Ewan yelps and the van suddenly swerves and bounces.

“Keep your eyes on the road, fleabag.” The words tear out of Tabaeus so fast and guttural, you almost don’t believe they said them. A flush bleeds across your cheeks as you move to sit up straight. You find yourself unable to with the vampire’s strong hold on your shoulder and palm against your crotch.

“Then don’t be distracting, bloodsucker.” Ewan refuses to look at you two, his hands tight on the steering wheel. In the light of the moon, you think you see their eyes flash briefly. Narrowing your eyes, you think his usual five o’clock shadow seems a bit fuller, but that could be a trick of your mind.

Tabaeus only hissed at the excuse, to which a growl rumbled from Ewan. Neither sounded particularly ferocious, reminding you more of play-fighting theatrics than serious antagonism. Though Tabaeus does grumble and loosen their hold on you, the sensual moment passed.

Soon enough, the van pulled into a clearing that overlooked the drive-in. After some maneuvering so the back of the van faces the screen and relocating, you find yourself once more between the vampire and werewolf. Over the van’s speakers, the sound from the previews plays.

It turned out the mattress at the back of his van was really the second row of seats folded down with something like a tatami mat rolled atop. Blankets and pillows littered the back, making for a comfy lounging space. With a dividing curtain separating the front from the back and the curtains blocking out the view from the side windows, it felt relatively cozy.

You lounge back on a pile of pillows, staring at the flickering images on the distant screen. The van’s rear door thankfully doesn’t have bisected windows, but a singular pane. Tabaeus cuddles close to your side, head on your shoulder, as Ewan sits a little further from you two.

“Do you sleep in your van?” Tabaeus asks, their nose wrinkling a little. You jab them in the stomach with your elbow, but it doesn’t seem to faze the vampire.

Thankfully, Ewan doesn’t seem offended by the rather judgemental comment. From the hunch of his shoulders, you still think he’s a bit awkward when answering, “Sometimes I do, when I’m between housing situations. I have an apartment right now, though.”

Unable to read the room or your displeasure, Tabaeus continues, “Huh, won’t your little pack of hounds help you?”

“Don’t got one.” Ewan shrugs a shoulder, leaning back against the wall of the van and turning his attention to the movie screen on the other side of the window.

Well, that seems like a big deal, you think. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now you realize you thought Jemma might have been another lycan. Most likely part of Ewan’s pack. Why else would she tell him about Tabaeus?

But Ewan had no pack.

Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Why don’t you have a pack?”

His lips curl into a snarl more than a smile, though his tone is soft - if bitter - as he responds to you, “Well, the last one was my family pack and let’s just say I don’t get along with them.”

For a beat, you let that information sit with you. You knew Ewan couch hopped and changed apartments a lot. Hell, he also lived in his van on occasion, as he mentioned. Now you wonder how much of that was by choice or by necessity.

Likely by choice, you decide. Ewan had plenty of friends and positive acquaintances when you worked with him. Just as he was happy to help others, surely there were plenty willing to help him.

“Much like lone wolves in nature, a lone werewolf is a sad affair.” It seems Tabaeus’s thoughts traverse the same path as yours. Tilting your attention to them, you can’t help but feel the vampire is putting a little too much aloofness into their own words. “From what I recall - take that with a grain of salt considering my memory issues - most lone lycans are not the most stable.”

“No, you’re right.” Ewan still isn’t looking at either of you. With his face turned away and in the dimness of the van, you can’t quite tell what his expression conveys. Something in your chest knots at the sound of his voice. Resigned, quiet. “It gets difficult, but I find my ways.”

Tabaeus narrows their eyes. “How?”

“The stress of working to make ends meet, mainly.” Tilting his head toward you two now, a helpless grin tilts at Ewan’s lips.

“What about when your passions rise?”

Heat flares down your back and you push into a more upright position. You shove the vampire in their chest and hiss, “Tabaeus!”

Ewan snorts with good humor. “Come on, I’m a grown man that’s fully capable of controlling myself.”

“More than I can say for others in this van,” you sniff, crossing your arms and shifting your pillows to be a little more equidistant between the werewolf and vampire.

“No need to tell on yourself, dear,” purrs Tabaeus, leaning back on their hands with their long legs crossed at the knee and extended before them.

Another flare of embarrassed heat burns down your spine. Before you can control yourself, you’ve snatched up a pillow and whacked it into the vampire’s midsection.

Your strike takes Tabaeus off-guard and they squawk in surprise. Leaning close to them, you point in their face, mock anger making your voice lower as you frown. “I’ll remember that slander the next time you want a bite to eat.”

A pout puckers at Tabaeus’s lips, but before they say anything, Ewan’s laugh cuts them off. You both turn to the werewolf and something about him seems softer, wilted. “Sorry, it’s kind of surreal to hear you talk like that.”

“Like what?” You raise your eyebrows.

“I don’t know what it’s like for vampires, but I was always fed these stories of keeping my secret and not getting close to humans. We see it all the time in shows and books too.” Ewan rubs the back of his neck, a rueful smile coloring his lips. “It’s just nice, y’know? To not have to guard myself around you.”

Before you can even think to say something, something dark passes over you and the van shifts abruptly. Where Tabaeus once sat is their brown beret. In the blink of an eye, Tabaeus - through some ridiculous vampire super-speed, you think - has traversed the width of the van and is sitting astride Ewan. Something in the air shifts and the lycan tenses, eyes wide and a blush burning under his stubble. You can’t say your own expression is much better.

Once more, heat claws through you as you drink in the image of Tabaeus straddling Ewan, their skirt inched higher up their stocking-covered thigh. Ewan’s hands raise, fingers flexing, as if uncertain of what to do. Either to pull Tabaeus closer or push them away.

Tabaeus grasps Ewan by the collar, leaning close to the man’s face. “We came out for fun, not for further tense conversations.”

Ewan’s green gaze bounces from Tabaeus’s hands to their face. The flustered shock melts away when he meets the vampire’s gaze. You’re not sure if it’s bravado or not, but Ewan raises his eyebrows as a smirk curls at his lips, flashing sharp canines. His hands slide along Tabaeus’s thighs, until he grips their hips. “Oh, so you want to have some fun?”

“Perhaps. We did discuss some things at the diner involving our friend, did we not?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Tabaeus turns back toward you, Ewan leaning to peer around the vampire. Their expressions are similar, but diametrically different in feel. Tabaeus peers over their round glasses with a soft cunning smile while Ewan’s roguish crooked smirk tilts at his lips. Both have a particular effect on you, bringing goosebumps to your skin and heat to your center.

Resisting the urge to fan yourself to bring the temperature down, you laugh weakly and nod toward the movie screen the three of you are supposed to be watching. “Hey now, what about the movie?”

As you speak, Tabaeus slides off Ewan and begins crawling toward you. Though you’re not against having the particular brand of fun they’re implying, you still can’t help but scoot back. Well, until your back hits the wall of the van.

“Yeah, see, I thought about that. Halflight is playing tonight.” Ewan laughs, also following Tabaeus’s lead.

When you finally register his words, your eyes widen. Halflight was a book series, followed by movie adaptations, that had a huge following nearly fifteen years earlier. The most notable thing about it was it entailed a human teenage girl stuck in a triangle between a vampire and werewolf. And the fans had been absolutely savage when it came to their ‘teams.’

The implications claw through you and you barely keep the laughter from your voice as you cry, “Why Halflight?”

As you’re trying to choke down amusement, Tabaeus’s cool touch brushes your cheek. Your gaze jumps up to them and they smile down at you. Amusement glitters in their eye as their thumb brushes your burning cheek again and you realize just how flushed you are.

“I figured we could roast the shit out of it.” Ewan’s voice tears your gaze back to him. In the dark of the van, your heart patters seeing his green eyes glow. With his shoulders hunched as he moves across the van and the way the muscles in his arms flex, Ewan appears much more animal. As he nears you, opposite of Tabaeus, you can feel just how hot his body heat is running. “Or we wouldn’t miss anything too engaging if we got, ah, distracted.”

In an instant, you recall your earlier thoughts concerning both companions’ body temperature. Hot and cool. The way it’d feel to be touched by both. Your breath catches in your throat, a tingle cresting over your flesh as you realize you might have some practical knowledge of that very musing very soon.

Ewan’s hand brushes against your leg, burning hot through the fabric of the damned bat pajamas. “So, what do you say? Wanna have some fun?”

A whimper bubbles out from you at Ewan’s touch - both of their touches - and you press your face into your hands. “You two are too much.”

The air in the van suddenly shifts. Tabaeus pulls away and you think the way the vehicle jostles, Ewan is sitting back on his knees. They’re both giving you space.

“Ah, my apologies, amata.”

“I’m sorry. Kinda much, I guess.”

Both of them speak at once, their tones synchronized with sincere apology. Slipping your hands a little down your face, you peer at them from just above your fingertips. Tabaeus appears uncertain of what to do, stricken even. Their hand is half-raised to touch you but not daring to close the final gap. Ewan has retreated some, a guilty expression on his face.

You let them hang for another beat or two, before piping up in a small, bashful voice, “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Those words perk them up. Tabaeus’s hand finally bridges the last few inches, gingerly touching your shoulder as Ewan scoots closer, like a dog hoping for a treat. He grins, cocking his head to the side as he leans in closer. Your heart catches again, flicking down to his lips. “Sooo…?”

From Ewan to Tabaeus, your gaze swings. They, too, are leaning closer with anticipation. The way they smile makes you think they already know your answer. Part of you wonders just what sort of plans Ewan and Tabaeus could concoct to release the vampire of their jealousy.

They certainly had to be good plans, right? Can’t let good plans go to waste, temptation croons. Not quite believing your own actions - or maybe your good fortune - you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. Both of your hands reach out to the other two, hooking your fingers into the neckline of both their tops.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s have some fun.”

#exophilia #exo writing #vampire #werewolf #lycan #2nd pov #2nd person #vampire x reader #werewolf x reader #ot3 ot3 ot3 #tabaeus #ewan #amata #oh how attention from both a vampire and werewolf can make you forget about creeps #lol

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pelleas-at-castle-nox · 6 months

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Freaky Friday

It was the most exhilarating thing you'd ever felt. Fusion, the blending of two bodies into one, bigger, stronger, faster, and most importantly as far as you were concerned, hungrier.

You had always been on the thinner side, tried not to be too jealous of your larger friends, but it was so hard not to constantly want for what they had. Your appetite had never been great, and your favorite part of gaining had been the eating aspect, you loved food and loved to try new flavors, but you just couldn't seem to keep much down no matter how hard you tried.

Your magically inclined friend had always been a butter ball, a round whale of a fox. No matter how jealous you might have grown of their life style and their size, you stuck around them, gaze lingering on their large soft body. You didn't know if they'd ever use any of that magic to help you, but you knew it would come one day, and when it was offered, you wouldn't think twice to say yes.

It was hard to put that into practice when they waddled up to you and showed off their tome, detailing a procedure to blend two bodies into one. Magic had always been beyond you, but the premise sounded tantalizing enough. Regardless of what it entailed, it would mean you got to experience what it was like to be so huge, so you figured it couldn't hurt to try, even if it sounded so... Odd.

And then suddenly you weren't you, and it felt great. The two of you had merged together into a new you, and you were gone. Instead of you, there was a new being, and it hungered. You didn't know if it was your hunger or your friends, you just knew your new form wouldn't stop until it was satiated.

Your friend had graciously filled their home with all sorts of delicious treats, seeming to have anticipated that the resultant fusion would be hungry.

Over time you began to realize as it devoured plates of the finest food which made your spirit wiggle with delight at the taste of, that neither you nor your friend were in control. At some point, the only thing that remained was your combined hunger which drove the resultant beast onward.

It gorged itself until it couldn't move anymore, and slammed down onto its large fluffy rear. You could feel your control of your body returning, though after this experience even that was feeling odd. Your friend's voice called out, telling you that the experiment was about to end, but the sensation felt strange. It was like hearing your voice, talking to you. You answered you were ready for it to be over, but your voice definitely didn't sound like your own.

As stress and fear and confusion mounted, the resultant beast's body shimmered for a moment, and you and your friend were suddenly no longer one.

And you felt ungodly full, and very, very fluffy.

Something wasn't right, but it felt all too good. Everywhere you looked, you saw what appeared to be your friend's vulpine body spreading out, and it was only when you tried to rub your eyes that you felt how tremendously heavy your arms had become. Short shallow breaths were all you could afford with how full you were, but you approached hyper ventilation as you began to grow increasingly confused.

You saw yourself, naked as could be, picking up your friend's tome, nodding in affirmation.

"Well this was hardly expected! I'll have to write down quite a few notes, and I'll be using your body to do it. Don't worry, I'll keep it very well fed, you just sit there and enjoy feeling yourself spilling out in every direction, I know how desperately you've wanted the chance to. Maybe I won't give it back... You do look cozy, and it's fun being able to actually run again!"

You tried to respond, but the excruciating over fullness prevented you, and you couldn't do anything but watch your body saunter off, leaving you wondering if you could pilot this new body of yours to finish that buffet...

#feedist kinktober #body swap #fusion #2nd person #stuffing #vulpine

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maxillis · 9 months

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The hardest part is remembering that the heat on your skin is only a memory. You can try to take it from there, if you want, but instead you focus on water; something cool, something comforting, before you turn to something harder to soothe out the muscles that ache from two marathons—one of endurance and another of fortitude.

The heat rises from your chest to your face, where a sturdy bump on your forehead is threatening to grow. Still, it hurts less than the sight of a little girl stuck in an active Cressidium war zone. You know you’ll see her gift to Alaska in FACTORY-RESET’s cockpit by your next deployment, whenever that is.

Best to clear your mind for now—or fog it away, given how many drinks you find yourself taking from quite the unassuming bartender. They don’t recognize you in the slightest. This is another comfort you don’t take for granted; the prosocollar around your neck masks your true voice, and your paranoias about eavesdropping or confrontation die. You haven’t said anything incriminating, but you’ll be damned if you take a step out of your mech that isn’t calculated. And this stress, this constant vigilance, metastasizes.

You’re drinking with a man, you realize. He’s dripping blood on the floor and the noise is only unbearable to you. Quietly, splat, splat, he drips, not yet glancing over. His glass raises between you, waiting to meet your drink with a cheers. In clear defiance, you refuse to raise your hand to the red-stained glass.

It bleeds onto you, crimson on your palms and under your nails. You don’t blink away the consequences of what you’ve done, not even when you feel droplets drying in your hair. You continue to drink, ignoring the metallic taste that you know isn’t alcohol. It doesn’t make a difference to you.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to look. It’s only us.”

It’s something that man, that son-of-a-bitch in the specter would have never said, you're sure. The only words out of him before had been “kys” and you hold little belief that he had anything nicer to add after the fact of his death. It couldn’t be him that came to drink with you tonight.

Before you know it, you are looking up at the seat next to you, searching for what you are certain to hear next.

He’s gone.

You tell yourself to forget the first time you heard those words, and the second time, and the third. It's been a long time since you were young, green, and unsure. Back when you couldn't bear to look, you always had someone to look for you, to charge ahead, or to take a life. Still, the memory of sickness and disgust reviles you.

The taste in your mouth is your own blood, as it turns out. You've been biting your tongue for the better part of two minutes in the best interest of not freaking out every person you're drinking near, or saying something to your own bodied memories that you might regret. You take your drink to the end of the bar before the bartender can think you look too sick to hang around.

We all learned it from the best, you think. We as in a long-gone squadron, as in a colony home in ice-ring orbit, as in a family of people who are carried on by the only one remaining. This is why you accept the clap on your shoulder, the memory reverberating with a "Well done!" that you couldn't misunderstand if you tried. You did well today. You've always done well, even when you didn't. And like a school game between children, you were the last to look, so it's only fitting you'd be the one to carry it all home. He says it again to make sure you heard it full and well.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to look. It’s only us.”

There is no us anymore. Just like there is no we, and truthfully no you.

⤝⦽⤞ What secrets do you know?

You shoot him cold between a double-barrel and a pillow. You don’t even blink. But, you do sit with him, still caught in whatever celestial dream that turned out to be his last, as you pat his knee.

“Well done.” It is the only thing you can bring yourself to say. For a long time, you cannot, cannot, look away. In your heart you know that it’s only a matter of time before someone comes in to check on the noise, yet you remain there, and when the door inevitably opens—

Pop. Your shotgun flies up to the headline of the now-open door frame, and another body hits the floor. You don’t look at this one, your gaze still fixed on the man in blissful sleep. It isn’t how he would have wanted to go out, being put down like a dog. That was how they wanted him dead. Not you, but that person who owns the shotgun you grip with white knuckles, cocking back and launching a pretty red shell onto the bed. The dead man catches it with his cheek.

You look at him instead of the other corpse that regrets joining you.

“You don’t have to look,” the dead man says. He’s looking at you and he’s trying, somewhat, to smile. It all comes up cracked skin and blue veins. “It’s only us.”

You swallow your heart down your throat, but it all comes back up.

Standing at attention in front of your Field Commander only seems easy because of the mental preparation you have bounded through on the ride from the dropship, back to your base. The noise of your shotgun still rings in your ears. You don’t realize that your team has left you until you hear the door close; the disorientation is not letting up, only staved for now by the red-hot brand of your former Lieutenant’s medallion-lined jacket in your hands. You’re keeping it as a souvenir. You hold on for dear life, like this alone can keep you from falling over. It’ll work well enough for now.

“You’ve done excellent work this week.” In all your months of working with this company, you’ve never received such praise. From anyone else, it’s a praise that might even be received warmly. Work had been agonizingly slow; intel was hard to come by and politics kept you from blazing your guns for longer than you ever felt comfortable. In the end, the very person that you had been searching for had been the one who kept you closest. You can’t ration it into a victory.

Atop your Field Commander’s desk is a large metal suitcase, closed and facing you. She continues to ignore it as she speaks to you with gusto and a smile so kind that any fool too trusting might think her to be an angel—she knows, and you are grateful, that you are no regular fool. The smile won’t hit her eyes.

“I can only commend you for eliminating our…old friend. Plenty of people in this building wouldn’t have the guts.” Not like your guts, she means, but you do remember how you spewed them all over the old motel room and opt to keep that part to yourself. It isn’t like the cleaners would say shit. “I’m not sure how long he was planning on staying alive, though, as long as he kept giving you his keys.”

What else can you say?

“I’m not sure either, ma’am.”

It seems to satisfy her well enough. She hums, nods, and seemingly decides that she isn’t making too big of a gamble by passing on this gift. What a mistake it would turn out to be, but for now she is the one in blissful unawareness.

When the suitcase pops open, a snow-white shotgun glares your reflection back at you. The truth is, you don’t look like you’ve just come back from killing your closest companion, the only other living legacy, other than you, of a galactic disaster that everyone else forgot—you’re smiling, softly.

“I’m glad you can appreciate a weapon worth admiring.” Her voice grates down on you. You’re certain she’s aware. Knowing her, she could smell it like a shark in the water.

“Thank you.” When your voice catches, you pass it off as pure admirance for the craftsmanship. It is a gun you could put on a wall or display in a case, glistening and smooth, certain to catch the eye. A closer look would tell you that it’s a working shotgun just the same. “Was this custom-made?”

“Without a doubt. She’s all yours. I shouldn’t have to tell you to watch out for the recoil on this one, right?”

You only pause for a moment. It’s enough time to remember the red shell hitting your dead Lieutenant's cheek, and the sure feeling that he would wake up to ask, fuck was that for?

You wonder if you should kill her now, judging the weight of this new model in your grasp. You don’t care that the dirt from your hands leaves prints and smudges. The pride must come from the intense amount of cleaning that would be necessary for this weapon to keep its luster. You know you aren’t wasting a second of your time on anything that isn’t gun oil.

You have hesitated too long to do what you want to. Your following answer is mechanical.

“No, ma’am.”

“Stellar. I’m expecting you at 700 hours tomorrow. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant. ”

It’s the first thing to hurt you since you left the ice.

⤝⦽⤞ Where is the rest of your team?

What do you wanna be? I dunno, I kinda wanna fly one of those airships. You know, the big ones. The ones with a bunch of cargo? You wanna be a space trucker?! Maybe I do! I could just go out and fly until the end of the galaxy. They’d pay me good. Come on, that can’t be all you care about. Stupid. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re not making money! I’d rather hang out all day. Why work out there when we could just stay here? You can’t hate me so bad that you’d run out of the galaxy. …Nah. I’d come back. I know you would. You’d miss all this!

When he threw his arms out, you laughed, and you punched him square in the chest.

Ow! Fuck was that for? I have more than just you to miss. Fine. I won’t take all the credit. I’ll just take most of it. You can have a solid five percent of the credit. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were saying you loved me.

When you wake up, your head is throbbing in more than one place. You go through your memories for over an hour in the bathtub; how you got to the bar, who you were with, how you ended up leaving—not everything comes back. The man from the specter does.

I’m ripping your spine inside out. If you say it loud enough in your head he has to hear it, right? If you get angry enough, if you kill him with enough blood and luxury to satisfy a king, he has to appreciate it more than being executed in his sleep, right? If he knows the person doing the killing, if he can look in their eyes and give one final scream, then it would be better than dying a coward’s death, wouldn’t it?

You storm out to your closet, to the pockets of your Lieutenant’s old jacket—the one you still wear everywhere you go—and you pull a long, metal chain from the breast pocket. It jangles as it hangs from your hands, and even more when you unclasp it.

You’re grateful no one else was in that cockpit with you. You ripped that pilot’s tags straight from his neck and shoved them in your pocket when you pierced through his heart.

Coward’s death or otherwise, there are certain things you would chase to the end of the galaxy. Your anger, for one. Your past, for another.

His tags join the collection you’ve amassed. You can’t count how many names you’ve stolen (though you could, if you could manage to rifle through all of their names)—or how many bodies were probably buried unnamed, or who might've been lucky enough to be found by their family. What does it matter, when there’s no one left to remember yours?

You return the chain to the jacket's left breast pocket. The pilot from the specter claps your shoulder. Instead of saying the only thing you believe you’ll be hearing next, he kisses you.

Then, there is nothing. You are alone.

You feel that, in a world where your luck is dictated by dice, you’ve come up snake eyes.

#circe #2nd person #2.1k #lancer rpg #cd-roms #themes include murder / survivors guilt / hallucinations / alcohol consumption #my dm and bestie made a joke about a hypothetical nat 1 after our session and my brain went fucking bonkers dude #also us both going 'this is absolutely not the first time circe has done this'#circe was already a sole survivor when i thought of their very not-planned background but god what is it with me and sole survivors.#something something 'we are never truly gone' is sometimes a horror story something something

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high-quality-tiktoks · 1 year

Video

Why does it make me so mad🧍🏽‍♀️😭

#video #tiktok #tiktoks #funny #lmao #relatable #mood #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #2nd person #second person #nerdymixedpan

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bagog · 4 months

Text

Really straining myself to not write a lengthy essay on why "No, addressing the chat is not a 'Fourth Person' address."

#4th person #chat #2nd person

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alicethewitchtgirl · 1 year

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PAGE 24

Yeah. You went a little too far.

SUGGESTION BOX IS OPEN.

#2nd person #homestuck #kurloz makara #fanfic

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twilightprince101 · 1 year

Text

“Perrita, you cannot be serious…” He isn’t trying to wrestle his arm from your grasp anymore.

“Dead serious.” Despite the stress building in your gut, you can’t help but crack a smile. Here you are, standing in front of Death itself, and he looks shocked. “You made the rules. Only one coin flip. Heads, I stay alive. Tails, you take me to the afterlife.”

You point down at the gold coin, sticking up on its side between the floorboards. “You flipped your coin El Lobo, so take me there.”

-----

Welp, we're doing this!

Self ship fic with El Lobo, femme reader

I have no real plan aside from the first few chapters, so fuck it we ball

#puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots #piblw #pibtlw #dreamworks #el lobo #death the wolf #puss in boots death #puss in boots wolf #self ship #2nd person #reader insert #my writing #my writings #twi talks #((largely inspired by bamsara and 'solar lunacy'#aka reader has some snark in her system))

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the-royal-petals · 2 years

Text

Sacred Oaths | Stephen Strange x Reader | Chapter 1 | [ The Beginning]

Description:

Being a SHIELD agent, you have seen some stuff; from asgardian weapons being used in bank robberies to another company trying to recreate the super soldier serum—you've seen it all.

One day you're thrown head-first into an investigation about a sorcerer named “Ashley Carrie,” wanting to know why HYDRA killed her and why they're after a book that could threaten the fate of reality:

"The Death's Reaping."

Maybe you need help from people who specialise in the weird and mystical.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Smut, Angst, Mentions of Torture and Abuse, Medical stuff, injuries. [Chapters will be trigger warned accordingly]

Rating: Mature/Explict

[Prologue] - [ Chapter 1 ] - [ Chapter 2 ]

Note for this chapter:

Hello there! I've been struggling creating this story for the last few months, and I am hoping that creating this into a Stephen Strange x Reader could help me get some more ideas :3 This story has already been planned out, so there is no need to worry too much! One thing you do need to know is that the reader's last name/surname has been chosen as "Johnstone." But the pov will be in "you." I hope this doesn't deter you from reading

After a wild case, you knew getting some coffee your co-worker would be the best way to celebrate.

It wasn’t your usual case you’d find on a day-to-day basis. A couple of weeks ago, a report came in about a group of teenagers harnessing Asgardian technology to rob a local bank. As bizarre as it sounded, you were excited for this. It wasn’t every day you’d have to contact Asgard to tell them about their missing weapons being used for bad. After a painstaking back and forth of legal issues and differences, SHIELD returned the technology.

As much as you wanted to have someone else take over the case in the first place; the Asgardians (mainly, Lady Sif) asked for SHIELD personally, thanks to Agent Coulson’s encounter with them a couple years ago. Now this was something you could cross off your bucket list.

“I have to admit, facing an actual Asgardian face-to-face is terrifying; I was expecting Sif to toss me across the room.” Bob, your co-worker said, walking beside you as he navigated down the busy street of Manhattan, dodging through civilians and blanking the curious stares to the uniform. “How is it you were calmer than Tony being told he cannot create any more suits?”

You snorted. “You’re forgetting that Fury asked me to help with the Ultron incident in 2014. I met Thor and he’s as intimidating as they get,” you looked at him with a grin, “besides, he wouldn’t hurt somebody who’s innocent; he’s too busy getting confused about Midgard in general to want to throw you across the room.”

Though it was true Asgardians were able to throw people (and things) considerable distances, it was also known that they were protectors of Midgard and swore to help if there were any conflict if any of the nine realms tried to invade. Thor was the main reason this was put in place.

“What’s the deal with people simping over his biceps?” Bob asked as you entered the corner coffee shop, thanking him as you entered first before standing behind an old lady.

It wasn’t as busy as you'd expect it to be, especially since it was the afternoon. Ahead were four people who needed to be served, which wasn’t too bad as usually you’d have to wait at least 20 minutes. Three tables sat at the side of the shop, overlooking the street from the window. Quiet jazz music played through the speakers, relaxing those who entered.

Besides you of course. You hated Jazz.

Trying not to cringe at the music, you looked at Bob. “His biceps? Have you seen them up close? He could destroy me with those and I would willingly let that happen; I hate to admit it, but he’s hot.” There’s no doubt you'll be regretting those words later; but what surprised you was that Bob also agreed.

“I can’t deny it. If he asked me to make out with me, I’d be down for it.”

The old lady turned around just as that was said and grinned at Bob. She reached out and placed a hand onto his arm, causing him to glance at you for help. “Whatever your preference is, sweetheart, you have my full support. You are one handsome young man, and anybody would be stupid to turn you down; say, are you married?”

Bob looked at her pointedly, holding back a quiet laugh as he held up his ring finger. “I have a beautiful woman.” He said with pride. He watched the woman gesture to you. You couldn't help but choke on air, “oh no. Not her, god no.” Now he had to laugh. “I can’t stand working with her, let alone spending my entire life with her.”

Rolling your eyes, you gestured to the counter, drawing the old lady’s attention from Bob and back to ordering food. Once the lady looked away, you sent a ‘ really? ’ look at Bob who shrugged and smirked.

Not long after collecting your order, you left the shop and wandered down the street, heading in a different direction to the SHIELD base. There was an hour left of your break. Why head back to the base when that would earn you a pile of paperwork and extra stuff to do?

Ahead stood a tall building. It seemed out of place for what it was. It had green tiles and brick walls, along with intricate carvings of symbols and patterns that screamed ‘spirituality.’ It appeared to be some sort of temple, or something you’d find in the middle-east, though it was unclear. At the top of the building was a circular window with curved frames, resembling a pattern on a tennis ball.

Noticing the building, you took a final sip of your drink before nudging Bob. “£20 says there is an old man in there watching our every move. It screams ‘ creepy ’. Tell me I’m wrong.” Your pointed to the window, “I can imagine someone watching us right now.”

Bob rolled his eyes, “nah. That place reminds me of Avatar: The Last Airbender.” He shrugged.

“You haven't even watched the damn thing.” You shot him a look, tossing the empty cup into the bin, “you don’t even know if there are magical people in there. What are they called again? I heard Fury talk about them the other day, but I wasn’t really listening. I think the place is called the 'Sanctum?'”

There were other types of magic, but much as you wanted to believe in other abilities, the most you have seen was from Wanda Maximoff, an Enhanced person who volunteered at HYDRA. That’s as far as your knowledge went. You were aware of other magical beings, but you had never had a chance to encounter them; maybe you could one day?

Passing by the building, your phone buzzed with a notification from Fury:

“ Agent Johnstone. You and Agent Stanton are needed in the base immediately; we require you to conduct a new investigation. More will be briefed as soon as you get here. Meet me in Room 0212Ac.

Warning: Stark is here.”

-----------------

@strangeobsessed, @shadowmarvelartist

[ Taglist ]

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darknights04 · 1 year

Note

Hii I love you’re writing. I’m so happy I came across this blog 💗💗 I was wondering if you could write something about Ominis Gaunt x F!reader based off the song again by Noah Cyrus ft xxx 💗💗💗

This request was so cute and so fun to write! I hope I did it justice!! 💖 💖

Say it Again

Pairings: Ominis Gaunt x fem!reader

Warnings: Slight angst, not proofread

Masterlist

You have been friends with Ominis for five years. All the way from your first day at Hogwarts together. Five years since you had both been sorted into Slytherin together. Five years you have been pining after him. Five. Long. Excruciating years. The man had been blind in more ways than one. If he had just opened his eyes (not literally of course) than he would be able to see how much you longed for him to be more than just your friend.

This information was beyond obvious to Sebastian, as he was the one forced to watch the interactions between you both. He was the only one who knew that your feelings were mutual. He was the only one who heard Ominis’s small sigh when you left them. He’e the only one who saw his breath quicken when you walked into a room. But you were blind to these things; just as Ominis was blind to you.

One day, Sebastian had had enough. He had decided that it was about time that he acted as a sort of wingman and help his best friends get together. How hard could it be? After all, they both had already had strong feelings for one another. All they needed was a little push.

“I know you have feelings for Y/n,” Sebastian said one day, confronting Ominis in the common room.

“What?” Ominis spat in response. “Feelings? For her? What ever gave you that idea?”

“You may not be able to see the way you long for her but I do. Now, I came up with some ideas for you to tell her that-”

“I don’t need any ideas, Sebastian. There’s no feelings for me to admit.”

“Come on Ominis, I-”

“That’s enough, Sebastian!”

“What’s going on?” you asked them as you approached the pair, obvious tension in the air.

“Nothing, I was just heading down for class,” Ominis said quickly, quickly gathering his things as he turned away.

“Wait!” you called behind him. “I thought we were all supposed to-”

“Sorry, I forgot that I told professor Sharpe that I would come to class early to discuss.. Something. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

You watched behind as Ominis left, his head hung low as his wand led him away.

“What crawled in his pumpkin juice this morning?” you chuckled, sitting down next to Sebastian. He chuckled back, taking a sip from the cup of tea he had been drinking as you looked over your shoulder at Ominis walking away, a small look of rejected crossing your face as Sebastian wasn’t looking.

---

“Hey..” you said cautiously, approaching Ominis in the library. The two of you haven’t spoken since that morning and you weren’t sure where you stood. As far as you knew nothing happened to make Ominis upset with you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some new sort of tension there.

“Y/n,” he greeted simply, barely looking up from his work.

“I was hoping we could get some work done together today?” you offered. “We have that paper for magic theory due soon and-”

“I’ve already made plans.”

You froze mid-sentence. Ominis had never been this blunt with you before. Never cut you off like that. He’s always been thoughtful with his speech, thinking over each word before uttering them to you and politely at that. It was as if this was an imposter who had taken over his body. This was not the man you’ve been infatuated with for the last five years.

“Oh?” you inquired. “What plans?”

“The new fifth year asked me to show them around,” he shrugged. “I accepted.”

You had to fight to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor. He was denying spending time with you… to show around the new student… that he had been talking bad about since the moment he laid eyes on them?

“The new student?” you asked him, making sure you heard him correctly.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And they should be here any moment so…”

Your eyes shifted from ones of sadness… to anger. You weren’t sad of worried about what the status of your friendship was anymore, you were angry that Ominis was treating you this way. Angry that he was willing to toss your years of friendship aside for some person he just met, not to mention didn’t even like! But if he wanted to be that way, fine. He could lie in the bed he made himself.

You didn’t give him another word, another glance, as you turned around and walked out of the room.

Ominis groaned as his head fell to the table. He hated himself for doing this. He didn’t want to distance himself from you. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run to you and apologize, agreeing to spend the day together and throw away any other plans he might have had. But his mind wouldn’t let him.

If Sebastion of all people could tell how attached Ominis was to you, then it was only a matter of time before everyone found out. Before you found out.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to stay distanced from you forever. The two of you could still be friends, hangout. Just maybe twice a week rather than every single day. Or maybe two hours at a time rather than twelve. Just until this whole accusation from Sebastian went away. Maybe until heis infatuation cooled down just a little…

---

Ominis smiled towards his friends as he approacked their usual spot at the Slytherin table for breakfast.

“Y/n, Sebastian,” he greeted to you both, taking his seat.

“Ominis,” Sebastian greeted back with a nod. You didn’t say anything.

He sat in silence, body turned slightly towards where you were sitting, waiting for you to speak up. When you didn’t he went to address you again. “So Y/n…” he started. “How did you sleep last-”

“I think I left something in my dorm,” you quickly interrupted, pushing yourself up from your seat. “I’ll see you both in class.”

“Did something happen?” Ominis asked once you were well out of the room. Sebastian rolled his eyes. For a blind man, he could be quite oblivious.

“She’s quite cross with you,” Sebastian told him.

“With me?! Why?”

“Cause you’ve all but iced her out.”

“No I haven’t!”

“Really?” he scoffed. “When’s the last time you’ve spoken to her?”

“I speak to her every day.”

“A real conversation, Ominis.”

Ominis sat in thought for a few moments. Sebastian was right. In his want to keep everyone from finding out his feelings for you, Ominis forgot to keep your feelings in mind.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quickly, jumping up from his seat and jogging in the direction you left in. His wand almost couldn’t keep up directing him where to go. “Y/n!” he called after you.

You didn’t respond. When you turned and saw him behind you, you sped up.

“I can hear you speed walking away. I’m blind, not deaf.”

“Leave me be, Ominis,” you sighed.

“Not until you talk to me,” he combatted, reaching for your arm to stop you. “Y/n-”

“What?!” you snapped, quickly turning to face him as you ripped your arm from his grasp. “Now you want to talk? What did you finally get bored with the new fifth year?”

“No, I just-”

“Just what, Ominis? What could you possibly want from me now?”

“I want my friend back!”

You laughed. Well, it would be more accurate to call it a scoff, really. “Your friend?” you repeated. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you do not want to be friends anymore.”

When Ominis didn’t respond, you turned back around and started walking away again. You didn’t get more than twenty feet before he yelled out to you.

“You’re right!” he yelled simply.

You sighed when he didn’t continue, curiosity getting the better of you as you turned back around. “Right about what, Ominis?”

“I don’t want to be your friend any longer.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. You knew you had said it, but you never imagined it could be true.

“Wow,” you marveled sarcastically. “Thank you so much for confirming that for me.”

Before you could walk away again, he continued. “I don’t just want to be your friend any longer, we’ve been ‘just friends’ for too long.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Ominis took steps towards you, slowly, ensuring you didn’t back away as he continued talking. “Year after year, class after class. Being your friend has been torture,”

You could feel the tears brimming on the edge of your eyes. All your years of knowing Ominis, you never expected him to be so cruel.

“I didn’t know that-”

“Let me finish!” he yelled. “Night after night, I must force my thoughts from straying to thoughts of you. You and your stupid perfume. Your laugh. Everything just drives me crazy!”

“Ominis-”

“I cannot just be your friend anymore.”

“I-”

“It’s not enough,” he finally finished.

“...What?” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“I want so much more,” he continued. “I want to be able to call you mine. I want to be able to let everyone in the castle know that I am yours. I want to be able to scream to the skies that I’m in love with you!”

You froze. You couldn’t bring a single word to your lips until you saw the way he desperately needed a response. “You what?” you repeated.

Ominis took a step closer to you, reaching out to find your hands. “I am in love with you, Y/n. I have been since the moment met you.”

You didn’t let him say a single word more as you cupped his face in your hands and brought him to you, slamming your lips against his desperately. It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It was sloppy, and desperate, but you didn’t care. You were kissing him. Just as you had imagined since you were a mere eleven years old.

“Say it again,” you said with a smile as you pulled away from him.

“I am in love with you,” he repeated, a mile on his lips, matching yours. “I love you.”

Your smile widened as you kissed him again, softer this time and pulled away quicker. “Again,” you demanded.

“I love you,” he repeated yet again with a laugh. “I’ll say it as many times as you need me to. I love you, I love you, I’ll love you forever, to the moon and back.”

You smiled and kissed him once more, the tears that were threatening to spill over finally doing so, the anger and betrayal long replaced with an undeniable feeling of joy.

“I love you too.”

#hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #ominis #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x fem #x reader #2nd person #harry potter #sebastian sallow #again #noah cyrus

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nakunakunomi · 6 months

Note

Hello for your event, I wanted to ask for Idia and the letter K from the Fluff alphabet please!

awwee yiss a good blue boy. I am almost through book 6 and I have grown to love Idia loads more (and I already loved him). So I am pretty hyped to write for him! Thank you for the ask, anon!

2nd person. GN reader. No other warnings except that I roast him a little, but it's all done out of love :3

K - Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Idia is actually not a great kisser, and it’s not that hard to imagine why. He has absolutely no experience at all (his hand doesn’t count), and his general shyness and awkward disposition doesn’t help him one bit. On top of that, he has those sharp teeth that he has to mind while kissing, and that doesn’t always go as planned.

He gets better with experience and gentle guidance though. Gamify it, and you’re absolutely golden. He will initially be way too shy and awkward (clammy hands, keeping them right next to his body, stiff as a board) and then go all overdrive in the other direction (a little too forceful, nearly squeezing your arms, biting a little too hard). Just let him know what is nice and what you like, lead by example and make sure to praise him when it does go right. If anything he knows how to grind for achievements, so he will be working hard toward perfection his technique.

The first kiss wasn’t actually a kiss, because when Idia started dating you, he kind of forgot that physical affection was going to be a thing at some point or the other. Strangely enough, after you’re the one initiating most physical contact, it will be him who will ask to kiss you first, at a moment where you’re actually thinking about giving him a little longer to get used to the whole relationship idea.

The kiss itself is not spectacular and falls under the first category as described above. He is so nervous, you can feel his lips quiver with nerves as they touch yours. It’s just lip-to-lip contact too, cause his hands are stiff right next to his body. You should gently cup his face, physically coax him to relax. It won’t do wonders, but it makes it a little better.

This is part of my AB(C)-Day event! Click here to join!

#Idia shroud #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #headcanon #abc writing #2nd person #gn reader #event writing #queued

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eruden-writes · 22 days

Text

Room & Board - Part 21 PREVIEW

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

Links under cut!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If you like my content, please consider supporting me on Patreon!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Looking back to Ewan and Jemma, you find them both tense and glaring up at the enemy. Ewan has given up the partial transformation, fur sprouting along his whole morphing body as his snout elongates and a growl bubbles in his throat. Jemma’s battle-readiness is less obvious, but you feel a crackle in the air and swear her eyes glow, but it could be a trick of her light orb. At your movement, their attention bounces to you. Ewan nods encouragingly, though Jemma’s eyes quickly dart back up to Lachlan and the other vampires.

Briefly, regret thrums at how you’ve pulled the two of them into this fight, but you turn back to Tabaeus. You all knew the potential risks.

Softly, you step closer to Tabaeus and finally take in their state.

Nude and sprawled on pillows, manacles on their wrists and ankles, Tabaeus stares listlessly at the ceiling, seemingly unseeing even the other vampires crowded on the overhead walkway. As you come closer, their eyes swing slowly toward you. A lump catches in your throat at the sight of their red-rimmed eyes, the fresh bites on their body. Something about their flesh seems more sickly.

“Oh, is it feeding time?” Their words are so hollow and distant, it takes your mind a moment to realize Tabaeus is the one who said them. They push themselves upright, languidly standing in a smooth movement.

As they near you, you recall how their height once terrified you. They loomed over you that first meeting just as they loom over you now, but your heart twists as you blink back tears. You never thought you’d see them again. Relief and dismay clamber through your head as you see Tabaeus whole but harmed.

Tabaeus reaches out a hand and you unthinkingly mirror them. Just as your hand is about to graze their shoulder, theirs grabs you roughly by the hair. Pain arcs over your scalp as they yank your head forcefully to the side, baring your throat to them.

“That is not a meal,” Lachlan drawls, though dark amusement twitches at the corner of his lips.

“Is it not?” Tabaeus pauses, their red eyes flickering up and behind you to where the other vampire stands.

“No, this bloodbag seems to think you know them.” That amusement has turned to cruel glee and you hear a barely contained laugh catch in Lachlan’s throat. A wave of titters arise from the other vampires, like a colony of squeaking bats.

“No, I do not know any bloodbags.” Tabaeus blinks before regarding you with an empty laziness, still holding your head at an angle. You’re not even sure they’re trying to remember.

Too many words and feelings gum up your throat. As you struggle to swallow, only three words break through your lips, “Tabaeus, please remember.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Want more? Full chapter is on Patreon!

#vampire #monster fucker #monster romance #2nd pov #vampire x reader #vampire x reader x werewolf #vampire fucker #vampire lover #2nd person #2nd perosn pov #x reader #exophilia #exo writing #we're almost done with room & board!#:3c #kind of ominous given Tabaeus is about to eat you I guess #lol #tabaeus #ewan

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butwhyduh · 2 years

Text

I found something worse than a fanfiction in first person. An original fiction in first AND second person. The writer is dating the reader. I can’t make this up.

I once again think that I should write and sell my own work. She bit her lip at least 3 times in the first 4 pages. Please don’t write anything like this 😬😬

#1st person #2nd person #writing #writers #fanfiction #original work

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maxillis · 1 year

Text

You sink under the cover of the water and you expect a certain kind of light to hit you as your body is sent under the waves, not having the mind or time to watch the schools of sea-life fleeing from the whirlwind above the surface break.

The light is all ladders of shimmer and shine, of broken and faded beams that fall into the dark like a porch collapse; it is cold like a ghost, or cold like a memory no longer in reach. You raise your hand to swim towards the last splintering step, you fall through it instead, and you fall through it endlessly. There is no purchase for your fingers. There is no anchor, no right-side-up.

The dark creeps in. The porch melts into the swell.

Enveloped by startling nothingness, from your mouth emerges a low, pulsing light.

Illuminated with sunset pinks and brooding bruises, a mangled, suffocating thing like an animal writhes as well as any small, drowning thing would do, so deep now in the sea. It brushes past your lips and floats just there, beyond your nose, as if to take one last long look back at you. Your eyes no longer register how it burns to see the thing agonize, to grow dim, and to grow dull.

You realize that this is because you are being dragged backwards, outwards from the depths, before you can understand what the pulsing light is. As what feels like an iron bar clasps around your stomach, there is no cry, no warning, and no exception. You must bid your goodbyes while burning for oxygen, swarmed by salted bubbles, and spat back out in a show of foam and blood and ragged gasping. There is no time to miss it before it is missing.

Breaking the surface almost feels vile; you are crashing, yelling, gaping for air against the sharp edges of a jetty, and you think with some string of bitter luck and lucky bitterness, that the only reason you know this isn’t the ocean floor is because you can feel the air touch your lungs once again. Daylight is an afterthought. You wonder if the light you saw in the dark had been a blood vessel bursting in your eye, as you realize you are grappling with your ability to see anything anymore at all.

Something else is in your lungs. An uncomfortable fullness; a taste of sea brine that lingers in the back of your throat. You know that you are cold, but nothing left in you shivers. On shore, the frigid waters that dwell in you now are still. The shine in your eyes has gone milky, shrouding most of anything that still floats along the horizon.

One last look out to sea, however, sends you a gift: a swath of unnatural darkness that almost seems to wave back at your looking. Further behind the figure, there is a certain gradient to the sky—from blue, to gray, then blue again. No wind chills the droplets on your skin. The figure doesn’t move.

Your charter was capsized in the hurricane. Your memory of it feels electric, and you can only think of it in pieces. You put a pin in the thought; you have accepted that no other survivors are in your company.

Looking up to the apex of the sky, on your back, a nagging thought occurs to you: the grayness in the air from behind the black figure is moving quite swiftly across the water’s surface. More than clouds, more than marine fog, you witness gentle blankets of dark, gray smoke billowing away from what must have been a great fire at sea. Your ship. No evidence remains of it that you can sense.

The black figure remains, though, the only head above the waves. You think it might be expecting you to move. You, however, are waiting, and regardless of your waiting, nothing continues to happen.

Above, the lighthouse stands. It is a monolith of faith, and promise, and hope, but for who? The captain who spots it through the scope? The falling bodies, the drowned? To be so close to home, the lighthouse attempts to deliver its believers from the sea, and yet how many ships have been swallowed by her storms? You know enough marine history, including the taboo which you should not know, to understand that the lighthouse was built to be a hope for the island, and never for you. Never for the sailors.

You wonder if someone would laugh if they happened across you. Like a jellyfish in the sand, like a riptide with a victim. You would be hard-pressed to find a sympathetic hand in a situation like this—the foolish prince of seafoam that lost his sensibilities on a spoiled voyage gone wrong. Not even the merchants who ship supplies directly to the storefronts and shanty house businesses of your people receive a second glance, let alone a spoken word of sympathy for the hardships they faced to arrive here. Except, maybe from you, but now you scarcely have the sight to spare any act of that compassion.

They all did warn you.

A muffled, distant yell does not echo. It is pushed back by the surface tension of the water, as if the sea could reflect sound the way it reflected blessings. Something about it doesn’t feel right. You can’t quite tune into the name being called even if surely, it must be yours. No regular person comes to the shore, or at least wouldn’t be caught doing so in the middle of the day.

No desire arises in your chest to move. Inevitably, a small group of shorerunners are sent to retrieve you, and are a little more than surprised to find you alive. Your haggard face looks identical to a corpse—but you can still move. You try to focus your sight on the shorerunners and who they might be, or extend a hand to hold, but your flesh only meets open air. It should horrify you that they don’t want to touch you any more than they need to, there should be an anchor plunging through your chest at your comrades’ rejection of what they hold in their arms.

It’s a taboo, you hear one say. The sky still above you, they haven’t reached home yet, and with absolutely no feeling to it whatsoever, you know that they are debating on whether or not to bring you back at all. While they don’t stop walking, they slow around the peak of a hill behind the shore. Your vision is no longer good enough to see the black figure, if it remains at all.

The shorerunners bicker. The octopus isn’t alive just because the tentacles move. The lobster feels no pain as it writhes in the boiling water. The trout heart on the cutting board beats for nothing but its memory.

Whatever you are, the water in your lungs weighs you down. Exhaustion from fighting the ocean and spoiled adrenaline passing between your dead muscle keeps you limp. They debate putting you down like a dog and all you can do is beg for them to look at you.

You think you can recognize one, a young man who left school the year before you did, who is perhaps the least eager out of them all about making you their next mercy kill. But not even he will look down, gaze stuck paralyzed, horrifyingly at his superior. It’s a lot to ask of a person, you understand, and you have never been under the impression that your people owe you anything; this island, this “kingdom” of sea shacks and broken down harbor piers has proven beyond ages lived long before you that wealth and land and material desire give no advantages against the sea.

That isn’t how your people tithe.

They refuse to look. They are refusing you. And you have had this nightmare before, but the same way you knew the jetty was not the ocean floor, you know that you cannot be sleeping now. Limp as you are, your skin can still register the pressure where they hold you upright.

The shorerunners continue to slow and you are running out of time. The hill they are dragging you up is one that leads through the center of town, past a gathering square, and further to your family’s home—still quite a ways, and quite a climb. They won’t make it for another hour at the pace they set, and they have no choice but to pass through the middle of town in the middle of the day. Something like you would normally be killed on sight.

The buzz, the chatter, the laughter, stories, haggling, arguments…You can hear the way they step off to the side, quieting amongst themselves, deciding. Whatever kept you alive to this point must also have influenced the crowd to step away, some in fear, some in anger, and some in despair. Whispered prayers under breaths do not harm you but you suppose that nothing could harm you in the traditional sense, in this state, regardless.

Your father stands at the doorstep of your family home, watching from the distance; you are unable to see him but you can feel the way the waves crash underneath the cliff of the estate, always threatening to shake it apart. Just as waves have crashed there for hundreds of years before and the sea has allowed the people this island, however, the house will remain standing tall. You wonder what it would say to the lighthouse, sitting on the far side of your family’s docks, alone.

Without thinking, you take your own step forward. The shorerunners drop you and leap back, wondering if something abyssal and predatory might emerge from your back or that you might begin to speak some terrible prophecy, now cursed with visions of the sea. Gasps and hard stares bore into you like teeth, but they cannot hold you down. When the shorerunners drop you, when your old friend scampers back in fear and unknowing hatred of this thing you have become, you begin to crawl on your belly to your father’s doorstep. Deep in your heart, you have always believed that he is the only one who should be allowed to handle this.

An inch. A foot. The town leaves you be, perhaps believing that you have come to cast some kind of judgment on them, or their island, or their king. You cannot bring yourself to stand on your feet, but you allow your knees and elbows and heaving, soaked body to scrape itself raw on your fate. By the end of your pilgrimage, your head barely lolls up enough to greet him again.

Whatever he sees in you, you do not know. He says nothing, and so do you. Then there is pressure around your shoulders, and your legs, as if your father is raising your dead body specifically to be beheld by your people.

“The sea,” your father bellows and you know how well his voice reverberates, commanding attention, yet in such a register that you wonder now what emotion he is trying to express, “She returns my son. She has spared him the blight of death, so he might carry the burden of our curiosity.”

You feel no burden of the sort. You feel hollow, empty, far too light for the living thing you ought to be. There is no porch light to greet you back here; only the dull sense of your father, only the faint register of a setting sun.

Light shuffles give way to an uneasy market that closes quite earlier than it would otherwise. Small children are kept close to the waists of their families with a iron handhold; curtains are drawn across windows and candles are snuffed soon after the clatter of dinner is done.

Your father realizes that you have not spoken a word; perhaps that you cannot. “Our infirmary cannot keep you.” Little liability, he holds you closer than any shorerunner would dare. “I’ll send word for the nurses to set up a room here.”

You want to tell him everything you saw. The black figure, the fire, the blackness—

The light. You raise your hand up to your throat, where you saw it floating gently away and beyond you. If you were to go back, would it still be there? What if you could get it back, take it in your hands, say I’m sorry for leaving you down there alone, I’m sorry you were scared in the dark, has your light gone out? Are you so dim and heavy?

Can you forgive me? Are you still alive?

Your hand falls to your chest and rests there. Nothing moves. No heartbeat answers your call. Instead, there is a stirring in your lungs. Like waves of your own, they ripple when you take a rattling breath in or out, in tandem with the muffled crash of the waves under the cliff-side. It feels like you out there.

If you breathe slowly enough, quietly enough, from the furthest reaches of the sea you know that you can feel it aching; your heart, tumbling through the endless primordial darkness and the very lifeblood of the earth, yet beats.

And you, lifeless corpse, last survivor, carrying this burden, carried in your father’s arms, must plan your next voyage into her waiting waters.

#wolfgang #2nd person #2.2k #themes include drowning / death / religious trauma / mutilation #wolfgang is simply my everything and i wanted to write again #anyway they've lived quite a few different lives + in this life they're the closest to their original story they've ever been #it's just what happens when a witch enchants something into living. it can never die and it will never Live Right!#CD-ROMs

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