#i don’t particularly pay attention to teeth but it’s nice when a vampire opens their mouth in a hammer movie and their gnashers don’t make

[afieldinengland]

i love hammer horror actors and their genuinely normal teeth

#not to sound british but i DO find bright white teeth of equal length so spooky. not right #i don’t particularly pay attention to teeth but it’s nice when a vampire opens their mouth in a hammer movie and their gnashers don’t make #it into an episode of towie. a bit of wonk a filling or two a normal tooth colour like. you know #if dracula has a gold filling it doesn’t make me think ‘ooh gross’ or— arguably worse— ‘isn’t that historically inaccurate’ (another kettle #of fish)— it just makes me think dracula’s some guy 😭 my dad has a gold filling i just think normal mouths are nice to see #thinking of ingrid pitt in the vampire lovers too especially :)

[tweetracer]

Paul lost boys edging a fem reader?

(NSFW) PAUL (LOST BOYS) x EDGING FEM! S/O

“Paul, not now. Be patient” you scolded, swatting away his grabby hands from where you were hunched over the homework on your bed- tapping the eraser of your pencil to your lips and filling in your best guess for the question.

“Doll- I am patient but you’re taking too long, come onnnnn” the blonde groaned, stretching his arms out to brush against your sides in an attempt to pull your shirt up.

“No.” you said firmly, not looking up from your work as Paul flopped down onto his back, feet kicking your headboard absently as he watched you work.

Though he definitely preferred to have you sitting on his lap it was nice to be able to watch you (even if you weren’t paying attention to him). Your brows were furrowed together, the little dip in between them giving away how hard you were focusing; and every once and a while you’d tap your pencil against your lips and draw his attention there immediately.

He only sighed, resigned, and rested his chin on his hand to watch you; getting lost in his thoughts while he tapped his foot (Paul never was able to sit still).

You sat up, wincing at the ache in your spine from leaning over so long and caught his gaze, unable to stop the surprised little blush that spread across your cheeks at the pure adoration in his eyes. How long had he been staring at you like that???

“I’m being patient” he pointed out matter-of-factually, the haughtiness in his voice making you laugh as you nodded

 “Yeah- yeah you are, thank you.”

He hummed, stretching out to make grabby hands at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

....

Well... you only had a few more questions left.... and you’d surely be able to finish them tonight after dinner...

With a sigh you carefully gathered up the worksheets and tucked them into a folder, balancing your pencil on it and gently setting everything on the floor

Finally you stretched out, laying on your belly and interlocking your fingers with Paul’s as he pulled you into his chest with a happy noise. His free arm wrapped around you as he pressed his face into your hair, squeezing you so tight your back actually popped.

He rocked back and forth as he kept you tucked against him. The movement always seemed to calm his mile-a-minute brain and you were more than happy to be along for the ride; hands loosely grasped into his shirt and closing your eyes to just enjoy his company.

“Are you done with your work?” he mumbled into your hair, still tilting back and forth. You nodded against his chest and he made another happy noise, kissing your head with a low hum.

The two of you stayed that way for a long time, just wrapped up together while you shut out the rest of the world.

NSFW

His hand that wasn’t intertwined with your rubbed against your back in deep, wide circles; pressing against the knots in your shoulders in an attempt to loosen them.

The massage made your skin warm as he carefully worked out the tension, calloused fingers digging into your muscles as they inched their way downwards towards your hips.

You let out a satisfied groan as he loosened a particularly painful spot, suddenly aware of something pressing into your hip when he let out a sharp breath.

His hand drifted lower, kneading against your ass with those practiced fingers. You could feel his smile against your hair, and when you grumbled a “What do you think you’re doing?” he only grabbed at you again, squeezing your ass tightly before giving it a playful smack.

Feeling loose and relaxed from his massage you gasped at the impact, leaning close to press your face into his chest harder as his free hand cupped the back of your thigh. He pinched and rubbed there till you hiked your leg up onto his hip in hopes he’d move his ministrations to where you really needed it.

He chuckled, palming you over your underwear and peppering soft kisses to your forehead as he brushed his fingers over your entrance only to pull them away when you canted your hips forwards.

Paul tutted, untangling himself from you and shifting so he was laying between your legs, smiling like the cat who caught the canary when he saw your red face and parted lips.

“Be patient, doll” having your own words flipped back at you made you scowl- glaring at the vamp when he only grinned in response.

He scooted backwards till his legs touched the soft carpet of your bedroom floor, reaching to grab the backs of your knees and yank you closer to him.

You watched as he used a single finger to drag your underwear down your legs before tossing it behind him and leaving you bare and open in front of him. You whimpered slightly, feeling the wetness there grow and your breath pick up.

Paul whistled from where he kneeled, taking a brief moment to admire the view. You attempted to squirm away only to feel a heavy hand rest on the low part of your abdomen, holding you still and flat to the mattress.

“Hold still, doll. I just like lookin’ at you.” he teased, using one finger to drag between your slits before popping the digit into his mouth. He never broke eye contact, gaze filled with mischief as he lapped your wetness from his fingers with a playful hum.

Forced to hold still, you watched with red cheeks and lidded eyes as he fingered you, humming to himself as he carefully stretched you with two fingers. Occasionally he’d glance up at you with an innocent smile while the wet sounds of his fingers and your shaky moans filled the room.

The blonde pulled back his fingers, licking at them absently as he watched your legs shake, staring at you with a hungry grin before he leaned in to give you an experimental lick.

His head popped up from between your legs at your desperate moan, giving you an impish smile before dipping back down. Paul was a 0 to 100 miles an hour type of guy and good lord that mouth was as good at eating you out as it was at talking your ear off.

Your thighs clenched around his head when you felt yourself getting close, his endless attention bringing you to the cliff’s edge as he curled his fingers up inside of you.

Your back arched, brows knitted together and moans pitched upwards and-

.........

........

....and?

With a jerk you opened your eyes, looking down at a still wet faced Paul, looking far too innocent. You growled, eyes narrowed as you slung your leg over his shoulder and attempted to bring him back towards you.

“What’s wrong, doll?” he said all too sweetly, big eyes round and doe-like as you continued to glare.

“I was almost there” you pointed out bitterly, lifting your hips up with a breathy hiss.

“Ooooooh” he said with a hum, giving you a coy smile as he extended his fingers out to press teasingly against you. The pressure was so good but he wouldn’t move his fucking hand.

When you attempted to jerk your hips, in desperate need for friction, the vamp yanked his hand away, beginning to sit up with a frustratingly cheerful hum.

He tutted, pursing his lips in mock disappointment as he scooted closer. The rough denim of his jeans brushed against you in just the right spot to send a shiver down your spine.

Paul leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your neck, jerking his hips roughly against your own and enjoying the choked little moans you let out from the pull of the fabric.

He was panting in your ear when you were close again, hands thrown around his shoulders as you scratched red lines down his back- pleading for him to keep going, please god keep going.

......

.............

....and he fucking stopped again.

After being brought to the edge twice with no release you growled, frustrated, and pulled at his hair in an attempt to get him to move again please.

Paul pulled back, looking disheveled and satisfied. He raised a brow and smiled when you snarled, crossing your arms and looking away from him.

“What? Come on babydoll- tell me what’s wrong” he purred, calloused fingers dragging down your stomach while he undid his fly with the other. You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to indulge him and he giggled, curling over to press a kiss to your cheek.

You made a point of not looking at him, instead opting to glare at the wall instead of the awful bastard between your legs.

Because you weren’t looking you had no time to prepare for Paul pushing himself all the way into you in one thrust, your shocked and almost pained moan making him pant as he stilled, letting your body relax against the intrusion. 

Never one to hold still for too long, Paul began to move; each thrust rough as he gripped your hips to pull you against him, vampire strength holding you tight enough to bruise while he pounded into you.

Past transgressions forgotten over the near all-consuming pleasure your hands scrambled to grab his, manicured nails digging into his wrists as you braced yourself against his rough fucking.

Your body, denied twice, felt tight as a coil. Your back arched hungrily up into the air as you felt that warmth in your center ready to burst before-

“gOD DAMNIT PAUL-” you snapped as he completely pulled out of you, looking down with red lips and a hungry stare. Lifting yourself up on your elbows and absolutely fed up with his shenanigans you reached your own hand down, deciding that you were just going to get yourself off if he wasn’t going to do it.

With supernatural speed your wrist was snagged and pinned above your head, flattening you against the mattress with a grinning Paul looming inches from your face.

“Sweetheart. I don’t think you want to do that.”

“And why not?” you challenged, unable to stop your voice from cracking when his tip brushed against you.

The vamp dipped down to press a passionate kiss to your mouth, ravaging your lips and tongue with those sharp teeth. When he pulled back you were flushed and desperate and your resolve was quickly waning.

His voice was soft and taunting in your ear as he whispered.

“Because you want to be good for me.” 

Without hesitation he lined himself up again, clearly close to his own end, and fucked you- hard. Each movement made your body ache with desperation, hungry and aroused and wanting.

Unable to stop your moans the room was filled with your sounds, Paul panting your name as he gripped your wrists tighter- lost in the pleasure of the moment. You felt yourself so so close.

You couldn’t lose this one- good god if you lost this one,

“Please- please, can I cum?” your voice sounded desperate and whiny even to your own ears but Paul moaned, thrilled that you wanted him this badly, that you were asking him permission. It wasn’t even something he’d considered but now?

He felt like he could never get tired of it.

You continued to plead, desperate and wound up to the point where it almost hurt.

“It’s okay, doll. Go ahead-” his own voice pitched up when you let out a long, drawn out moan.

Your entire body seemed to shake- white stars and black spots beginning to edge in on your vision as you felt your toes curl. Everything felt like it was too much in the best way possible- Paul had long since collapsed against your chest, teeth digging in to the soft skin of your shoulder as he continued his breakneck pace through your aftershocks before finishing with a long, throaty moan.

The two of you laid together, panting and slack as the world slowly came back around you. Paul leaned back as much as he could, worried about squishing you, and smiled.

“So, doll. Was I worth the wait?” he teased, cocking a brow.

You rolled your eyes, lifting a hand to pat his cheek and sitting up to press a soft kiss to his lips in response.

Smiling, he flopped back on top of you, nuzzling into your chest and content to spend the rest of the evening pressed against you.

Work be damned. You weren’t gonna finish those papers tonight. 

#Anonymous #the lost boys #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys movie #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #lost boys #lost boys imagines #lost boys movie #lost boys 1987 #lost boys (paul) #character imagines #character x reader #reader slash #lost boys x reader #paul x reader #horror movies #horror movie imagines

[sunlightdances]

Stay a Little Longer (Dean x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Rating/warnings: Warnings for bad descriptions of injuries and medical care, because I am not a doctor. No real warnings except for a swear word or two. Prompt: “Let me take a look…” Summary: You let yourself be vulnerable and Dean does too. Author’s Note: There’s literally no reason for this fic other than I wanted to write some protective Dean and found family dynamics. That’s it.

You curse quietly as you look in the mirror in the hotel room, lifting up the hem of your shirt to see a deep cut running down your side. You flinch away from your own touch and let your shirt drop, sighing.

Sam is sprawled across one of the beds in the room, asleep already. Dean’s got the TV on quietly, nursing a beer, eyes glazed over like he’s not really paying attention. You’re pretty sure he’s just waiting for you to turn the light out so he can go to bed.

You move to the bathroom, deciding to take care of it there. Digging around in your duffel bag, you sigh in relief when your hands close around the small square box, your medkit, your savior on this late Tuesday night.

You steel yourself for the pain of the first stitch after you disinfect, but the sting still takes you by surprise. You grit your teeth and hiss, and that’s what catches Dean’s attention in the other room, his eyes narrowing as he glances at the semi-closed bathroom door.

He stands, wincing at the pain in his lower back, before taking a few steps closer and knocking lightly with his knuckles on the door. “You okay?”

You look up, eyes watering, but smiling nonetheless. “Been worse.”

Dean’s eyes flash as he takes in the length of the wound running along your ribs, and he’s stepping into the bathroom before he can stop himself, pulling the door shut behind him. “Jesus,” he says, low, voice tight with worry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You want to shrug, but you don’t. You don’t say anything, actually.

You’re still new at this, at having people around. People who care if you’re hurt.

You were half dead when they found you a few weeks ago, ambushed by a vampire who was already half dead himself.

You didn’t want a hospital and didn’t have any other options, so you went willingly when they suggested you come back to the bunker with them. You only planned on staying for a few days, but you just…. Stayed. It’s nice, having a home base. It’s nice, having other people around when normally it would just be you and your thoughts. But again, you’re not used to it.

Just like you’re not used to having someone worry about you.

Dean’s taken the medical kit from your hands, and is bent over slightly inspecting your wound. “A lot of stitches ahead of you,” he comments quietly, seeing the first few stitches you’ve already done.

You hum in agreement, feeling a little off balance by how close he is. Either that or the blood loss.

“Let me take a look.”

He’s stepped away from you now, waiting for your approval. When you nod, the breath he releases sounds something like relief, and you’re wondering if anyone besides his brother gets to see this side of him.

You heard of the Winchesters long before you met them. There were so many rumors - hunts they did or didn’t do, catastrophes they either averted or started. You heard that Sam always had his nose in a book, and Dean was a lothario.

Again, you’ve only been with them for a few weeks. But it’s enough to know that everyone was wrong.

They’re both smart, probably the smartest people you’ve ever met, especially about hunting. They’re kind, and a little callous, and Sam has a dark side that no one talks about, but simmers there under the surface, especially in the heat of a fight when someone he cares about is in trouble.

And Dean? Dean is a flirt, to be sure. He’s confident and strong, but underneath that is someone vulnerable, who sees every hunt as a threat to his family, and family is the one thing he holds above everything else. He’d sacrifice everything if it meant his family is safe. You’re not naive enough to assume that includes you, but you know that he wouldn’t have let you into his home in the first place if he didn’t think he could trust you.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he continues the next few stitches - much straighter than yours had been, trying to reach the top of the gash with your non-dominant hand.

He’s focused, his hands steady as he pulls you back together.

It feels strangely intimate.

He must think so too, because he swallows hard when his free hand presses down on your ribs lightly, trying to keep you still as your sensitive skin jumps with every pull of thread.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, his breath fanning out across your exposed skin. You have to hold in your shiver.

It takes him almost a half hour in total to get you stitched up properly, and you could swear he takes extra time, his fingers lingering a little bit longer than they should have.

You’re exhausted, and can tell he is too - the shadows under his eyes more prominent than they usually are.

“I’ll let you get dressed unless you need help,” he says quietly, but you shake your head.

“I got it. Thank you, Dean.”

When you come out of the bathroom, Dean’s standing next to the bed, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes flick up to yours. “So…” he gestures in a “what are we going to do now” motion at Sam on the other bed, his long frame stretched diagonally. There’s definitely no room for Dean there.

“We’re grown ups, Dean. I think we can handle sharing a bed for one night.”

He smirks, “I wasn’t worried about me.”

You snort, “Oh, no? You’re so worried that I might jump you in the middle of the night?”

“I’ve been told I’m irresistible.” He says, serious, and you roll your eyes.

“I am too tired for this.”

He smiles, more gentle, the joke gone. “Come on then. Just don’t hog the blankets.”

.

.

.

You’re the first one to wake up.

As you struggle to keep your eyes open, you’re aware that you’re laying on your injured side, and you take a deep breath as you try to gently turn to your back, trying not to jostle Dean, who is still next to you, eyelashes fluttering a bit as he dreams.

You hiss through your teeth as your stitches pull, the feeling one you’ll never, ever get used to no matter how long you hunt.

Dean wakes up. He looks over at you with bleary eyes, and seems to jolt into awareness when he registers that you’re hurting.

He says your name quiet but stern, and you wave him off as you settle on your back.

“I’m fine,” you say, a little breathless.

“You’re not fine. Were you sleeping on that side this entire time?”

“I don’t know, I was asleep.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, let me look at that in the bathroom. Light’s better.”

His tone doesn’t leave you with a choice, so you take his offered hand when he makes his way around the bed to your side to help you up -- slowly -- and go with him into the brightly lit bathroom, shutting the door so you don’t wake up Sam.

Standing, the pain is worse. You lift your shirt and don’t need a medical degree to know the reddish tint to your stitches is not a great sign.

Dean’s eyes are fixed on the spot, but to his credit, he doesn’t get annoyed with you or freak out, he just shrugs.

“It could be worse?”

“Dean.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, it needs to be cleaned better, and honestly, Sam should re-do those stitches. You pulled a few, but they were probably too loose to begin with.”

“How did I sleep like that for that long?” You wonder aloud.

“Had to be facing me, sweetheart. Probably couldn’t help yourself.”

You glare at him, but can’t help but laugh. “I hate you so much.”

He grins. “I’m going to wake up Sam. He can assess the situation here better than me. We should get going, anyway.”

When Sam finally joins you in the small bathroom, Dean crowding in, he mother hens over you for a while until you stop complaining and just let him work. He mutters under his breath about sloppy stitches as Dean rolls his eyes, and you let this semi-domestic moment wash over you.

Sam reaches a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t help the way you flinch away from him, your hip knocking into Dean’s as he stands next to you.

“Shit,” you say before regaining your composure.

“I’m sorry--” Sam says, eyes still focused on the stitches.

“It’s okay,” you pant, “Not your fault.”

���Deep breath,” Dean murmurs from behind you, hand on the small of your back rubbing in small circles as Sam continues his work.

You bite your lip and try to focus on anything besides the pain in your side as Sam finishes up, and finally he’s straightening, pulling you into a half hug against your good side.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “but that should do it. Try to get a nap on the way back home.” He smiles at you before going back out into the main room to get dressed.

Dean lingers. “You gonna be alright?” He asks, voice a little gruff, eyes fixed on your side as you pull your shirt back on.

“I think I’ll live.” You wink at him. “Thanks, Dean. For taking care of me.”

You watch in mild fascination as it seems like he’s actually turning a little pink, before mumbling something about getting packed and makes himself scarce. You laugh to yourself and head out to do the same thing, following the brothers out to the Impala a half hour later, sliding across the backseat carefully as Sam helps you in.

“Comfy?” He asks, and you grin.

“In this car? Always.”

.

.

.

A few hours later you’re woken up by the feeling of being jostled, before you’re steady again, the quiet voices of Sam and Dean pulling you out of your sleepy state.

“You got her?”

“If you get her bag, I’ll get her to bed.”

You dimly register that Dean’s carrying you, and can’t help but make yourself more comfortable in his arms, face pressed against his neck as you search for some warmth.

He makes a noise under his breath, and your smile grows against your will.

“I know you’re awake,” he murmurs.

“No ‘m not.”

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The walk feels long, but it’s only a few minutes later that he’s putting you down gently, trying to avoid you pulling your stitches again as he pulls back your covers.

“Get some sleep,” he whispers, and you find yourself reaching for his hand before you’re aware of what you’re doing. “You okay?”

“Just--” You don’t let yourself be embarrassed. “Can you stay for a little bit?”

He’s quiet, but you feel relief when he lowers himself to the edge of the bed, unlacing and pulling off his boots.

Neither of you say anything else as he pulls the covers tight over you, leaving himself outside, but drapes an arm over your shoulders to pull you against his side. You sigh at the comfort that radiates from him, and smile against his shoulder when he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

He says something, but you’re too close to falling asleep to hear him. You snuggle in a little closer, gratified when he hugs you tighter, still being careful of your injury.

“Thank you, Dean,” you mumble sleepily.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He whispers back.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #prompt fic

[perspective-series]

Vampire Perspective (5/17)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Death threats, slight starvation, unwanted touching, fear, Virgil

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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The next evening, about an hour after sunset, Virgil finally rose from his coffin. He pushed the lid to the side, giving a wide yawn. 

 Logan’s tired gaze immediately went to the vampire’s coffin as it was opened, revealing said vampire. He had tried to take a nap during the time he was alone but he found it difficult. He, maybe, got an hour rest at the most, so he was thoroughly exhausted. 

 And also very hungry.

Virgil came over, a pleased sort of expression on his face. “Evening.” He teased, looking into the cage.

 Logan found himself scooting further back, trying to put as much distance between himself and the vampire as he could. He didn’t answer back, just looked down as he half-consciously clutched his stomach.

Virgil looked over the borrower. Something seemed… off. Was it getting sick? That would certainly be gross, almost like spoiled food. But it didn’t look particularly green. Still, Virgil sensed that this was more than just plain fear. It would be faster to just eat the borrower and be done with it, but now he found himself growing curious.

“What?” Virgil squinted. “What’s wrong with you?”

 Logan bit his lip. “I-I am quite...hungry.” He said, not meeting the vampire’s red gaze. “I know you do not plan on me surviving here long but something to fill me up will surely make your own...meal of me a bit larger.” He hated that line of reasoning but he had to assume it would be the only one the vampire would listen to. 

“...crap.” Virgil muttered to himself. He had forgotten mortals needed actual food. What did mortals eat these days, anyhow? Regardless, the borrower had a point. It would be more satisfying if the borrower was healthy (probably), and Virgil could always wait longer. He wasn’t feeling very famished tonight anyways.

“Alright, stay here.” Virgil gave a groan, puffing out into a bat and flying off into the forest. Humans were hunter/gatherers, and if borrowers still stole from humans they must eat the same things. Some meat would suffice, and likely any meat.

It was with this thought process that Virgil returned to his bedroom a few hours later, looking a bit bedraggled and holding his catch by its tail.

“Will this do?” Virgil asked, swinging the dead squirrel slightly back and forth.

 Logan looked at the dead rodent in shock and disgust, holding his arm up to his nose to block out the horrid stench coming from it. “Er, n-no, I-I don’t eat raw meat...or cooked squirrel for that matter. Either could get me sick.” Who knew what kind of diseases the animal had?

“Are you kidding me?” Virgil’s nose crinkled in annoyance. “You’re seriously that picky and delicate? Jeez, how do you even survive.”

 By not eating that. Logan thought, but didn’t say out loud. “We survive by living off the humans we live with. Taking scraps of food they leave out and things they wouldn’t miss to use as supplies.” Logan explained.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t human.” Virgil snarled. “What can you eat that’s outside?”

 Logan flinched back before quickly trying to compose himself. “I...suppose berries would suffice. As long as they aren’t poisonous, of course.” Thankfully, Logan had been taught to tell as he was sure the vampire had no idea of such things.

“How the hell am I supposed to tell if they’re poisonous?” Virgil muttered, more to himself as he stomped out the door.

The vampire returned shortly, a strange assortment of berries in his hand and no dead squirrels in sight.

“Here.” He said gruffly, opening the cage and dumping them in.

 Logan moved out of the way as the berries were dumped near him. He slowly moved closer, watching the vampire warily, before inspecting the different berries. He nodded. “Yes, most of these are safe to eat as far as I can tell.” He would avoid the few he wasn’t sure about or knew to be fairly poisonous. He picked one up and took a bite, almost moaning at finally having some food in him. He then paused. “...Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Virgil found himself watching the borrower, curious about his eating habits. He seemed to get weirdly into some of the berries, which was a bold statement for a guy who lived off blood.

 Logan continued to eat, until he noticed the vampire staring at him. He paused and coughed awkwardly. “May I...help you?”

“You’re weird.” Virgil said bluntly.

 Logan blinked, setting the berry down. “I’m...sorry?” The vampire was calling him weird?

“Borrowers are so strange.” Virgil frowned, now going off on a bit of a tangent. “If you all are so little and fragile, I don’t understand how you’ve survived this long.”

 Logan sighed. “I understand why it may be hard for you to understand but it really is quite simple.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “We hardly ever venture out outside, at least, for the most part. We stay indoors and live off whatever humans live in the building. We stick to the inside of walls and make our homes there, hidden and away from anyone who might want to do us harm.”

 Logan looked away, examining another berry. “Yes, it is very dangerous. But it’s life. I, and other borrowers, have been living this way for many, many years.”

“Believe me, I know, I was there.” Virgil gave an amused smirk.

 Logan met Virgil’s eyes after a moment. “...Oh? How old are you, exactly?” He had heard vampires lived a long time but never knew what that meant.

“Older than you’ll ever be.” Virgil said cryptically. 

 “I...well, yes, I would assume so, I have heard vampires could live to be hundreds of years old. But that doesn’t quite answer my question.” Logan said, raising an eyebrow.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t you know it’s rude to ask a vamp his age?” Virgil teased. “But go on, guess. How old do I look? Just remember I don’t take well to insults.” Virgil gave a playful snap of his teeth.

 Logan flinched back and gulped, adjusting his glasses. “Well...you look like you are only 22, maybe 24 at the most. But I know that is not the case based on how you are acting.” Logan hummed, looking the vampire over. “I’ll guess...200 years? Give or take a few years, of course.”

Virgil stared at the borrower for a long time, taking pleasure in the way he squirmed uncomfortably.

“You flatter me.” Virgil finally said, giving him a pleased- well, not exactly a smile, but not the usual condescending smirk either. “I’m older, actually. 764 years come December.”

 Logan’s eyes widened. “That...is certainly a long time to be alive.” He would be but a small blip in the vampire’s timeline. A thought that really put his own existence into thought.

“Yeah.” Virgil shrugged. The whole immortality thing lost its appeal somewhere in the century or two he spent alone. “How old are you, anyhow?”

 “I am 24.” Logan answered.

“Weird.” Virgil tried to think back to when he was 24- he thought it had something to do with the plague.

 Logan thought that was a better way to summarize the vampire, not himself. He ate another bite of a berry in careful thought. “I know...it does not really matter. But it’s getting tiresome referring to you as ‘the vampire’. What is your name?”

Virgil blinked, surprised the borrower was even curious. “Why do you care? I thought you were supposed to be quaking in your boots and cowering in my shadow.”

 “Oh, I am very much terrified of my fate.” Logan admitted, shifting his stance. “But at this point, it’s not worth it  to dwell in my own fear. I...still have a little time. I don’t want to spend it unable to do anything.” Not to mention, focusing on fear would stop him from finding a way to escape; but he wasn’t about to let the vampire know that.

...huh. “Virgil.” Virgil introduced himself, tilting his head. This borrower was certainly...strange. 

 “Logan.” He introduced back, despite not being asked. “I would say it was pleasant to meet you but...I believe that kind of courtesy does not apply here.”

Virgil snorted, that dark gleam in his eye again. “You only say that because I’m only keeping you around until I can suck you dry.”

 Logan felt a chill go down his spine and he shivered. “Well...yes. That’s why I implied it was not nice to meet you. I’d rather we had never met, in fact.”

“Lucky for me you didn’t get a say then.” Virgil glanced out the window, frowning at how it had begun to lighten. “Ugh, it’s nearly morning already? Great, I spent the whole night scouring the stupid forest for plants.”

 “Already?” Had the night passed so quickly already?

“Yeah, that’s how time works.” Virgil grumbled, getting back into his coffin. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “Where would I go?” He asked, looking around at the cage that had him effectively trapped.

“Oh yeah.” Virgil seemed to find this amusing, a smirk on his face before he was once again encased.

 Logan sighed and prepared for another long day alone with his thoughts. He wondered if tonight was the night he would be eaten…

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

 Logan glanced out the window where the sun was just starting to set. He let out a tense sigh, curling in on himself as he stared down at the metal floor. He knew there was no use dwelling on the past...but he couldn’t help it. His mind kept wandering to Roman and what Virgil had told him before.

Roman was...gone. Was it his fault? Logically he knew there was nothing he could have done but some deep rooted part of him was blaming himself for all of this happening. If he had just been paying more attention or-or something then maybe he wouldn’t be here, awaiting his own death.

 Maybe Roman would still be alive.

 Logan didn’t want to give up but he was finding it difficult to figure out a way out. He had already scoped out the cage he was in several times and so far, nothing had presented itself as a way to escape. He truly was trapped and at Virgil’s mercy.

 Well...at least he would be seeing Roman again soon.

There was a shuffling from the coffin a few minutes later, the vampire appearing once the window had gone dark.

Virgil gave a groan, stretching his arms above his head. The familiar scent of borrower wafted around his room, making Logan into almost an aromatherapy candle.

Virgil felt himself growing hungrier, but still the thought of just eating the borrower felt… anticlimactic. Yes, surely that was the reason for the tightening in his throat. It would be too easy.

“Evening.” Virgil greeted, crossing his arms in an intimidating fashion and creeping over to the cage.

 Logan felt his heart rate spike up in fear. He forced his facial features to remain neutral, though. He nodded. “Evening.” His hands tightened it’s hold on the fabric of his jeans, waiting for the news that this was it. His last few moments.

“You’re fairly polite for a snack.” Virgil teased, reaching out to unlock the enclosure with agonizing slowness.

 Logan’s eyes widened, forgoing the neutral expression and he jumped to his feet. “L-Like I said, I see n-no point in letting my...my fear consume me.” Although he would admit, he was having a hard time getting a handle on it right now. 

“Fear consume you, huh?” Virgil grinned, showing off his fangs as he snatched up the borrower. “Unfortunate choice of words.”

 Logan yelped, shaking in the vampire’s tight grip. “I-I, that was com-completely unintentional.” He stuttered. He stared into Virgil’s mouth and at his fangs for only a moment before he had to turn his head away.

Virgil gave an appreciative hum. “You know for someone who’s claiming to be unafraid, you’re shaking quite a bit.”

 “Well it’s...it’s a little hard when I know-when I know what’s about to h-happen.” Logan winced. He truly wished he could stop but his body wasn’t listening.

“Oh, really?” Virgil tilted his head, pretending to be confused. “And what exactly is going to happen? Tell me.”

 Logan shut his eyes tight at the demand. “You...You are going to e-eat me.” He said quietly, a few tears escaping his closed eyes.

Virgil paused, watching the borrower break down in his hand. He had hoped this would help rouse some of his predatorial instincts, but now he just felt that terrible nausea again, throwing him briefly back to horrible memories. Curse this stupid sympathetic spirit of his, it only landed him in trouble. 

“...nah.” Virgil shrugged, giving a laid back appearance.

 Logan blinked, a few more tears falling. He looked up at Virgil. “Wh-What?” He felt hope rise up in his chest but he pushed it down, knowing it couldn’t be that simple.

“Not tonight, that’s too easy.” Virgil decided. Maybe tomorrow he’d be hungry enough to go through with it.

 “I see…” Not what he was hoping but it seemed like he at least had another night to live. Part of him was thankful though the other part was simply wishing to be done with it already. “So...why am I out then?” He asked, squirming some more in the grip.

“I got bored, and it’s fun to see you struggle.” Virgil’s expression darkened maniacally, with a flick of his wrist sending the borrower into the air.

 “Ah!” Logan screamed as he was suddenly airborne. He landed with a soft thud and a groan back onto Virgil’s palm. His shaking had increased. “P-Please, don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Virgil tossed again, catching with his non-dominant hand this time. “Need I remind you of my cat-like reflexes?”

 Logan screamed again, shakily sitting up as he landed again. “A-All the same, one wrong move and I could…” He gulped, catching how far up he was from the ground.

“Fall to an early untimely death?” Virgil supplied, twisting his wrist and dangling Logan upside-down by his fingers.

 “Y-Yes!” Logan answered as he felt a rush of blood go to his head. Already he was becoming dizzy. “Put me down!” He struggled for a second before realizing how bad of an idea that was and stilled.

“Oh come now, I don’t think you’d really die from this height.” Virgil slowly began to swing the borrower back and forth. “But if you’re a betting man… hey, it’s your funeral. I’m happy to indulge you to prove it. The roof, however, that would be fatal for your brittle baby bones.”

 “No! I am certainly not, please, I thought you wanted me alive when you ate me!” Logan exclaimed, once again using logic the vampire would take to.

“Eh, blood is blood, even if freshly killed.” Virgil wondered if maybe that would make it easier to stomach. Maybe he should just off the borrower and be done with it. Once the borrower was dead there’d be no use in wasting it.

 Logan’s eyes widened but...he knew there was nothing he could do. If Virgil wanted to kill him now then...then he would be killed. At least he wouldn’t have to be eaten alive anymore. He slumped, ceasing his struggles. “Well...I cannot stop you.” He shut his eyes tight, preparing for a fall and hoping his death was quick and painless.

#vampire perspective #vampire!virgil #borrower!logan #perspective series #part 5 #look it's getting good #and by good we mean depressing

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Carry On Countdown Day 11: Angst 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664300

Above is the lovely artwork created by the talented @fight-surrender for my Carry On Countdown fic for today! It was originally going to be for the magical creatures prompt (before it morphed into a Carry On prequel with a dash of parental figures before taking a deep dive into angst)! 

Summary: Young Baz deals with his concerns and anxieties about his eventual transition to full vampire state. There is support for him, from unexpected sources, but it doesn't make the realizations and realities all that much easier to face. But sometimes it's good to know you aren't completely alone. (Warnings for mentions of blood, feeding, and the family dog from Wayward Son) Title from the David Bowie song. 

Scary Monsters

Four Years Ago

Baz

I don’t like the lodge much. We aren’t here often so it doesn’t feel like home.

My room is smaller here. It doesn’t have gargoyles so I suppose that’s something, but I miss my books. I miss the library. The one here isn’t as grand. The books are older, dustier, darker. Ones Father would rather not have on display.

They don’t hold much appeal for a ten-year-old, even though I read far above my age level.

But Father is intent on letting Daphne become familiar with each of our estates this summer so we’ve been traveling from one to the other since June. They started in the south of France. Daphne offered to have me go with them, but Fiona wouldn’t hear of it.

“For Crowley’s sake, who takes a child along on their honeymoon?” Fiona had snorted. “You’d think Malcolm would come up with something a little more exciting than Bordeaux for you, Daphne, but then again it is Malcolm so I suppose you’re lucky he isn’t taking you to the estate in Galloway.”

She’d ignored Father’s indignant huff. “You’ll have all the time in the world with Baz. This is just two weeks, for Christ’s sake.” Fiona swears like a Normal when she’s worked up. “Take a few days alone with Malcolm. See if you can get that stick-in-the-mud to lighten up a little.” Daphne had made some protestation but Fiona had cut her off.  “Baz will be fine with me.”

That’s how I managed to spend two weeks in London at Fiona’s new flat.

It was brilliant. We hit all the typical tourist stops--The Tower, The London Eye, Westminster, the markets at Covent Garden, but she also took me to the cinema to see Ratatouille and The Globe to see A Comedy of Errors.

It was the best part of my summer.

We ended up going to Galloway after all, once Father and Daphne returned from France. It was cold and rainy the entire time. And now we’re near Oxford, at the lodge. We’ve got one more week here and then I finally get to go home.

To my room. Gargoyles and all. Back to my books, my violin. Back to tennis lessons at the Club. Back home. Where everything is familiar.

Except for Daphne. She’ll be new there.

But I like Daphne. Truly, I do. She’s kind and she doesn’t push. I think she’ll be good for Father. I think she already has been. It’s nice to see him smile more.

But that leaves me frightfully bored at the moment.  Vera went to the market and Father and Daphne have been sorting books for hours.

Fiona’s in London.

There aren’t any neighbours for miles.

I finished reading all the books I brought with me and I don’t fancy looking for more in the library. Father will probably set me to work alphabetizing the ones he’s sorted.

I’d rather not.

I mope around my room for a bit longer and then trudge downstairs to find something to eat. Vera made a trifle yesterday and I’m sure there’s some still in the refrigerator. Daphne finds me poking about in the kitchen and serves me up a healthy portion of trifle without me even having to ask.

“What are you up to today, Basil? Another book? Or a tramp out in the garden?”

“I finished the books I brought with me.”

“Ah. That’s a bit troublesome.” She shakes her head and gives me a smile. “Not much for you in the library here, that’s for certain.” She tilts her head. “Unless you’d care to tackle The Iliad in the original Greek? There are one or two copies at least, if you’d like one. Malcolm says you’ve got a good grasp of it already.”

I do. But probably not enough to puzzle out Homer. Not yet. As much as I love languages I don’t feel like plodding through Greek today. I don’t feel like doing much of anything. I’m restless but blank on inspiration.

I wish I’d thought to bring my violin.

I shake my head and scoop up the last bit of trifle.

“Maybe take a turn in the garden?” Daphne suggests. “It’s a nice enough day, not too bright or hot.”

She knows, of course. It’s something Father told her when things had become serious between them. Before he had asked her to marry him.

I think her response to his revelation made his decision.

She’s never said anything to me about it. Father told me he had spoken to her, assured me she is most concerned about how she can help, when the time comes.

When the time comes.

I don’t think any of us know when that’s going to be. Father rarely speaks of it. Fiona never mentions it. I’ve no idea what to expect, other than what I’ve read in the library at home. Books I’ve pulled down from the high shelves, the dark corners of the library. Books full of hearsay and folk tales, lurid second hand accounts and likely more fiction than fact.

None of which helps.

I’ll be heading to Watford once I turn eleven.  A place where no one will know about me and where I won’t have anyone to walk me through whatever might happen.

I can hope that it occurs when I’m home but there’s no guarantee.

I take Daphne’s suggestion and go out to the garden but there’s nothing to do there either. I walk by the roses. I go to the back where the herb garden is. The scents all mingle here--mint, basil, coriander, sage. I can smell them all, even if I don’t pick the leaves and crush them between my fingers.

I wonder about that. I wonder if it means something. If the transition is coming. It’s in the books. The books about vampires. It’s one of the few things that seems to be consistently reported--the heightened senses.

Vision, hearing, smell.

It’s mentioned in most of the accounts--along with the blood lust, the pale skin, the ferocious strength (the bit about garlic is rot) (pesto is full of garlic and I’ve never had a problem).

I can’t say I’ve experienced anything like blood lust. Not that I’d know what that is, really. I like a good steak, preferably rare, but I’m not raiding the refrigerator for raw cuts of meat or developing a craving for blood pudding (I hate it actually).

I am pale. It seems like my skin fades a bit more each year.

In the photos with Mother I look . . . well, I look like her, I suppose.

I don’t anymore.

I’m not particularly stronger than other children my age, not that I can tell. I have a solid serve but I’ve been getting tennis lessons since I was six. I should hope I’m decent at it by now. It would be embarrassing for the Club instructor if I wasn’t. I beat Dev almost every time we play but it’s more that I pay attention than due to the quality of my game.

I’m better at football. I’ve got a vicious kick--not my words--it’s what my coach said to Father at the end of last season. It’s powerful and I’m fairly accurate but it’s not as if I can hurt someone with the way I drill a ball.

I’d never want to do that. I wouldn’t be able to play anymore. I love football. I’d miss it far too much. I don’t want to think about it. That this stupid condition will keep changing me and make me lose something else I love.

I’ve already lost the most important person in my life because of it.

How much more will get taken away?

I kick a rock off the path in frustration and wish I could kick something else.

I don’t want to be thinking about this but I can’t help it. There are so many questions but no one wants to talk about it. I think Father would rather pretend it never happened.

We talk about Mother but never about that.  Never about me. Even Fiona avoids the subject.

I can’t remember much about that day. But what I do remember plays over and over in my head. It keeps me up at night, sometimes. The images flashing before my eyes.

I dream of it. I see Mother with the blue flames in her hands, the set of her jaw, the despair in her eyes when she saw the vampire snatch me up and sink his teeth in me.

The flames that followed.

The nightmares come. Sometimes weeks apart, other times two or three times in a week.

Father usually sits with me after. He strokes my hair and talks about everything but the reason for the nightmares. I know he’s trying. I don’t think he knows what else to do.

Fiona used to come, when she still lived with us. She was always up late and she’d hear me crying out in my sleep. She’d pop her head in and if Father wasn’t there yet she’d sit on the bed with me and tell me stories of her time at Watford. The pranks she and her friends would dream up and how Mother was at her wits end half the time trying to keep them all in line.

And then she’d sing. Not the traditional lullabies, not Fiona. That’s not her style. Her style is mainly 80’s alt rock but that isn't what she would sing to me.

She says my mother always loved the Beatles. So that’s what Fiona would sing.

She still does. She did when I stayed with her a few weeks ago, when the dreams came. There’s something particularly soothing about “I’m Only Sleeping.” I start humming it as I walk further down the path.

I wander around the side of the lodge, to the shed that’s there. It’s probably locked. When I jiggle the handle I don’t expect it to do anything, but to my surprise the door opens. I peer inside and I can see the garden equipment in the dim light.

But I can also see a football, dusty and dirt stained, tucked between the rakes and shovels. It must be one I left behind last time we were here. I dig it out and wipe it off.

Kicking a ball is better than thinking.

I could do with some practice. I dribble it down the lawn then back and forth between the shrubs. There’s a short break in the hedge and I shoot the ball there, well chuffed when I get it between the greenery. It’s a much smaller space than the goal we use for games.

I fetch the ball and dribble it again, shooting towards the hedge over and over, making more of the shots than not. This is good. I can feel the sweat running down my back but I don’t care. This is the most fun I’ve had since we’ve come to Oxford.

My next kick sends the ball over the hedge and into the woods. I chase after it as it rolls between the trees. It’s when I bend to pick it up that I catch a flash of red in the underbrush. I take a step closer but there’s nothing there.

I see it again a few moments later, when my ball has tumbled under the trees once more. Just a glimpse of red, glittering in the weak sunlight.

I wonder if it’s a snake. Do they have snakes in Oxford?

I don’t really want to find out.

But I am curious. I pick up a stick and gingerly poke at the leaves. Nothing comes out but I see a glimmer as I move the stick around. I push the leaves away and that’s when I see the broken pieces of shell scattered in the underbrush. The fragments are a shimmery rose color.

I’ve never seen anything like this. It must be a bird but what kind? I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help but pick up one of the pieces.

It has a thicker shell than the eggs Vera uses for cooking. Heavier. Warm. It glitters in my hand.

I put it in my pocket.

I wonder if there are any books about birds in the library.

Four years later

Baz

It’s been a few years since we’ve summered at the lodge. The arrival of my little sister kept us in Hampshire initially and the logistics of traveling with her kept us there last year as well.

Mordelia can be a bit of a handful under normal circumstances, but she’s not the best with travel. Her terrible twos have continued unabated into age three.

But Daphne wanted to get away for a bit this summer, so here we are.

She isn’t so fond of the Galloway estate, and now that she’s expecting again Father indulges her every whim. And this is where Daphne wanted to be, for a change of scenery she said. I can’t see that Oxford is all that different from home but I wasn’t about to argue the point with her when she’s expecting twins. She should get to do as she likes, I’m thinking.

It’s fine. I don’t mind so much. I far prefer being in Hampshire but I suppose I can tolerate a few more weeks here.

The library has an eclectic collection, that’s for certain. I’m surprised the Mage hasn’t made one of his surprise visits. Perhaps he doesn’t know about it. That may very well be why Father keeps some of the books here.

Not that I’ve found any books that are particularly helpful. For my condition, that is. We’ve been here for a week and I’ve looked through the ones that looked promising. Not much more detail than the ones back home.

I’ve learned about how to destroy someone like me.

But not about how to exist as someone like me.

It seems I am on my own as far as figuring things out.

Father and Daphne didn’t even say anything about . . . well, I don’t want to think about that. It’s beyond shame.

It’s revulsion.

The nights have been terrible since then. The dreams more vivid. The nightmares more frequent.

The thirst started a little over a month ago and I didn’t realize what it was at first. I was exhausted, worn out but hungry, so very hungry. Nothing satisfied me. Nothing filled the gnawing void in me.

I ate constantly. Vera laughed as she made me sandwiches and served heaping portions on my plate. “You’re a growing boy, Basilton. Teenage boys will eat you out of house and home. I’ll have to adjust the list for market days.”

I’d tried to laugh too but the thundering beat of her heart was drowning out almost everything by then.

That was new too. Hearing the heartbeats of those around me, sensing the quickening of a pulse, the steady thump of blood coursing through arteries. I tried to drown it out--with music, with my violin, with running. Repeating Latin declensions in my head.

None of that has worked very well.

I tried to satisfy the thirst. First with blood pudding (I still don’t like it). Then I made sure to ask Vera to keep the roast beef rare for me.

It wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop hearing the thrum of pulsing blood all around me.

And then . . . then . . . I lost control the day Father and Daphne went to London for her appointment.

I hadn’t meant to do it. I’d spent the entire morning desperately chasing rabbits and squirrels to no avail. I hadn’t managed to do more than scrape my leg up and get grass stains on my jeans.

Vera was away and no matter how much food she’d left for me, it didn’t make a difference.

I felt so empty.

Painfully empty. A desperate abyss of hunger.

Until after. When the blood was sloshing in my belly and for the first time in weeks I felt the thirst subside. And the shame and regret took over.

No one mentioned it. Not Father, not Daphne. Not Vera, although I think Father cast something to make her forget.

Not me.

The only one who said anything was Mordelia. And it broke my heart every time she asked.

Father must have spoken to her finally, told her he’d run off, made some excuse. I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to ask. But she stopped, finally stopped asking.

My craving didn’t stop. If anything it got worse, once I’d tasted blood. I couldn’t risk getting that desperate again. I had to find a way to deal with it.

I’ve figured out how to catch the squirrels. The rabbits still give me fits. But I’m faster now. I’m stealthier. I caught one here two days ago and didn’t even stain my shirtfront that time, just my sleeves. That’s progress, I suppose.

It disgusts me, if I’m going to be honest. Every part of it. The hunt, the chase, the feel of the fur between my hands as I snap the neck (I can’t drink when it’s alive) (I can never do that again). The way my fangs drop and then latch on. Even the first taste turns my stomach. But then . . . then the warmth of it fills me, the hunger recedes and I almost feel like myself again.

Until I have to dispose of the drained corpse.

That’s when the horror comes once more. At what I’ve done. At what I am. That this is my life, from now on. I scrub my hands and brush my teeth over and over, but it doesn’t wipe away the memory.

All I can do is promise myself that I will be as humane as possible when I do it (as if that isn’t a colossal joke) (there’s nothing humane about any of this).

But I can try. I can remember to respect the life I take. To be as quick and painless as possible. To never take more than enough to get by. To be judicious as to what and where and how.

I need to stop thinking.

I need to stop thinking about this.

I’ve read all the novels I’ve brought with me from Hampshire and I’m done searching for any answers about myself in the arcane books here. I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve found nothing useful and all it’s managed to do is make me even more frustrated and depressed.

I scan the library shelves for lighter reading. Something to distract me, if that’s even possible.

I run across a leather-bound edition of The Iliad and settle into one of the armchairs to read. I know the Minotaur doesn’t have us translate Homer from the original verse until seventh year, but I’m fluent enough in Greek already and I enjoy a challenge.

It’s hours later when Daphne finds me and I’ll not deny the fact that I was asleep with the book resting on my chest.

She sweeps the hair back from my forehead and smiles down at me. “Achilles not providing enough excitement for you?”

I close the book and sit up. “No, it’s just a bit more challenging in the original Greek, I suppose.”

Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder and her eyes soften. “Are you getting enough sleep, Basil?”

I nod. I’m not but I don’t need to burden Daphne with that. She’s got enough going on, with Mordelia and this pregnancy. She’s pale, almost as pale as I am, and even though she’s not that far along she’s still thinner than she should be, I think.

Her heartbeat’s steady though, as are the faint tandem beats that echo from her belly. I’d have said something to Father if they hadn’t been, even if it meant admitting how I knew. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to Daphne. She means too much to me, to Father, to this family.

I’ve not answered her question and her gaze has gone from questioning to concerned. I pat her hand. “Well, enough. You know it always takes me a bit to adjust to a new place."

Which is bollocks but better than admitting the truth about the nightmares.

She grips my shoulder tightly. “You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

“I’d tell you,” I lie.

“Alright, then.” She drops her hand and her lips curve into a smile. “Are you hungry? Shall we see if there’s any pudding left from dinner last night?”

“I wouldn't say no to that.” I smile back up at her. “You’re sure Mordy didn’t finish it off already?”

“Mordelia’s taking a nap so this may be our chance.”

Daphne has as much of a sweet tooth as I do. There’s a bit of berry crumble left and the two of us polish it off bite by bite.

“You’ll spoil your dinner, you will,” Vera grumbles, as she takes the empty baking dish from us and shakes her head.

Daphne laughs. “I don’t think anything will spoil Baz’s appetite for one of your roasts, Vera, and I’m eating for three at this point so poor Malcolm will be lucky if we leave him a morsel."

She’s right. The four of us polish off Vera’s generous portions at dinner that evening, even Mordelia who is usually frightfully picky about what she eats.

It’s still not enough. It’s been two days since the rabbit and I can feel the thirst gnawing at me again.

I excuse myself after dinner, on the pretense of doing some drills at the back of the garden. I do, dragging out the football and aiming some kicks at the space between the hedges. But it’s all just cover for the hunting I need to quell this thirst.

I chase the ball into the trees and let my eyes and ears take in the sounds around me. A squirrel should do, although a rabbit would be better.

I’m not sure I can handle anything larger. Not yet, which is as depressing a thought as it sounds. I need to get better at this but the reality of how I need to go about that is dispiriting to say the least.

I can hear the squirrels chittering and birds chirping. I stalk one of the squirrels but it shoots up into the branches and I’m not about to go climbing after it. I have my limits.

I go in a bit deeper and crouch down by one of the larger trees. There’s still a bit of light left although it’s dimmer here under the trees. I watch and wait, seeing the squirrels rush from tree limb to trunk, then down to the ground and up far too quickly for me to pursue.

It’s probably easier to catch one on the lawn, like I did the other day, but I don’t want to chance someone seeing me from the house. Crowley knows if anyone did, but I’d rather not give them a repeat performance.

I scan the trees, the underbrush, the shadowy spaces between the trees, and that’s when I see a flash of red deeper in the forest, between the trunks of the birch trees up ahead.

Is it a fox?

I creep a little deeper into the woods. A fox would likely provide more sustenance than a squirrel or even a rabbit but they are a protected species and the thought of draining one disturbs me, in more than just the general sense of how all of this is disturbing.

I’ve never liked the idea of fox hunts. Contributing to the demise of a protected species doesn’t sit well with me.

None of this bloody sits well with me. I’ve got no choice as far as the feeding goes--I have no idea what might happen if I try to stave it off. I’m actually a bit scared to find out, especially in a house full of people.

I don’t think resisting is an option. I can swear off ever taking human blood but I don’t think I’ll be able to withhold myself from all blood, not anymore. I was half crazed with need that first day and look what happened. I’ll have to live with the regret and guilt of that.  

I see the flash of red between the trees again. I don’t think it’s a fox. It's too bright, catching the light in a way I wouldn’t expect from a fox.

Odd.

But familiar in a way I can’t quite explain.

The light is starting to fade, as the sun dips down in the sky. The squirrels are keeping their distance, staying up in the trees rather than scampering across the spaces between.

This won’t do. I need to find something. Anything.

I move further in, slowly and silently. Well, as silently as I can. I’m not particularly skilled at it yet, although I’ve gotten better over the past few weeks.

I’ll need to get better still.

I see movement to my left and I freeze, holding my breath. It’s a rabbit, sizeable and plump. Exactly what I need.

It’s out of reach but thank Crowley it takes two hops in my direction, bringing it almost close enough. I hold perfectly still, barely breathing, willing the rabbit to take one more hop, maybe two to bring it within my reach.

It does just that.

I burst from my hiding spot, arms outstretched, my fingers brushing at and then clenching in the rabbit’s fur, at the same time as a red streak lets loose from across the clearing, colliding with me and almost knocking the rabbit from my grasp.

There’s a confused moment where I feel the rabbit being pulled from my hands. A growl rips from my throat and I tighten my grip but almost drop my prey when I see what’s fighting me for it.

It looks like some sort of oversized lizard or iguana but that can’t be right. They’re not native to England.

That’s when I see the wings.

Fucking hell.

It's a dragon.

It can’t be. Dragons are known to be reclusive and extremely wary of humans.

Apparently not this one. This one is involved in a full out tug of war with me for this rabbit.

It can’t be a dragon.

It’s too small, for one thing. It’s no bigger than a spaniel. And it’s certainly not reclusive or wary. It hisses at me and that’s when I remember about dragons and fire. I drop the rabbit as if it were a hot coal and scuttle away, breathing rapidly.

What the bloody hell.

I’m staring at it, at the iridescent glitter of its scales and I can’t help but be reminded of something. Something in this very wood, years ago.

A shard of eggshell, thick and warm, rose-colored and glittering.

Could this be a baby dragon? I know it’s been years since I found the shell, so it’s not quite a baby dragon anymore but it’s still a youngster.

Dragons are immortal (unless they have the misfortune to run into my insufferable and indiscriminate roommate Simon Snow and end up hacked to bits) but they grow very slowly after they hatch. This one must be just a few years old.

The dragon glares at me and hisses again, talons digging into the rabbit’s fur (it must be a dragon, what else could it be) (It can’t be an iguana) (iguanas don’t have wings or talons). It nearly gets knocked over as the rabbit struggles mightily. The damn rabbit is near as big as the dragon but the daft thing isn’t intimidated by the size of its prey. I can see drops of blood in the rabbit’s fur now and my fangs drop at the scent of it.

The dragon bites at the rabbit’s throat and the rabbit goes limp, more blood welling at its neck.  

I see its wings flutter but the dragon doesn’t appear to be able to fly with the weight of the rabbit. I’m pressed against the tree, not daring to get closer. Do baby dragons breath fire or is that something only the adults can do? Surely we’ve studied this but I can’t for the life of me remember right now.

It’s crucial information.

The dragon struggles with its wings for a moment more and then stops and decides to drag the rabbit carcass into a shadowy recess across the clearing, keeping its golden eyes on me as it retreats.

Its scales glow and even in the failing light of the setting sun I can see the shimmer of them, glittering gold and scarlet and a deep blood red. It’s beautiful.

The books don’t do dragons justice.

I can’t take my eyes off of it. I stare until it disappears in the twilight shadows and then let my breath out shakily.

It takes me almost twenty minutes to finally corner a squirrel and drain it dry. It’ll have to do for tonight. It’s near dark now and my excuse of kicking a football around is wearing thin.

I’m out again the next day and the one after that but I don’t see the dragon again until two days later, in the late afternoon.

It’s not as bright, the clouds covering the sun, so I miss seeing the glint of the scales until it lunges at the rabbit I’ve been stalking.

Not so fast, you bastard. I’ve spent the last two days in the library, doing my research on dragons. I know this one is young, likely less than five years old based on its size and that it’s not able to breathe fire at this stage. Soon enough but not quite yet. That’s why it hissed at me, rather than send a gout of flames in my direction. Lucky for me.

I get a grip on the rabbit and I’m not about to let go. Unfortunately it seems the dragon feels much the same way. We struggle in the dirt for a moment or two but then the damn thing rakes a claw across the back of my hand and I drop my hold on the rabbit’s hindquarters with a curse.

“You fucking arsehole,” I say, as the dragon hisses and glares whilst dragging this rabbit back to it’s nest among the trees. That’s twice now.

I need a better strategy.

The idea comes to me later that night. Maybe if the dragon gets food some other way it won’t fight me for it. I’ve got at least another ten days here at the lodge. I don’t intend to be wrestling in the dirt with a cantankerous midget dragon for the duration.

I don’t dare nick food from the kitchen. Vera runs a tight ship and she knows when even one biscuit goes missing.

I’ll have to find another way.

Another way unfortunately involves me and a bicycle and some rambling excuse that revolves around “better cardio” and “cross-training for football season.” It’s all rot, of course, but no one questions me so I pedal my way to the butcher shop to buy some cuts of fresh beef.

Then it’s just a matter of drawing the dragon out.

It works better than expected. The smell of the fresh meat draws it out. I get a suspicious glare in my direction but I sit quietly under a tree, pretending to be engrossed in the book I’m reading, as the dragon eyes the morsel I’ve left it and then sniffs it daintily.

It’s really quite lovely.The wings are webbed and delicate, almost see-through when stretched out, sharp spikes at the joints. The scales sparkle in the light, a mesmerizing range of red hues.  I can see the sharp teeth, the curved talons, the spade like tail lashing back and forth.

It seems the first phase of my plan is working. The dragon seizes my offering in its jaws and drags it away to devour in privacy.

I’m off to the butcher shop the next day. And the next.

I manage to nab a rabbit while the dragon is distracted on the second day, so I’m counting that as a success, even if I’m finding my wallet considerably lighter as a result of the frequent trips to the butcher.

It’s on the third day that things change.

The dragon doesn’t even bother to give me its usual glare this time, advancing confidently to the cut of meat I’ve left in the usual spot. As it sniffs the food I move a bit closer, daring to do what I’ve been longing to for the past few days. I sidle up to it, as stealthily as possible, each movement slow and deliberate so as not to spook it.

I’m a handbreadth away when it turns its eyes to me. But it’s not the baleful stare I’m expecting. It cocks its head to the side as it regards me, looking almost curious. I hold very still.

The dragon takes a step towards me. I’m ready for this. I’ve got a bite of meat wrapped in a bit of butcher’s paper in my hand, kept aside for just this moment.

I lift my hand ever so slowly, letting the dragon watch my every move. It sniffs the air, no doubt catching the scent. I gingerly unwrap the paper, until the morsel is sitting exposed on the palm of my hand.

The dragon eyes the piece in my hand and then looks to the slab of meat I’ve left on the forest floor. It looks back and forth. I’m counting on it being greedy enough to want them both.  

It seems I’ve got it right. The dragon edges closer to me and leans over my palm to sniff the bite. I’m holding my breath, every muscle tense. There’s a chance it could bite me but I’m willing to risk it.

I don’t think it will. I think we’re past that now somehow.

The dragon darts forward, snatching the piece of meat from my hand and downing it in one gulp. I almost laugh but I don’t want to scare it off, not now, not when it’s so near.

I swear it almost smirks as it swallows the food down and that’s when I dare to do it. I reach forward and gently run my finger along the back of its neck.

I expect it to retreat, to snap at me, to claw my hand away.

Instead it stretches out its neck and closes its eyes. I keep petting it, running my fingers down to where the wings attach. It shifts nearer, curling up next to my leg. I can feel the heat of it through my jeans. I keep up the repetitive motion and it's not long before I feel a thrumming sensation where it rests against my thigh and hear what almost sounds like a low hum.

I think it’s coming from the dragon. I think it’s purring or whatever it is that dragon’s do when they’re particularly content.

I run my hand from its neck all the way down to the tail, between the wings that are now resting limp and folded on the dragon’s back. I lean down just a bit and whisper to it “I think I’m going to call you Smaug.”

Smaug and I are hunting together by the end of the week. When I trip on a root and lose my grip on a squirrel a few days later, Smaug pounces on it before it gets away and, to my surprise, drags it over to me to drop it at my feet. When I stare down in shock he nudges it closer to me and then flicks my leg with his tail.

I reach for it, tentatively, in case I’m reading this all wrong, but once the squirrel is in my grasp I hear the humming again and Smaug butts his head against my leg before scampering off to track down his own meal.

I’m grateful and near tears as I sink my fangs into the squirrel and drink deep.

I don’t feel quite so alone.

Five years later

 Baz

“Come along now, Snow. I’ve got someone for you to meet.”

Simon gives me a dubious look as I pull him into the trees behind the lodge. “Someone lives out here?”

“Yes, someone I’ve been friends with for quite awhile.” I smirk and raise an eyebrow. “I may have known you for more years but Smaug and I have definitely been friends for longer.”

“Smaug?”

I can’t help but laugh at Simon’s expression when we finally track down my dragon.

He looks utterly gobsmacked.

I have to admit Smaug is a fair bit larger than he was when we first met. Roughly the size of a Shetland pony and he’s nowhere near full-grown.

“There’s nothing to be alarmed at, Snow.”

“Not be alarmed? Are you fucking kidding me, Baz? This is a bloody dragon, you barmy git. And you’re flammable!”

“Smaug’s not about to torch me.”

“I see no reason to think he’s not. He’s a dragon, Baz, for Merlin’s sake. Are you daft?”

Smaug and Simon sizing each other up is enough to render me helpless with laughter. The way they both flare their wings is particularly endearing.

It’s alright. I’m sure they’ll get along.

Someday.

I hope.

Simon

Baz bloody Pitch has a pet dragon. Of all the magical creatures he chooses to befriend an animated flamethrower.

“You’re flammable!”

He’s laughing, the insufferable prat. “It’s fine, Snow. He’d never hurt me.”

“He might not intend to. One dragon sneeze gone wrong and you’re done for.”

“Shut up and come say hello.” Baz drags me over to the dragon.

I won’t deny he’s beautiful. The dragon, I mean (well, Baz too, but I always think he’s beautiful).

This dragon reminds me of the one from Watford. From the day Baz cast “Ladybird.”

The day it all started for us.

I can’t let my mind wander like this. Baz is walking up to a great bloody dragon (Okay, fine, a small bloody dragon) and he’s flammable.

Baz is so close to the dragon now and my heart is about to beat its way out of my chest. I’ve broken into a sweat. I’m absolutely terrified of what this thing can do to Baz. I wonder if I can shove him out of the way fast enough when the dragon starts to breathe fire. Shield him with my wings.

I mean, they’re dragon wings, right? They should be a bit fire-proof?

While I’m going mental over the possibilities Baz has actually sidled up to the dragon and is petting it. Literally running his hand back and forth along the spiky part of its neck.

“Hello there, Smaug,” Baz croons to it. His voice has gone all low and velvety. “This is my friend, Simon.”

The dragon gives me look, sizing me up, I swear to Merlin. It’s not my first time facing one of these, I know that look. I’d give anything to have my sword right now, Baz’s assurances this thing is safe be damned.

Baz runs his hand to just above the wing joints and keeps petting the blasted menace.

And the fucking thing nuzzles its head into Baz’s chest and closes its eyes, looking for all the world like an overgrown cat. It’s literally purring. There’s this weird humming sound coming from it, I swear.

“Simon, stop looking at Smaug like you want to take his head off and get over here. I told you, he’s safe.” As if on cue the dragon wraps its tail around Baz’s lower legs and it’s just the picture of lethally powered contentment.

“I can’t believe you named it Smaug,” I say, as I take a tentative step closer. I’d feel a sight better if I had a fire extinguisher with me.

“You know how much I love Tolkien.”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t realise you’d be daft enough to have a pet dragon.”

Baz actually rolls his eyes at me. “Smaug isn’t a pet. I told you, he’s a friend.” Baz looks down at the dragon resting against his chest and moves his hand to place it on the damn thing’s head, far too close to its jaws in my opinion. “He gave me my first lessons in hunting and stalking.” Baz rubs the creature’s spiky crest. “He was with me when it all started.” There’s a fond look on his face as he gazes at the dragon but there’s something unspeakably melancholy there too.

I close the distance until I’m standing just in front of Baz. The dragon opens its eyes and stares at me, its golden gaze holding mine, heavy and deliberate. Then it stretches its neck out and dips its head a little.

“Go on,” Baz whispers.

I reach my hand out slowly and gently brush my fingers low on its forehead. Baz nods at me so I run my fingers up and down the scales there. They’re smoother than I expect as my hand slides up and rougher as my hand comes back down. The dragon—Smaug—closes its eyes and that’s when I feel a thrumming sensation. I jerk my hand back but Baz shakes his head and motions me to keep going, so I do.

And then the blasted thing is purring and Baz is smirking at me.

“He likes it when you rub above his wing joints too,” Baz suggests and then leans in close, his breath against my ear. “Just like you do.” And he laughs, the insufferable bastard.

He’s not wrong and I’m bloody well red in the face now.

“So this is why you think you’re such an expert on dragons, is it? Your dragon friend here?”

Baz’s arm slips around my waist and I feel him press a kiss into my hair. “Hmm. More my dragon boyfriend.” And then he laughs and Smaug looks up at him with such a puzzled expression that I can’t help but laugh too.

#carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on countdown #coc 2019 #magical creatures #carry on prequel #parental figures #angst #my writing #my fics #mentions of blood and feeding #mentions of the family dog from wayward son

[theskyeandsea]

A Little Melon-choly || Orion & Skylar

Location: The Common & Skylar’s Apartment

TW List: Chronic Illness and Abuse Mentions

Notes: Just happy fun times at the farmer’s market! calcifires Today at 2:44 PM watermelons wouldnt be in season in Maine but YA KNOW swampfoxx Today at 2:45 PM Listen they're vampire watermelons so its DIFFERENT

The farmer’s market. It wasn’t exactly Orion’s style, but Orion had been sent off by the family to grab groceries. Since he was spending more time at home than usual due to the whole sun not rising ordeal, he was available to be sent off for errands. This seemed like a purposeful ploy. His mom was constantly on him to cut out all the soda and snack foods that he indulged in. So she made up a list and sent him off with strict instructions to return so she could start dinner. Admittedly, he preferred this over being forced to ride along with his parents to something like this. He was happy to hear that she had other plans. So instead, Orion found himself moving from cart to cart, smiling awkwardly at each vendor as he marked his mom’s list off one by one. As he fell into the groove of it, he was almost able to forget how cold it was outside, but every now and then a breeze would blow through and he would get the painful reminder. He shuddered, rubbing at his arms to create some friction against the long sleeves. Unsurprisingly, the list was in order with the setup of the farmer’s market. His mom was way too prepared. He was practically done with his list, only two things left when he spotted a familiar face. From the looks, she spotted him too. His heart immediately began to race, and Orion’s breathing get heavier and faster. He should probably just keep walking on. Give her some space. Clearly she wanted nothing to do with him. He didn’t blame her. But the two were close enough now that it would have been even worse to not saying anything at all. “Uh…. hey there.” He mumbled nervously and waved, “How’s it going?” This couldn’t get any more awkward.

While Skylar didn’t typically go to the farmers market, she figured that it was about time for her to get out of the house and do something, anything to stave off the impending bout of… seal symptoms. The endless night was wearing thin on her and it would be for the best if she went outside, got some fresh air, and talked to some people. So, she took one of her reusable grocery bags and headed out to look at a bunch of produce that she really couldn’t eat. The nice thing about the farmer’s market was that it meant a lot of people were out and about, with plenty of floodlights to spare. Safety and numbers meant the little bottle of holy water in her pocket would probably go unused. She’d started keeping some on her ever since Nic had dropped off his ridiculous shipment of holy water at her apartment. If he thought things were dangerous now, she was going to listen to that advice. Walking from stall to stall, Skylar smiled politely as she looked at the bundles of vegetables and things that she… couldn’t eat. This wasn’t one of her better ideas. As she looked over a few of the stalls, her eyes locked with someone familiar-- her breath caught in the back of her throat. Rio. As he walked up, Skylar’s back straightened and she stared at the weird fruits in the stall in front of them. “Hi. It’s going.” She said stiffly, “What about you?” She asked, not looking him in the eye.

Well this was definitely awkward. Orion should have listened to his gut and skipped the stand. He needed a few things from the same stall that Skylar was currently at. He figured it was better to get the pleasantries out of the way now. As awkward as this was, Orion felt it would be more awkward to just remain silent and continue to run into each other throughout the market. So Orion would bite the bullet and just say hello. What was the worst that could happen? “That’s good. Or well.. It’s alright. I guess.” He muttered, readjusting the hat on his head. He didn’t normally wear baseball caps, but the brim helped to hide the fading black eye. Not that he had much to hide about it. The story behind how he got it was more embarrassing than incriminating. “But uh I’m fine. I uh- didn’t know you shopped here often.” The translation? He didn’t know she could eat any of this stuff. But maybe in smaller doses and if paired with enough meat she would be fine. From what Orion had learned, Selkies were mostly carnivores. “Sorry- I am just here to grab a few things. Then I’ll be out of your hair.

“Mhm.” Skylar hummed, her lips pressed tightly together as she stared at the fruit in front of her. Wow, they looked really weird… like she didn’t normally pay attention to how fruits and vegetables looked, but these definitely seemed a bit odd? She couldn’t quite put her finger on why they seemed odd. Glancing over at Rio, she saw the way he shifted the hat on his head, and her eyes widened as she saw the slight discoloration around his eye. Gasping, she dropped her cold facade and stared at them. “Are you okay? What happened to you?” She asked, glossing over his pleasantries. They both knew that she didn’t belong here, in the farmers market. They didn’t really need to beat around the bush. “No, you’re fine. I’m just looking anyways.” She said, the words earning her a scowl from one of the vendors not far away.

Orion was all too aware how Skylar could barely make eye contact with him. She was focusing way too hard on the fruits on the stand, apparently trying anything to avoid looking over at Rio. He understood why. It was best now to just swoop in awkwardly next to her, grab the selection of fruits and then disappear and stop bothering her. But unfortunately, Skylar risked a glance at him and noticed the eye. “What? Oh, this?” Orion laughed nervously, pointing at the bruise and wincing slightly at the pain. He tried to keep a calm and collected demeanor. At the end of the day, it legitimately wasn’t that serious of an injury. “Yeah I’m fine. Seriously. I didn’t even get it in a cool way.” He admitted, readjusting his baseball cap again more on reflex than anything else, “I uh- tripped…. Down a hill.” He shrugged, “And I realize that sounds fake. But like legitimately. I was with someone who could vouch for me. I was walking backwards and I tripped and rolled down a hill and smacked my face against a tree root.” He started laughing, for real this time at the hilarity of his own ineptitude, “Pretty lame, right?” He moved closer in her direction, careful to move slowly. “Right, right. Sorry. It’s not my business anyways. I just gotta grab a few things.”

“Are you sure? That sounds…” Skylar’s voice petered off before she could finish the thought, but Rio had already answered the question. It sounded like a convenient story, but the way he was laughing seemed like it was real? Maybe? Glancing at his body language, she pursed her lips-- she wasn’t familiar enough with him to get a good enough read on him just yet, but he seemed like he was telling the truth. And, if their experiences at the failed anime night was anything to go off of, he wasn’t a terribly calm liar. “No problem, I’ll get out of your way.” She said, walking away from the stand. But, before she left, Skylar stopped and looked at some particularly odd items in the stall. For one thing… what were watermelons doing here? It was March, watermelons couldn’t be in season yet. For another-- “Uh, Rio…” She said, eyes widening as the fruit appeared to move and shudder. “You should get away from there.” Before he could respond, Skylar watched as the watermelon began to growl and rolled menacingly out of the stand. “Shit!”

Skylar didn’t seem to believe Orion, but he could hardly blame her. It wasn’t like Rio had a squeaky clean image of honesty to go off of. His entire life had been spent lying. Honesty was definitely a virtue of his. “Trust me, it was way more embarrassing in person than it is telling the story, and that’s saying something. I ran into this guy in the woods and we were attacked by this… I don’t know.” Okay that part was partially a lie, but Skylar had been freaked out enough during anime night. He didn’t need to go into detail on the vampire creature that had attacked them. “And I freaked out and fell down the hill.” There we go, full story out. “Oh- Sorry I didn’t mean you had to like leave or-” But Skylar was already walking away. Orion sighed and cursed himself for being so. Dang. awkward. But all he could do was try to shake it off and grab what he needed from the stand. But then he heard Skylar’s voice again, shakingly saying his name. He glanced over, seeing her staring pretty uneasily at a group of watermelon. “I can’t imagine that would be very good right now. Not in March.” But then he noticed it, the thing moved. And… did it just growl at Skylar? “Holy-” He began only to be interrupted when the watermelon began rolling towards Skylar. And along with that, it looked like more started to wake up as well. He eyed Skylar nervously, “Uh Skylar I think we should go. I don’t really need zucchini that badly anyways.”

“Yup, one hundred percent.” Skylar nodded, backing away. But, as she started to move away from the stall, another watermelon, then another, began to fall off the stall and roll towards her. Oh god. Why was this happening, why did this sort of thing always happen to her? Before she could continue her mental pity party, one of the watermelons lunged at her, the widest part opening up to reveal rows of teeth and a bright red center that seemed to be almost… bloody? “No, no, no, no, no!” She shrieked, running away from farmers market, pursued by a small fleet of rolling watermelons that followed her across the open grass of The Common. “Rio! What are these things?” She shouted over her shoulder, hoping that he was still with her. She hadn’t really bothered to check to see if he was running behind her, what with the awful watermelons hot on her heels. 

Orion followed quickly behind Skylar. The things weren’t incredibly fast, but there were a lot of them. And they seemed to come pouring out from other booths to join the group. Others around the market were screaming, the collective noises stinging at his ear drums as they all flooded against his senses at once. Curse hunter senses. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to find some way to drown at the noises, but that only succeeded to distract him long enough that he lost his footing and fell forward, crashing into the grass and rolling. He pushed himself back up pretty quickly, but had noticed a distance growing between himself and Skylar. And some of those things were still following right behind her. He began running again, “I- I don’t know!” He screamed over to Skylar. That was the worst part of all this. He didn’t know what they were. Or where they come from. Only that they seemed to have fangs and clearly had a thing for humans and seemed to have red spots dripping from their centers. Was it blood? The smell of the food from the farmer’s market made it too hard to narrow down any particular scent. And he was too busy running to stop and touch the red liquid for himself. “Where’s your car? We need to get somewhere safe!”

Why were there always weird, terrible things trying to eat her or drown her or just kill her? Skylar didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought as she continued to run away from the rapidly rolling watermelons. And this time, it wasn’t even something that could legitimately be called scary-- these were just watermelons with giant flipping teeth. “You don’t know?” She shrieked, incredulous. He knew about selkies but he didn’t know about demon fruit? Great, just gr-- One of the vampires snapped at her pant leg, tearing a chunk of fabric from the cuff of her jeans. Stumbling forward, she did her best to keep her balance and continue running. Jesus. This sucked, this sucked, all of this sucked. “My car? It’s-- it’s over there!” She said, point to where her Honda Civic was parked across the way of the Common. “Run!”

Orion hated not knowing what these things were. He didn’t like not knowing things in general, but it seemed especially bad when those things he didn’t know about tried to kill him. “I- It’s not something that-” What was Orion trying to say there? He couldn’t tell Skylar that his family only made him study things that they wanted him to kill. That’s where all of his former knowledge came from after all. Since then, Orion has been studying what he could at the Scribe Headquarters but fruit wasn’t exactly something that he had been trying to read about. Apparently he should have been. “I didn’t know fruit could attack people!” He yelled again, eying the watermelon open itself up, exposing fangs and chomping down at Skylar’s leg. Orion’s heart jumped and he gasped before realizing that it had only gotten her pants and not her leg. He breathed a short sigh of relief and eyed the area where she pointed towards where her car was. He veered towards that direction, heading off towards the car when his foot caught into something on the ground. Maybe a hole, maybe a bump. It didn’t matter much. Only that he could feel his ankle twist and he fell forward. He raised his arms to try to cushion the fall, but his elbows hit the ground hard and he rolled forward. His face, down in the grass, the next thing he felt was a searing pain in his arm. He yelled out, looking up to find his right arm with a watermelon biting into it, and hard. Blood poured from his arm and his jacket was torn. Orion’s fist clenched as he cried out in pain and he pulled his left arm free from under his body. With one strong blow, Orion brought his fist down onto the watermelon and crushed it entirely, watermelon guts and presumably Orion’s blood splattering off from it. Orion pulled his injured arm free and pushed himself away. His breath catching in his throat as he processed the pain. It was a watermelon. It doesn’t matter that he crushed it. He hadn’t murdered a freaking watermelon. “Keep running!” Orion yelled, hoping that Skylar wasn’t going to try to help him. He pushed up again and began running towards the car again, cradling his injured arm in the other. 

Her heart was pounding in her ears, her lungs felt like they were going to explode out of her chest, and she honestly felt sick to her stomach from the combination of adrenaline and running. Panting heavily, Skylar was dimly aware of the loud thump behind her, but she thought it was just one of the watermelons-- maybe it had decided to stop chasing after them? But then she heard Rio’s yell of pain. Looking over her shoulder, she was startled to see a watermelon latched onto his arm, fangs embedded into his flesh. But, what caught her even more off guard was when Rio brought his hand down and obliterated the watermelon. Chunks of watermelon flesh and possibly real flesh soaked the ground. Before she could comment on it, Rio had already gotten back up to his feet and was running her way again. Bolting to the car, she grabbed her keys from her pocket and clicked the unlock button, the lights flashing to alert her that the car was open. Throwing open the side door for Rio, she jumped in the drivers seat, slamming her door shut. A heavy thud slammed into her car door as a watermelon threw itself into against the metal. “Get in, get in, get in!” She said to the man, as she jammed her car keys in the ignition. 

All Orion could think about was the pain shooting through his arm. He tried to ignore it, as his feet hit the pavement and drew closer and closer to Skylar’s car. The pain was temporary. He was luckier than many. His arm would bleed for now, but it would quickly slow down. And before long the only evidence that he was ever injured in the first place would be dried blood and a torn hoodie. He ran towards the car, a watermelon rolling smashing into the door as Skylar jumped in. They were surrounding the driver’s side now, and Orion leaped, hitting the trunk of the car and siding over it, and throwing the door open. He pulled his hoodie over his head and used it to wrap around his bleeding arm, careful to avoid dripping any in Skylar’s car. He didn’t speak for a long moment while he tried to regain his breath, but finally looked over at Skylar. “Thank you. Oh god. What the heck were those things?”

As soon as Rio was inside, Skylar threw the car into drive and pressed the gas pedal, urging her Honda Civic down the road. Her front tire smacked into something that gave with a loud popping noise-- she must have squished one of the weird watermelon things? Glancing back in her rear view, she saw that Rio was clutching his arm into his chest. “I-- I have no idea. Demon watermelons? Evil, cannibal watermelons?” She guessed, adrenaline still coursing through her veins as she tried to calm her nerves. Checking the road behind her, Skylar was relieved to see that no rogue watermelons were chasing after them. At least there was that. As she took another look back at Rio, she noticed… scars. Lots of scars, bruises, some faded, others fresh, covering his arms. Those couldn’t have been from just now, right? Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she focused on the road in front of her. “Are you okay? Did they get you? Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Or, I-- I’ve got a first aid kit at my apartment, would that be enough?” She offered, hoping Rio would take the offer for help. That wound couldn’t be good.

Orion was trying to hold back tears from falling down his face. The last thing he needed to do was cry in front of Skylar too. Hadn’t he caused enough stress in her life? He thought after all these years that he would have at least built up a tolerance to pain, but apparently that wasn’t true. The only thing that helped him get his mind off of it was theorizing about the watermelons. “I wonder if they were watermelons at all.” Could they have been some kind of shape shifters? It didn’t seem likely. Watermelons may have been a good disguise at a farmer’s market initially, but it hardly seemed effective to stay in that form while hunting prey. It seemed more likely that Skylar was right. They were some kind of cannibalistic watermelon. Which begged another question. Were they alive? That… thing that Orion had smashed. Had it been alive? “I mean- they obviously were watermelon I just… I don’t know. I wish I knew.” He had been staring up at the roof of the car, his eyes closed as he tried to not dwell on the pain or the situation. He heard Skylar asking about his arm, the concern apparent in her voice. Or maybe it was just fear. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on Orion’s part. “Huh? Oh no. This is fine. He didn’t bite very deep. It’s just a surface wound.” Orion lied. But he had no other choice. He couldn’t let Skylar try to treat him or take him to the hospital. How would he explain it when the bite marks closed by the end of the night? “I just wrapped it to make sure that I didn’t bleed on your car.” Orion forced laughter, trying to make himself sound more light hearted than he felt. He raised his hand into a thumbs up towards her to prove just how great he was. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized what he had done when he took the hoodie off to stop the bleeding. His arms. His scars. Out in public. He quickly moved to bury his free arm under the wrapped on, trying to hide as much of it as possible. “You can just uh- drop me off. If you could. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“If they weren’t watermelon at all? What, like some kind of magic illusion?” Skylar asked, trying to process what that could mean. Whatever it was, it had felt pretty real to her, between with her ripped pant leg and Rio’s arm. Those were some pretty scary illusions if they weren’t real. “It’s, it’s okay. I mean, I don’t know any of this at all. I just-- I’m just trying to figure things out.” She said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. As she spun the wheel in a less than controlled turn, she realized her hands were slick with slime. Grimacing, she wiped her palms on her jeans. They were already ruined, she might as well. “If it’s just a surface wound, why are you wrapping your arm like that? I’m not-- I’m not going to just ditch you.” She said, shaking her head. “At least let me get some neosporin and a bandage on it. Please?” Skylar asked, making eye contact with him through the rearview mirror, hoping that it would convince him. Ultimately, if he said no, she would let him leave. But… as much as she hated what Rio had done, she didn’t hate him. She just hated the way he’d gone about things. She wasn’t going to punish him, that wasn’t who she was. “It’s your choice, but, please, Rio. Let me help.”

“No- no. I think they were definitely real.” Orion answered Skylar, still trying to theorize. Pull anything from his brain that may help him connect some dots and determine what those things actually were. But between the pain and his arm and the now near panic attack that may or may not be building up in him, nothing was coming to mind. He wasn’t good under pressure, never has been. “You deserve your answers. Whatever they are. I’d like to help.” He tried to find a moment of peace within this conversation. But right now he was stuck. He needed to get out of this car, to make up some excuse to get away. But he didn’t want to push Skylar any farther away than he already had. He just wished that he could be normal. So that none of this was an issue in the first place. “Yeah- F-fine. But I don’t want to bleed all over your apartment.” She didn’t mention the scars. Honestly, he didn’t know which was more awkward. But he was pretty sure he would prefer it if they never spoke about it. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t tripped this wouldn’t have been an issue.”

“Mmmmmmm.” Skylar hummed, tapping her hands anxiously against the steering wheel. Now that she was away from the watermelons, that she’d had the chance to catch her breath, her shoulders began to shudder, slight shivers running down her spine. Nope, nope, no. This was fine, this was okay, this was… it was gonna be okay. When Rio relented, she let out a sigh and nodded. They could go back to her place, get his arm treated, and then she could freak out. No freaking out right now, nope, nope. She was going to be calm. She didn’t even get hurt, Rio was the one who’d been hurt. “It’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.” She said as she pulled down the road to her apartment. Zipping through the parking lot, she pulled in and shut off the car, hurrying out to open the door for him. Her fingers slipped off the door handle on the first time, still covered in slime, but she managed to get the door open on the second try. Hoping he didn’t comment on that, she nodded. “C’mon, let’s get inside. I think my roommate’s at work, so we should be okay.” She said, praying that was the case. She didn’t need to deal with more questions…

Orion didn’t realize that they had arrived at Skylar’s until he heard the passenger side door being opened. He perked up immediately, realizing it was Skylar opening the door for him. He had blacked out? That seemed a bit over the top, considering Orion was plenty familiar with pain. Though he didn’t have a lot of experience with being bitten by a watermelon. His vision was blurry at first and he had to force himself to move so that he could see again. He climbed out of the car, mumbling a “Thanks” to Skylar and eyeing the slime on the car handle. Despite how fuzzy he felt, his hunter senses were working overtime to keep him aware. He could hear the slime dripping from the handle onto the pavement. “Cool. Cool.” He nodded, following Skylar inside. He remembered her place, almost fondly. It had been at least. At the beginning. He followed behind Skylar, following closely behind to make sure that he didn’t stray anywhere she didn’t want him. He owed that much to her.

When Rio stepped out of the back of the car, Skylar’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. He didn’t look good-- how much had he bled? Looking at the sweatshirt wrapped around his arm, she saw that there was quite a lot of blood. Much more than he’d let on. Oh god. How was he even standing? “Here, wait.” She said, lifting his good arm over her shoulder. He was a little shorter than her, but that made it easier for her to help him up the stairs to her apartment. Just one step at a time. Her keys were already in her hand and she managed to fit them in the lock on the first time. At least she had that going for her right now. Moving inside, she shut the door with her foot before walking Rio over to one of the chairs in the kitchen. “Sit tight, okay. The first aid kit is in the bathroom. Give a shout if you start to feel, um… worse?” She asked before hurrying down the hall. 

The second she stepped inside, Skylar let out a shuddering breath, shoulders shaking. Rio had gotten hurt. Rio was badly hurt. This was, this was the first time since the Karkinoid attack on the beach that she’d seen one of her friends get hurt like this. And that had happened far away from her-- she hadn’t fully seen everything that had happened to Remmy. Gripping the basin of the sink, Skylar stared at the drain, trying to steady herself. “This is fine, this is fine, this is fine.” She mumbled to herself. Except none of this felt fine. Splashing some cold water on her face, Skylar looked up in the mirror, catching sight of the exhausted, strained young woman that stared back at her. Had she always looked this tired? Or was this just the toll White Crest had taken on her. She swallowed thickly before grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet. Walking back into the kitchen, she offered a tense smile. “Hey, how are you doing?”

Orion didn’t argue when Skylar stepped in to help guide him into her home.  It was pathetic, how he was acting. It was an arm wound, it was hardly anything that serious. It hadn’t even hurt that badly when it first happened, though he may have adrenaline to thank for that. His family would be laughing at him if they knew. Oh god. The thought of his parents reminded him that he was out in public, with a short sleeve shirt on. That wasn’t good. But there was nothing to do about it now. The damage had been done. Skylar had seen them, and Orion needed to figure out what he was going to say when the time came. 

He fell into the chair that Skylar offered and rested his injured arm on the kitchen table. After Skylar left, Orion pressed his forehead against the kitchen table and stared at the darkness that remained between himself and the wood. The tear dripped from his eyes before he could think to stop them. It wasn’t much, just a few stray tears. But it was enough to force him to start sniffling and it was enough to embarrass himself to death. He could hear the water running in the bathroom, could hear that Skylar was talking to herself, though he tried to force himself against listening to the words. Eventually, he heard the water stop and Skylar making her way back into the kitchen. When she asked how he was, he raised his good arm up and gave a thumbs up as an answer. When he could manage it, he finally sat back up and looked at Skylar. “I’m super fantastic. I don’t want to get blood on your kitchen.”

When Skylar saw the tears that had trailed down his cheeks, her heart broke for him. He was just as overwhelmed by this as she was, wasn’t he? And there wasn’t anything she could really do to help. “Mhmmmm. Well, do you mind taking the sweatshirt off? I don’t really know about first aid, but I know that you should clean a wound out just so it doesn’t get infected.” She said as she opened up the first aid kit. Her hands were shaking as she undid the latches, but she did her best not to let the slight tremors show. Pulling out a couple alcohol swabs, the neosporin, and a roll of bandages, she set them on the kitchen table and waited for him patiently. Now that they were face to face, she could see that the scars and injuries that covered his skin were more than she’d initially noticed. What… what had happened to him? 

Orion immediately used his free hand to wipe away any tears from his face. If he survived today and didn’t die from embarrassment it would be a miracle. “Oh. Right. Of course.” He smiled, slowly unwrapping the sweatshirt from his arm. He grimaced as the blood made it stick to his skin, and he had to peel it from his skin. In hindsight, the wound already seemed to look marginally better than it had when it first happened, a sign that the healing had already started. But this was fine. It was still bad enough that Skylar could treat it, wrap it up and then Orion could leave and no one would be the wiser when the thing healed before the weekend. Especially since he was never leaving the house again without making sure he had a long sleeve shirt under the hoodie. Or two. Once the arm was completely exposed, Orion looked up at the ceiling and shut his eyes. If he didn’t focus on the pain, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly. “I promise I won’t whine too much. Do whatever you need.” He mumbled, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. The alcohol burned like no other, but Orion gritted his teeth and tried not to make a noise. When he felt like he needed a distraction, he spoke. “Can I ask you a question?” He prefaced, before leading into it. “What causes the uh- the slime. Do you always do that? Or does something else cause it?”

Watching as he unwound the sweatshirt back, Skyler winced at the sight of the bite mark-- it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be, though, which was a relief. If it was any worse, she’d insist on driving him to the hospital, or at least urgent care. Taking the alcohol wipes, she began to dab around the wound, cleaning off the blood and doing her best to make the process as quick as possible. She’d seen nurses do things like this before, when her sister had taken a bad spill during cheer practice and had needed to be patched up. “No, no, you’re fine. I’m just sorry that you got hurt.” She said, hoping that talking would help him through the pain. Setting aside the alcohol wipes, she opened the tube of Neosporin and spread a layer on some gauze before pressing it gently over the wound. “Oh. Um,” She hesitated for a moment. She still didn’t trust Rio, not fully. But… how could she really say that when he was here, bleeding in her kitchen, after having been bitten up by some cannibal watermelon? “It happens when I get nervous. Or scared. And when I need to change.” She said, not looking at him as she unwrapped the bandage and began to wind it around his arm. 

This was better than going to a hospital, Orion could at least confirm that. They would want to take IV’s and that meant needles in his arms which meant questions. He would take this over that any day. Honestly, the scariest part of today was that Orion dropped the groceries he was supposed to be picking up for his mom. How was he going to explain that? “Thanks, but obviously not your fault. I’m just clumsy.” He shrugged, jumping at a particularly ill placed dab of alcohol that really stung at one of the bite marks. “Sorry, sorry. It just stung.” He listened to Skylar explain the situation to him. Well, the first two definitely made sense. Considering the situation. “Right. That makes sense.” He nodded his head, longer than needed, because he was awkward. “I uh- I read that you can get sick right? If you don’t change?” He asked again. He was genuinely curious, though considering their history maybe this wasn’t the best topic of conversation. “Sorry- sorry. None of my business. We can change the subject.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not anyone’s fault. Except for the crazy guy who was selling evil watermelons.” Skylar said with a shake of her head. Why were those things even out at the farmer’s market anyway? When he jolted at the sting of alcohol, she backed off immediately. But, he seemed okay over all? She continued to clumsily wrap the wound, her fingers unused to the task. Medical stuff wasn’t her forte. If anything, she’d usually been the one receiving treatment. Getting tested by specialists and seeing doctors and having them try and figure out what was wrong with her. When really… the only thing wrong with her was that her parents weren’t telling the truth. At Rio’s question, Skylar’s lips pursed together in a thin line and she focused on tying off the bandage. “Mhm. That’s what happens, apparently.” She said. She didn’t want to think about this right now, but if he was bringing it up… If his research could tell him this much, maybe he could help her figure out a way to be normal. How to undo this… situation.

Skylar brought up a good point. Orion had to wonder how those things showed up at the farmer’s market in the first place. She had to be right- someone brought those things there on purpose. Did someone… grow those things? Had they brought them there with the sole purpose of setting them free on unsuspecting bystanders like Orion and Skylar? And Orion shouldn’t have been unsuspecting- he knows about the supernatural. He should have known about what those things were. If he was a real Scribe, he would have known. Orion understood that look that Skylar had. The two seemed to feel similarly about themselves. The hatred of what they were. He just wished Skylar didn’t feel that way about herself. He would need to do more research. Maybe the more he learned about Selkies, the more he could teach Skylar. In turn she would stop hating what she was. Maybe. “Well… seriously I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. I can help clean up and then I promise to get out of your hair.”

“It’s okay. I’m happy to help, when I can.” Skylar said, gesturing to the sloppily wrapped bandage. “I’m not… good at this kind of first aid stuff, but maybe I should take some classes or something. With how often people are getting hurt, it might not be a bad idea.” She said with a sigh. The adrenaline had faded from her body and it had left her exhausted. Tiredness seeped into her bones and she was on her last legs. Slumping back in her chair, Skylar rested her head in her hands. “You don’t need to do anything, you’re good, honestly. I can get this stuff taken care of by myself.” She said with a weary smile. She’d get it all figured out, she’d handle the mess, and then she’d take a nice long shower and go to bed. It wasn’t even technically night time yet, but she just needed this day to be over.

Orion laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it, “Yeah, well. We shouldn’t have to be good at first aid stuff. If this town would just give us a break every now and again.” His arm still hurt, though he had to admit that it felt better now that it had been cleaned and wasn’t wrapped in a sweatshirt. “But I may be able to show you a few things. I’m not an expert or anything, but my dad’s a doctor. He’s shown me a few things.” Not many things that he ever wanted to see or do again, but the first aid may come in handy. At least long enough to get someone to a hospital. He couldn’t tell if Skyar didn’t want to burden Rio or if she wanted him gone. Rio didn’t blame her of course, it was just hard to tell. He pushed himself up from the kitchen table. “I wouldn’t mind or anything but.. I get it. I can head out.” He stood there for a moment longer. Something puzzled him. She really wasn’t going to ask about the scars? It was driving him crazy, the unknown. Skylar had seen them. What was she thinking? He was heading towards the door, ready to escape when he couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m trying to learn self defense.” The lie came to him way easier than it should have, but then again Rio was also trying to be prepared when it came to stuff like this. “With… this town I thought it would be good. Clearly I’m not very good at it right now.”

“Mm. It’d be nice if it would…” Skylar sighed. “But, it seems like it’s just been one thing after another. First weird blood puddles, then fish rain, then the giant lobsters and the stupid chest on the beach with the eyeball in it. And now endless night time.” She shook her head. How were all of these things that had happened? How were any of these things she’d just said real? Her life had turned into some crazy fantasy novel and she honestly just wanted it to go back to normal. “Really? You don’t need to do that, I might just sign up for like… a Red Cross class or something.” She said, shaking her head. As she slumped back in her chair, Skylar stared listlessly in front of her. She wasn’t actually looking at anything, not intentionally. But, when Rio blurted out words, she realized that it probably looked like she’d been staring at him. At his arms. “Huh? Oh. Okay. That’s cool.” She said, slightly confused by his sudden outburst.

Orion just nodded along as Skylar rattled off each thing that had happened in town just since the beginning of the year. It was a long list… one that he hadn’t realized just how heavy the last few months had been until she listed it all together in one neat bullet pointed sentence. “Wow. Yeah. When you say it that way it almost sounds like the town’s not normal.” He tried for a nervous smile. Considering their situation it wasn’t exactly time for jokes, but Ricky had helped Rio see that some light heartedness was good in dark situations. If only Rio’s jokes didn’t fall so flat so often. He supposed that he lacked the confidence. “I mean I’m obviously not an expert or anything. I’m not a pre-med major like my sister. I mean I was. That was my original plan. But I changed course. Sorry that’s not important.” He shook his head, backtracking, “Red Cross is definitely more qualified to teach you this stuff. But the basics I have down pretty well.” Skylar seemed confused by Rio’s outburst which was… peculiar. Had she really planned on not asking him about it? If so, he had practically outed himself which was embarrassing. “I- uh. Sorry. I just saw you looking and didn’t want you to think that I uh like… did it to myself or something. So… okay. Sorry. I can leave now.”

“Definitely not normal.” Skylar echoed, the joke in his voice lost to her. All of the energy she’d been able to muster had been drained from her in the last hour, which made just sitting up a chore. And it was difficult to try and parse together Rio’s words, even with her hearing aids. “Mhm. I think I’ll look into the Red Cross. Thanks, though.” She said with a small smile. As he continued to talk, Skylar realized that he thought she’d been oggling his arms, staring at him-- she hadn’t meant to. She just hadn’t realized that she was even staring off like that. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m--” She shook her head, “I’m just really tired. I was zoning out there.” As Rio offered to leave, a minor feeling of relief made its way through the haze of exhaustion. “That’d be… for the best.” She said with a nod. The second he left, Skylar flopped down face first in bed. Rolling over, she mumbled into her pillow, “I hate farmers markets.”

#p: alm #p: orion quinn #wickedswriting #chronic illness cw #abuse cw

[americanphancakes]

For a prompt how about: home invasion

Anonymous saidpick your favorite kind of au and do a spin on it 

OKAY so I only wrote a part one for this because I’m not sure where I want the plot to go exactly. But I wanted to share the first part of this because it’s kind of hilarious, haha.

But my favorite trope is fake relationship, and I figure “home invasion” would be an interesting spin on it… plus, I got to put a fun spin on home invasion too? :)

Word count: ~1.3k

***********

Dan crouched behind the hedge and held his walkie talkie up to his mouth, ready to let his partner know when the posh couple inhabiting this ridiculously ornate house had left for the night. He waited a moment as he watched them walk back and forth across the front window, adding more outerwear and accessories to themselves with each pass. Eventually they were ready, but they seemed to disappear between the window and front door. That means the security system panel is right there, Dan thought with a smirk. Finally, the front door swung open.

“Door is open, get ready.”

“Roger that.”

The posh couple, layered with outerwear and hats to brave the cool midwinter evening, finally left the house. They got into their car, started it up, and pulled away from the house.

“It’s clear, go now! Go go go!”

Dan watched the house as his partner, Phil, emerged from an adjacent patch of landscaped trees and approached the front door. He picked the lock on the front door with ease, and Dan quickly followed as he entered the house.

While Phil looked for any handheld electronics that might be lying around, Dan applied a clear sticker to the security panel to see which keys had the most oil from finger contact on them.

“Thank God it’s a Lockwizard,” Dan said. “Makes this much easier.”

This particular brand of security panel required a minimum four-digit pin to arm and disarm, and most users didn’t go any further than that. It also had a time-based lockout of 1 minute rather than a number of tries. Dan could literally brute force the alarm system using the digits the user typically hit (1, 3, 7, and 9 in this case) as many times as he liked without fear of lockout as long as he got it in under a minute, and it wasn’t hard for him to enter 16 combinations in under 60 seconds at this point in his thieving career.

So Dan tried the first possible combination.

“One… three… seven… nine,” he muttered as he typed. He hit the star key.

“Disarmed,” the LCD screen read.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dan said aloud.

“What?” Phil asked.

“One three seven nine,” he said.

“You’re joking!”

“Nope!”

“Amateurs.”

“Right?”

Dan and Phil proceeded to quickly track down as many small-but-expensive items as they could find. They were only a two-man team so stealing televisions and computers was out of the question, but they knew a house like this could land them a ton of jewelry.

After eight years of working together, they had a pretty good system - one looked upstairs, the other down, making sure not to leave a mess as they went through the home. Then, as they left, they reset the alarm. This made it less likely that their targets even realized they’d been robbed until they looked for something specific and couldn’t find it. Dan and Phil worked in sync, moving as fast as they could to make sure they had enough time to cover their tracks.

Once the home was cleared of the priciest things, they headed out, resetting the alarm and locking the door.

***

Phil, unfortunately, had a bit of a weakness for jewelry. So, for a few of his favorite pieces, he often held onto them rather than selling them like he was supposed to. This bothered Dan, who had anxiety issues and was sure Phil would wear something in public that gave them away. In the end, though, he always let it go, finding Phil’s love for all things shiny more endearing than anything else. Besides, the pieces Phil normally wore were understated and didn’t draw much attention.

What Dan didn’t notice is that when Phil’s mother came to London to visit them, Phil had slipped on a very elegant ring he rather liked. While Dan may not have seen it, a mother’s eye often tends to gravitate toward one particular finger on one particular hand whenever she visits her child.

“Oh! Phil! What’s that I see?” Mrs. Lester said over dinner, holding her son’s left hand up so she could get a look at the delicately-gemmed gold ring on his ring finger.

“Uh… it’s a ring!” Phil said.

Dan’s eye moved toward Phil’s left hand, and he saw it. A ring he recognized from their last job. He choked on his wine but did his best to cover it up. He smiled politely, trying not to give away the amount of internal screaming he was doing.

“You two?” Mrs. Lester continued with a delighted gasp, her eyes wide and face bright with hope. Phil still hadn’t quite caught on yet. “Oh, I always knew you were in love. A mother can always tell, you know!”

Now Phil had caught on, and was rendered speechless.

“Yep, us two!” Dan said, his teeth clenched. “Actually, do you mind if he and I talk for just a minute?”

Before Mrs. Lester could answer, Dan yanked Phil up by the arm and dragged him over to the corner where the toilets could be found.

“You’re wearing a ring from a job?” Dan hissed as quietly as he could while still conveying his anger. “On THAT hand?! What were you thinking?”

Phil, red-faced, was still mostly frozen in panic. “I don’t know! I was just putting it on because I liked it.”

“What, did you just not realize that was the engagement and wedding ring hand, you complete and total spork!?”

“I was in a hurry!”

“What the hell are we gonna do? Your mum thinks we’re engaged now! It’s not like we can tell her ‘oh no, we’re just professional thieves who stole that ring and your son is a dumbass who didn’t know what finger that was’ now can we? We’d be disappointing her on three levels! And honestly I really don’t wanna do that to your mum, she’s way too nice.”

“Well, you heard her, she’s thought we were dating for ages already. We’ve worked together so long, we never date anyone else since our job makes that so tricky… we should just… pretend we’ve really been together?”

Dan took a calming breath and folded his arms. “Just for tonight?”

“Just for tonight. Then in a couple of weeks when she calls to see how we’re doing, we can say we broke up. Decided we were better as friends or whatever.”

Dan sighed loudly, throwing his arms to his sides in resignation. “What other choice do we have?”

Phil shrugged, his face hopeful. “We’d better get back out there.”

“Alright. She’ll ask how I proposed though, what should we say?”

“You got down on one knee in the lounge while we were watching a particularly sexy episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

“Works for me.” Dan smirked. “It sounds like exactly what would happen with us, too.”

Phil chuckled in response.

“Shall we, then?” Dan asked.

“Yes. Let’s… shall.”

Dan smiled and rolled his eyes. “You really are a spork.”

“Hey, sporks are useful!”

***

They went back to the table, where they found Mrs. Lester smiling kindly. “I’m going to guess I wasn’t meant to see that just yet,” she offered.

“Ah, yeah, well… you know how it is.” Dan chuckled nervously and drank more wine.

“We weren’t planning on telling everyone yet, is all,” Phil said by way of half-assed explanation.

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Lester said. “I won’t tell your father just yet!” She winked and looked at her menu. “I do feel like this is a special occasion that calls for a nicer-than-usual dinner, though, don’t you agree?” She leaned in towards Phil. “I’ll pay!” she whispered loudly.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Mu–”

“I insist, Philip! I want to celebrate my boys finally making it official.” She reached across the table and held one of each of their hands and smiled warmly.

Dan winced a bit at her calling them “my boys.” He felt a bit nauseous. It felt as though he was in for the greatest, most difficult heist of his entire life.

#answered #prompt fic #my fic #phanfiction #thieves au #this was fun and it has potential #i'll put it on ao3 if I decide to continue it or if I think of a title lol

[gaysparklepires]

21. First Hunt

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“The window?” I asked, staring two stories down.

I’d never really been afraid of heights, per se, but being able to see all the details with such clarity made the prospect less appealing. The angles of the rocks below were sharper than I would have imagined them.

Edward smile. “It’s the most convenient exit. If you’re frightened, I can carry you.”

“We have all eternity, and you’re worried about the time it would take to walk to the back door?”

He frowned slightly. “Jacob, Seth, and…” He paused for the briefest fraction of a second, “They’re downstairs…”

“Oh.”

Right. I was the monster now—if not the monster, I was certainly the unknown. I had to be even more cautious until we could figure out exactly what I was. Even though I wasn’t a true vampire newborn, at least not from my perspective, there was still the very real possibility that I could do harm to those around me. Even those I loved.

“Is Jacob… Seth… Are they okay?” I whispered. I realized belatedly that it must have been Jacob and Seth’s hearts I could hear below. I listened hard again, but I realized I heard not just two steady pulses, but three. “What about Liam?”

Edward’s lips tightened in an odd way. “Trust me, they’re all perfectly fine.”

“Oh, okay,” I murmured, and looked at the ground again.

“Stalling?” he challenged.

“A little. I don’t know how…”

And I was very conscious of my family behind me, watching silently. Mostly silently. Emmett had already chuckled under his breath once. One mistake, and he’d be rolling on the floor. Then the jokes about the world’s only clumsy vampire would start....

Also, this outfit—that Alice must have put me in sometime when I was too lost in the burning to notice—was not what I would have picked out for either jumping or hunting. Tightly fitted blue satin shirt? Tailored dress pants? What did she think I would need it for? Was there a cocktail party later?

“Watch me,” Edward said. And then, very casually, he stepped out of the tall, open window and fell.

I watched carefully, analyzing the angle at which he bent his knees to absorb the impact. The sound of his landing was very low—a muted thud that could have been a door softly closed, or a book gently laid on a table.

It didn’t look hard.

Edward watched me from the ground, my keener vision could discern the slight anxiousness behind his eyes. I was beginning to understand that not only were they keeping me away from Jacob and his pack, they were trying to test how vampire I was. I was sure Alice would have seen what—if any—limitations I had now, but Edward still seemed concerned. Like jumping from the window could still harm me. Maybe it could.

Clenching my teeth as I concentrated, I tried to copy his casual step into empty air.

Ha! The ground seemed to move toward me so slowly that it was nothing at all to place my feet—what shoes had Alice put me in? Leather Oxfords? Ridiculously dressy—to place my overly fancy shoes exactly right so that landing was no different than stepping one foot forward on a flat surface.

I absorbed the impact in the balls of my feet. My landing seemed just as quiet as his.

I grinned at him.

“Right. Easy.”

He smiled back. “Beau?”

“Yes?”

“That was quite graceful—even for a vampire.”

I considered that for a moment, and then I beamed. If he’d just been saying that, then Emmett would have laughed. No one found his remark humorous, so it must have been true. It was the first time anyone had ever applied the word graceful to me in my entire life... or, well, existence anyway.

“Thank you,” I told him.

And then I kicked the stiff leather shoes off my feet one by one and lobbed them together back through the open window. A little too hard, maybe, but I heard someone catch them before they could damage the paneling.

Alice grumbled, “His fashion sense hasn’t improved as much as his balance.”

Edward took my hand—I couldn’t stop marveling at the smoothness, the nearly matched temperature of his skin—and darted through the backyard to the edge of the river. I went along with him effortlessly.

Everything physical seemed very simple.

“Are we swimming?” I asked him when we stopped beside the water.

“And ruin your nice clothes? No. We’re jumping.”

I pursed my lips, considering. The river was about fifty yards wide here. “You first,” I said.

He touched my cheek, took two quick backward strides, and then ran back those two steps, launching himself from a flat stone firmly embedded in the riverbank. I studied the flash of movement as he arced over the water, finally turning a somersault just before he disappeared into the thick trees on the other side of the river.

“Show-off,” I muttered, and heard his invisible laugh.

I backed up five paces, just in case, and took a deep breath.

Suddenly, I was anxious again. Not about falling or getting hurt—I was more worried about the forest getting hurt.

It had come on slowly, but I could feel it now—the raw, massive strength thrilling in my limbs. I was suddenly sure that if I wanted to tunnel under the river, to claw or beat my way straight through the bedrock, it wouldn’t take me very long. The objects around me —the trees, the shrubs, the rocks... the house—had all begun to look very fragile.

Hoping very much that Esme was not particularly fond of any specific trees across the river, I flexed my shoulders back, preparing to move. The first three buttons of the tight satin shirt popped off. I sighed. I tensed into a preparative crouch, and the side seam of the slim fitting pants ripped up the side. God, Alice!

Well, Alice seemed to treat clothes as if they were disposable and meant for one-time usage, so she shouldn’t mind this. I bent to carefully grasp the hem at the undamaged right seam between my fingers and, exerting the tiniest amount of pressure possible, I ripped the pants open to just above my knee. Then I fixed the other side to match, and tore off the excess fabric. I admired my new dress shorts with a smug sense of amusement.

Much better.

I could hear the muffled laughter in the house, and even the sound of someone gritting her teeth. The laughter came from upstairs and down, and I very easily recognized the much different, rough, throaty chuckle from the first floor.

So Jacob was watching, too? I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking now, or what he was still doing here. I’d envisioned our reunion—if he could ever forgive me—taking place far in the future, when I was more stable, and time had healed the wounds I’d inflicted in his heart.

I didn’t turn to look at him now, wary of my mood swings. It wouldn’t be good to let any emotion take too strong a hold on my frame of mind. Jasper’s fears had me on edge, too. I had to hunt before I dealt with anything else. I tried to forget everything else so I could concentrate.

“Beau?” Edward called from the woods, his voice moving closer. “Do you want to watch again?”

But I remembered everything perfectly, of course, and I didn’t want to give Emmett a reason to find more humor in my education and testing. This was physical—it should be instinctive. So I took a deep breath and ran for the river.

Unhindered by my fitted pants, it took only one long bound to reach the water’s edge. Just an eighty-fourth of a second, and yet it was plenty of time—my eyes and my mind moved so quickly that one step was enough. It was simple to position my right foot just so against the flat stone and exert the adequate pressure to send my body wheeling up into the air. I was paying more attention to aim than force, and I erred on the amount of power necessary—but at least I didn’t err on the side that would have gotten me wet. The fifty-yard width was slightly too easy a distance…

It was a strange, giddy, electrifying thing, but a short thing. An entire second had yet to pass, and I was across.

I was expecting the close-packed trees to be a problem, but they were surprisingly helpful. It was a simple matter to reach out with one sure hand as I fell back toward the earth again deep inside the forest and catch myself on a convenient branch; I swung lightly from the limb and landed on my toes, still fifteen feet from the ground on the wide bough of a Sitka spruce.

It was fabulous.

Over the sound of my peals of delighted laughter, I could hear Edward racing to find me. My jump had been twice as long as his. When he reached my tree, his eyes were wide. I leaped nimbly from the branch to his side, soundlessly landing again on the balls of my feet.

“Was that good?” I wondered, my breathing accelerated with excitement.

“Very good.” He smiled approvingly, but his casual tone didn’t match the surprised expression in his eyes.

“Can we do it again?”

“Focus, Beau—we’re on a hunting trip.”

“Oh, right.” I nodded. “Hunting.”

“Follow me... if you can.” He grinned, his expression suddenly taunting, and broke into a run.

He was faster than me. I couldn’t imagine how he moved his legs with such blinding speed, but it was beyond me. However, I wasstronger, and every stride of mine matched the length of three of his. And so I flew with him through the living green web, by his side, not following at all. As I ran, I couldn’t help laughing quietly at the thrill of it; the laughter neither slowed me nor upset my focus.

I could finally understand why Edward never hit the trees when he ran—a question that had always been a mystery to me. It was a peculiar sensation, the balance between the speed and the clarity. For, while I rocketed over, under, and through the thick jade maze at a rate that should have reduced everything around me to a streaky green blur, I could plainly see each tiny leaf on all the small branches of every insignificant shrub that I passed.

The wind of my speed blew my hair out behind me, and, though I knew it shouldn’t, it felt almost warm against my skin. Just as the rough forest floor shouldn’t feel like velvet beneath my bare soles, and the limbs that whipped against my skin shouldn’t feel like caressing feathers.

The forest was much more alive than I’d ever known—small creatures whose existence I’d never guessed at teemed in the leaves around me. They all grew silent after we passed, their breath quickening in fear. The animals had a much wiser reaction to our scent than humans seemed to. Certainly, it’d had the opposite effect on me.

I kept waiting to feel winded, but my breath came effortlessly. I waited for the burn to begin in my muscles, but my strength only seemed to increase as I grew accustomed to my stride. My leaping bounds stretched longer, and soon he was trying to keep up with me. I laughed again, exultant, when I heard him falling behind. My naked feet touched the ground so infrequently now it felt more like flying than running.

“Beau,” he called dryly, his voice even, lazy.

I could hear nothing else; he had stopped. I briefly considered mutiny.

But, with a sigh, I whirled and skipped lightly to his side, some hundred yards back. I looked at him expectantly. He was smiling, with one eyebrow raised. He was so beautiful that I could only stare.

“Did you want to stay in the country?” he asked, amused. “Or were you planning to continue on to Canada this afternoon?”

“This is fine,” I agreed, concentrating less on what he was saying and more on the mesmerizing way his lips moved when he spoke. It was hard not to become sidetracked with everything fresh in my strong new eyes. “What are we hunting?”

“Elk. I thought something easy for your first time...” He trailed off when my eyes narrowed at the word easy.

But I wasn’t going to argue; I was supposed to be hunting. And I didn’t know what I was doing, but he did. So I should follow his lead.

“Okay, where?” I asked, scanning the trees. The thirst was uncomfortable, but not as unmanageable as I had imagined it would be.

“Hold still for a minute,” he said, putting his hands lightly on my shoulders. The ability to stay still seemed more difficult when he was touching me.

“Now close your eyes,” he murmured. When I obeyed, he raised his hands to my face, stroking my cheekbones. I felt my breathing speed and waited briefly again for the blush that wouldn’t come.

“Listen,” Edward instructed. “What do you hear?”

Everything,I could have said; his perfect voice, his breath, his lips brushing together as he spoke, the whisper of birds preening their feathers in the treetops, their fluttering heartbeats, the maple leaves scraping together, the faint clicking of ants following each other in a long line up the bark of the nearest tree. But I knew he meant something specific, so I let my ears range outward, seeking something different than the small hum of life that surrounded me. There was an open space near us—the wind had a different sound across the exposed grass—and a small creek, with a rocky bed. And there, near the noise of the water, was the splash of lapping tongues, the loud thudding of heavy hearts, pumping thick streams of blood...

I felt a vague tenseness in my throat.

“By the creek, to the northeast?” I asked, my eyes still shut.

“Yes.” His tone was approving. “Now... wait for the breeze again and... what do you smell?”

Mostly him—his strange honey-lilac-and-sun perfume. But also the rich, earthy smell of rot and moss, the resin in the evergreens, the warm, almost nutty aroma of the small rodents cowering beneath the tree roots. And then, reaching out again, the clean smell of the water, which was surprisingly unappealing despite my thirst. I focused toward the water and found the scent that must have gone with the lapping noise and the pounding heart. Another warm smell, rich and tangy, stronger than the others. And yet nearly as unappealing as the brook. I wrinkled my nose.

He chuckled. “I know—it takes some getting used to.”

“Three?” I guessed.

“Five. There are two more in the trees behind them.”

“What do I do now?”

His voice sounded like he was smiling. “What do you feel like doing?”

I thought about that, my eyes still shut as I listened and breathed in the scent. Another bout of that annoying thirst intruded on my awareness, and as my annoyance with it grew, the warm, tangy odor wasn’t quite so objectionable. At least it would be something hot and wet in my dry mouth. My eyes snapped open.

“Don’t think about it,” he suggested as he lifted his hands off my face and took a step back. “Just follow your instincts.”

I let myself drift with the scent, barely aware of my movement as I ghosted down the incline to the narrow meadow where the stream flowed. My body shifted forward automatically into a low crouch as I hesitated at the fern-fringed edge of the trees. I could see a big buck, two dozen antler points crowning his head, at the stream’s edge, and the shadow-spotted shapes of the four others heading eastward into forest at a leisurely pace.

I centered myself around the scent of the male, the hot spot in his shaggy neck where the warmth pulsed strongest. Only thirty yards—two or three bounds—between us. I tensed myself for the first leap.

But as my muscles bunched in preparation, the wind shifted, blowing stronger now, and from the south. I didn’t stop to think, hurtling out of the trees in a path perpendicular to my original plan, scaring the elk into the forest, racing after a new fragrance so startlingly attractive that I felt instantly drawn to it.

The scent ruled completely. I was single-minded as I traced it, aware only of the thirst and the smell that promised to quench it. The thirst grew more intense, like I was a man lost in the desert, desperate for just a sip of water.

There was only one thing that had any chance of penetrating my focus now, an instinct more powerful, more basic than the need to quench the thirst—it was the instinct to protect myself from danger. Self-preservation.

I was suddenly alert to the fact that I was being followed. The pull of the nearly irresistible scent warred with the impulse to turn and defend my hunt. A bubble of sound built in my chest, my lips pulled back of their own accord to expose my teeth in warning. My feet slowed, the need to protect my back struggling against the desire to quench my thirst.

And then I could hear my pursuer gaining, and defense won. As I spun, the rising sound ripped its way up my throat and out.

The feral snarl, coming from my own mouth, was so unexpected that it brought me up short. It unsettled me, and it cleared my head for a second—the thirst-driven haze receded, though the parched feeling in my throat continued.

The wind shifted, blowing the smell of wet earth and coming rain across my face, further freeing me from the other scent’s grip—a scent so tempting it could only be human.

Edward hesitated a few feet away, his arms raised as if to embrace me—or restrain me. His face was intent and cautious as I froze, horrified.

I realized that I had been about to attack him. With a hard jerk, I straightened out of my defensive crouch. I held my breath as I refocused, fearing the power of the fragrance swirling up from the south.

He could see reason return to my face, and he took a step toward me, lowering his arms.

“I have to get away from here,” I spit through my teeth, using the breath I had.

Shock crossed his face. “Can you leave?”

I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant by that. I knew the ability to think clearly would last only as long as I could stop myself from thinking of—

I burst into a run again, a flat-out sprint straight north, concentrating solely on the uncomfortable feeling of sensory deprivation that seemed to be my body’s only immediate response to the lack of air. My one goal was to run far enough away that the scent behind me would be completely lost. Impossible to find, even if I changed my mind...

Once again, I was aware of being followed, but I was sane this time. I fought the instinct to breathe—to use the flavors in the air to be sure it was Edward. I didn’t have to fight long; though I was running faster than I ever had before, shooting like a comet through the straightest path I could find in the trees; Edward caught up with me after a short minute.

A new thought occurred to me, and I stopped dead, my feet planted. I was sure it must be safe here, but I held my breath just in case.

Edward blew past me, surprised by my sudden freeze. He wheeled around and was at my side in a second. He put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes, shock still the dominant emotion on his face.

“How did you do that?” he demanded.

“Just a minute,” I said quickly. I placed two fingers at the pulse point on my neck. My heart was still beating, but it had slowed even further than before. Instead of panicking from a lack of fresh oxygen, my heart had simply slowed to preserve what oxygen had been in my lungs. They, too, showed no signs of distress. That aching burn from a lack of oxygen was non-existent. My new body was unbothered by me not breathing, carefully adjusting to accommodate the change.

When I opened my mouth, I could taste the air—it was unpolluted now, with no trace of the compelling perfume to torment my thirst. I took a cautious breath.

Edward was still staring at me, his eyes still wide with shock. “Beau, how did you do it?”

“Do what? Run away? I held my breath.”

“But how did you stop hunting?”

“When you came up behind me... I’m so sorry about that.”

“Why are you apologizing to me? I’m the one who was horribly careless. I assumed no one would be so far from the trails, but I should have checked first. Such a stupid mistake! You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I growled at you!” I was still horrified that I was physically capable of such a vicious sound.

“Of course you did. That’s only natural. But I can’t understand how you ran away.”

“What else could I do?” I asked. His attitude confused me—what did he want to have happened? “It might have been someone I know!”

He startled me, suddenly bursting into a spasm of loud laughter, throwing his head back and letting the sound echo off the trees.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

He stopped at once, and I could see he was wary again.

Keep it under control, I thought to myself. I had to watch my temper. Just like I was a young werewolf rather than a vampire. Something in the back of my new, clearer mind marked that thought like it was important.

“I’m not laughing at you, Beau. I’m laughing because I am in shock. And I am in shock because I am completely amazed.”

“Why?”

“You shouldn’t be able to do any of this. You shouldn’t be so... so rational. You shouldn’t be able to stand here discussing this with me calmly and coolly. And, much more than any of that, you should nothave been able to break off mid-hunt with the scent of human blood in the air. Even mature vampires have difficulty with that—we’re always very careful of where we hunt so as not to put ourselves in the path of temptation. Beau, you’re behaving like you’re decades rather than days old.”

“Oh.” But I’d known it was going to be hard. That was why I’d been so on guard. I’d been expecting it to be difficult. Even then, it wasn’t the mostdifficult thing I had done. I imagined I could mark this as one of the ways I was notlike a vampire. Whatever I was, perhaps exceptional self-control was a part of the package.

He put his hands on my face again, and his eyes were full of wonder. “What wouldn’t I give to be able to see into your mind for just this one moment.”

Such powerful emotions. I’d been prepared for an all-consuming thirst, for physical strength, but not this. I’d been so sure it wouldn’t be the same when he touched me. Well, truthfully, it wasn’t the same.

It was stronger.

I reached up to trace the planes of his face; my fingers lingered on his lips.

“I thought I wouldn’t feel this way for a long time?” My uncertainty made the words a question. “But I still want you.”

He blinked in shock. “How can you even concentrate on that? Aren’t you unbearably thirsty?”

I considered that for a moment. Then I shrugged, “I mean, sure.”

He stared at me with a bewildered expression. Then he shook his head. “Let’s try again, Beau. Concentrate.”

I blinked in confusion and then sighed, closing my eyes like I had before to help me concentrate. I let my senses range out around me, tensed this time in case of another onslaught of the delicious taboo scent.

Edward dropped his hands, not even breathing while I listened farther and farther out into the web of green life, sifting through the scents and sounds for something not totally repellant to my thirst. There was a hint of something different, a faint trail to the east…

My eyes flashed open, but my focus was still on sharper senses as I turned and darted silently eastward. The ground sloped steeply upward almost at once, and I ran in a hunting crouch, close to the ground, taking to the trees when that was easier. I sensed rather than heard Edward with me, flowing quietly through the woods, letting me lead.

The vegetation thinned as we climbed higher; the scent of pitch and resin grew more powerful, as did the trail I followed—it was a warm scent, sharper than the smell of the elk and more appealing. A few seconds more and I could hear the muted padding of immense feet, so much subtler than the crunch of hooves. The sound was up—in the branches rather than on the ground. Automatically I darted into the boughs as well, gaining the strategic higher position, halfway up a towering silver fir.

The soft thud of paws continued stealthily beneath me now; the rich scent was very close. My eyes pinpointed the movement linked with the sound, and I saw the tawny hide of the great cat slinking along the wide branch of a spruce just down and to the left of my perch. He was big—easily four times my mass. His eyes were intent on the ground beneath; the cat hunted, too. I caught the smell of something smaller, bland next to the aroma of my prey, cowering in brush below the tree. The lion’s tail twitched spasmodically as he prepared to spring.

With a light bound, I sailed through the air and landed on the lion’s branch. He felt the shiver of the wood and whirled, shrieking surprise and defiance. He clawed the space between us, his eyes bright with fury. Intent on my own prey, I ignored the exposed fangs and the hooked claws and launched myself at him, knocking us both to the forest floor.

It wasn’t much of a fight.

His raking claws could have been caressing fingers for all the impact they had on my skin. His teeth could find no purchase against my shoulder or my throat. His weight was nothing. My teeth unerringly sought his throat, and his instinctive resistance was pitifully feeble against my strength. My jaws locked easily over the precise point where the heat flow concentrated.

It was effortless as biting into butter. My teeth were steel razors; they cut through the fur and fat and sinews like they weren’t there.

The flavor was wrong, but the blood was hot and wet and it soothed the dry, itching thirst as I drank in an eager rush. The cat’s struggles grew more and more feeble, and his screams choked off with a gurgle. The warmth of the blood radiated throughout my whole body, heating even my fingertips and toes.

The lion was finished before I was. The thirst ebbed nearly to the point of non-existence as he ran dry, and I shoved his carcass off my body in disgust. How could I still be even slightly thirsty after all that?

I wrenched myself erect in one quick move. Standing, I realized I was a bit of a mess. I wiped my face off on the back of my arm and tried to fix destroyed shirt hanging off my shoulders. The claws that had been so ineffectual against my skin had had more success with the thin satin.

“Hmm,” Edward said. I looked up to see him leaning casually against a tree trunk, watching me with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I guess I could have done that better.” I was covered in dirt, my hair knotted, my clothes bloodstained and hanging in tatters. Edward didn’t come home from hunting trips looking like this.

“You did perfectly fine,” he assured me. “It’s just that... it was much more difficult for me to watch than it should have been.”

I raised my eyebrows, confused.

“It goes against the grain,” he explained, “letting you wrestle with lions. I was having an anxiety attack the whole time.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” I mused, “For all we know I could still have been just as fragile.”

“I should have more faith.” He smiled. “You always surprise me, Beau.” His eyes appraised me for a moment before he continued. “I must say I rather like the improvements to your attire.”

I wondered if my strange, new skin blushed like it used to. Judging by the twitch at the corners of his mouth, some sort of change must have registered in my face. I changed the subject. “Why am I still thirsty?”

“Because you’re young.”

I sighed. “And I don’t suppose there are any other mountain lions nearby.”

“Plenty of deer, though.”

I made a face. “They don’t smell as good.”

“Herbivores. The meat-eaters smell more like humans,” he explained.

“Not that much like humans,” I disagreed, trying not to remember.

“We could go back,” he said solemnly, but there was a teasing light in his eye. “Whoever it was out there, if their tastes aligned with mine, they probably wouldn’t even mind death if you were the one delivering it.” His gaze ran over my ravaged clothes again. “In fact, they would think they were already dead and gone to heaven the moment they saw you.”

I rolled my eyes and snorted. “Let’s go hunt some stinking herbivores.”

We found a large herd of mule deer as we ran back toward home. He hunted with me this time, now that I’d gotten the hang of it. I brought down a large buck, making nearly as much of a mess as I had with the lion. He’d finished with two before I was done with the first, not a hair ruffled, not a spot on his white shirt. We chased the scattered and terrified herd, but instead of feeding again, this time I watched carefully to see how he was able to hunt so neatly.

All the times that I had wished that Edward would not have to leave me behind when he hunted, I had secretly been just a little relieved. Because I was sure that seeing this would be frightening. Horrifying. That seeing him hunt would finally make him look like a vampire to me.

Of course, it was much different from this perspective, as something like a vampire myself. But I doubted that even my human eyes would have missed the beauty here.

It was a surprisingly sensual experience to observe Edward hunting. His smooth spring was like the sinuous strike of a snake; his hands were so sure, so strong, so completely inescapable; his full lips were perfect as they parted gracefully over his gleaming teeth. He was glorious. I felt a sudden jolt of both pride and desire. He was mine. Nothing could ever separate him from me now. I was too strong to be torn from his side.

He was very quick. He turned to me and gazed curiously at my gloating expression.

“No longer thirsty?” he asked.

I shrugged. “You distracted me. You’re much better at it than I am.”

“Centuries of practice.” He smiled. His eyes were a disconcertingly lovely shade of honey gold now.

“Just one,” I corrected him.

He laughed. “Are you done for today? Or did you want to continue?”

“Done, I think.” I wasn’t thirsty anymore. I felt fairly satisfied, and in more ways than one.

I felt in control. Perhaps my sense of security was false, but I did feel pretty good about not killing anyone today. If I could resist totally human strangers, wouldn’t I be able to handle the werewolf best friend and his brothers back at the house?

“I want to head back, see Jacob and the boys.” I said. Now that my thirst was thoroughly tamed, my earlier worries were hard to forget. I wanted to see if I had any chance to reconcile with Jacob after all this. If he was still there, surely there had to be a chance to mend things—to create some closure for us.

Edward held out his hand to me. I took it, and his skin felt warmer than before. His cheek was faintly flushed, the shadows under his eyes all but vanished.

I was unable to resist stroking his face again. And again.

I sort of forgot that I was waiting for a response to my request as I stared into his shimmering gold eyes.

It was almost harder than it had been to turn away from the scent of human blood, but I somehow kept the need to be careful firmly in my head as I stretched up on my toes and wrapped my arms around him. Gently.

He was not so hesitant in his movements; his arms locked around my waist and pulled me tight against his body. His lips crushed down on mine, but they felt soft. My lips no longer shaped themselves around his; they held their own.

Like before, it was as if the touch of his skin, his lips, his hands, was sinking right through my smooth, hard skin and into my new bones. To the very core of my body. I hadn’t imagined that I could love him more than I had.

My old mind hadn’t been capable of holding this much love. My old heart had not been strong enough to bear it.

Maybe this was the part of me that I’d brought forward to be intensified in my new life. Like Carlisle’s compassion and Esme’s devotion. I would probably never be able to do anything interesting or special like Edward, Alice, and Jasper could do. Maybe I would just love Edward more than anyone in the history of the world had ever loved anyone else.

I could live with that.

I remembered parts of this—twisting my fingers in his hair, tracing the planes of his chest—but other parts were so new. He was new. It was an entirely different experience with Edward kissing me so fearlessly, so forcefully. I responded to his intensity, and then suddenly we were falling.

“Oops,” I said, and he laughed underneath me. “I didn’t mean to tackle you like that. Are you okay?”

He stroked my face. “Slightly better than okay.” And then a perplexed expression crossed his face. “Still want to go back?” he asked uncertainly, trying to ascertain what I wanted most in this moment. A very difficult question to answer, because I wanted so many things at the same time.

I could tell that he wasn’t exactly averse to procrastinating our return trip, and it was hard to think about much besides his skin on mine—there really wasn’t that much left of my clothes. But I couldn’t stay here forever. Life was waiting for me. My family was waiting. My best friend was waiting. I needed to see them, to fill my new mind with memories of them that would last forever.

“Let’s go,” I agreed, rueful, and I whipped back up onto my feet, pulling him with me.

#Breaking Dawn #Breaking Dawn Revamped #Breaking Dawn Rewrite #The Twilight Saga #The Twilight Saga Revamped #The Twilight Saga Rewrite #Beau Swan #Beau Cullen #Edward Cullen

[wordsablaze]

chapter four: addicted enough

Pastel Protection Phenomena Phil’s a pastel in a shady orphanage, Dan’s a punk with a shady lifestyle. They find each other like opposite ends of a magnet and slowly but surely fall into a mutual shadiness they call love. *PREQUEL* to the oneshot ’Protective Punk’, enjoy!

A/N:  A/N: Happy pride month! Also, I’m doing commissions! <3

"What's the green stuff?" Phil asks after he's finished his chips.

Dan had started eating his fish first, only after Phil had eaten half his chips and his stomach had quietened, so he now has only chips left but he also has a little tub of what looks like green mashed potatoes.

"They're mushy peas, do you want to try some?" Dan offers, dipping a chip in the paste and handing it to Phil with a warm smile on his face.

Phil shrugs, definitely wanting to try it but having had his food stolen enough times before to know that it doesn't feel nice. "I don't… I don't want to steal your food."

But Dan only smiles. "It's not really stealing if I let you, is it? And anyway, I can never eat all of it."

That blows Phil's mind. He can't imagine that there are people who can afford to throw away food just because they don't want to eat it when there are others, like him, who don't always have even half a meal to eat every day. And then he sees the glint in Dan's eyes that tells him Dan is lying – he's good at reading people and their lies by now – and it occurs to him that Dan had just been making an excuse so Phil doesn't feel as bad for eating his food.

"Thanks for lying," Phil whispers as he takes the chip, then bites into it and gasps at the strangely nice taste that floods his taste buds. It's much sweeter than he'd thought but there's an edge to it, something interesting that he knows he'll now always associate with Dan.

Dan chuckles. "I guess you like it, huh?"

Phil wants to say he loves it but he'd rather not emotionally force Dan to give up his food so he just shrugs a little. "It's alright. Fish are cuter though."

"No way! Peas are much cuter!" Dan argues, going with the sort of random statement instead of being weirded out, something that Phil really appreciates.

"They're squashed so badly they don't even look like peas anymore!"

He takes a moment but then Dan laughs and replies: "You're eating processed fish covered in bread or whatever, it's not like you can say anything."

Giggling, Phil throws his hands up in surrender. "Touché!"

A sort of nostalgic look settles in Dan's eyes and he smiles fondly. "You have such an addictive little giggle."

For a full ten seconds, Phil panics because nobody has ever told him that and he's not sure what he's meant to do about that. Somehow, he finds enough confidence to say: "I do not giggle!"

Dan raises an eyebrow into a lopsided arch. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure you just giggled…"

"You're definitely hearing things," Phil says, a smile playing on his lips as he stares into Dan's eyes.

Dan might say something in response but Phil stops paying attention, instead staring at the woodland that is Dan's eyes, the bright brown and the darker, richer, flecks of chocolate that seem to sparkle as he watches. It's mesmerising and Phil wonders why he's never appreciated brown so much before because Dan's eyes have quickly become his favourite colour to ever exist.

"You alright? Phil?" Dan asks, his voice gentle but piercing, cutting into Phil's musings.

"Who?"

Dan chuckles, shaking his head. "Are you not called Phil?"

"No, I'm called-"

Before he can finish making his sarcastic reply, Dan fumbles and drops his plastic takeaway container, making them both jump, then promptly laugh at each other. Phil's stomach flips because he hasn't laughed with anyone for a long time and it feels nice to just let go of his worries for a little while. It feels nice to let himself be happy, to forget about the people who just want to see him in misery, and just relax, alone but not alone enough to feel lonely.

"Phil? You alright?" Dan asks, making Phil realise that he'd gotten lost in his thoughts again. He can't help it, it's like a second nature to him, but he wishes he could control it so other people didn't get mad at him. Not that Dan was mad at him, but just in case he gets mad when it happens again...

"Yeah, thanks," he answers eventually, bringing himself back to the present.

"Hey, did you clean up while I was gone?" Dan asks, finally noticing the different piles of leaves.

Phil smiles. "A little. I didn't want you to make you eat in the middle of a mess."

The confusion in Dan's eyes morphs into appreciation and he grins at Phil, the corners of his eyes crinkling into crossroads and dimples appearing on his cheeks. He just stares at Phil for a long while before finally blinking to clear his watering eyes, then clearing his throat. "Sorry, you're just so damn cute."

Phil can't help thinking that the slight blush on Dan's cheeks suits him perfectly, contrasting with the black outfit he's sporting making him a lot less scary, a lot less like a thief. He doesn't comment on it though, because he can't be sure how Dan will react and he'd rather not gain himself any more bruises before the ones from yesterday heal properly. Layers of bruises make pretending a lot harder.

"What can I do?" Dan asks brightly, the two of them now having finished their meal.

"I... what?" Phil frowns, his eyebrows reaching for each other in the middle of his forehead.

Dan just smiles again. "What can I do to help? I can't let you sleep here... at least, not again. You deserve so much better."

"I don't," Phil says without missing a beat, but Dan doesn't seem to hear so he carries on talking: "Um, I guess you can help me to get rid of the leaves and stuff, we can throw them around the edge of the garden 'cause nobody else really comes out here."

"Nobody?" Dan echoes, but his mind is clearly elsewhere.

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like this place is particularly interesting..."

"Phil!" Dan exclaims, making him jump, "You're here, how can it not be the most interesting place in the whole universe?"

Phil opens his mouth to explain the state of the garden but then realises Dan hadn't asked about the garden and blushes so hard he feels like he has a fever. He can't reply to that so he just smiles, biting his lip and trying not to look at Dan because, otherwise, he'll forget how to function again.

"I will literally fight anyone who disagrees with me!" Dan adds and, oddly enough, Phil totally believes him.

"Please don't," Phil manages. He's not sure why he says it, he can't decide if he doesn't want Dan to get hurt or if he just doesn't want to lose the only person he can maybe call a friend. It's selfish of him, he thinks, to hope for someone's safety not for them but for himself, and he suddenly hates himself again, wondering if Dan would still come back if he knew what Phil was thinking.

"I would." Dan's voice is quiet, soft, and somehow the scariest thing Phil has heard all day.

"Wha- What?"

Dan clears his throat, fiddling with his hands, "I don't know what you're thinking but I'd still come back, no matter what it was."

He'd said it out loud. Phil curses himself but pushes it aside for now because he can't decide if he'd just imagined Dan suggesting he'd come back no matter what. Instead of voicing this, however, he opens his mouth and closes it again, biting his tongue to avoid accidentally admitting anything else.

"Unless you were thinking of drinking my blood or something. I don't know what my blood type is but it's probably not your type of drink."

He looks ridiculously proud of himself for that pun and Phil bursts out laughing without meaning to, clapping a hand over his mouth as he does. Dan joins in and the two of them fall into hysteria, both lost in each other's eyes and laughter. They don't stop laughing for what feels like hours, until Phil's stomach hurts and Dan can barely breathe, his eyes watering. At some point, they'd stopped laughing at the pun and started laughing at their laughs, but neither of them mentions it as they recover, catching their breath.

"Don't worry, I'm not a vampire," Phil assures Dan, still smiling so hard his face hurts.

Dan places a hand over his heart and gasps dramatically. "Really? I would never have known, what with your sharp teeth and ivory skin..."

"Ivory? Alright, drama queen." Phil rolls his eyes, then panics at Dan's dumbfounded expression. "Sorry! I didn't mean to offend you or anything!"

The expression on Dan's face doesn't change for a whole thirty seconds, after which he full on beams. "You are just... full of surprises..."

"Do you like surprises?" Phil asks slowly, unsure of what Dan means and if he means it in a good way or not. He can't help worrying; surprises can be good or bad and, ironically, the way they're taken is always a surprise in itself.

There's a moment of silence in which Dan gives Phil an odd look and ponders the question but then he nods. "I think I like your surprises..."

"You think?" Phil repeats quietly.

Dan nods. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know anything for sure. Like, am I even really alive? Does humanity actually exist? I don't know. But I'm as sure as I can be that the surprises you have are great."

Phil blinks. He doesn't think he's ever met anyone who's made casual existentialism so simple and easy. Then again, he's never made anyone who's made anything simple and easy so maybe it's just him that's behind on the trends in existentialism and the like. Either way, Dan fascinates him and he really hopes he doesn't have to lose him too.

"What do you want for lunch?" Dan asks, apparently randomly. Seeing Phil's extreme confusion, he reiterates: "Tomorrow. What do you want for lunch tomorrow?"

"I don't..." Phil shakes his head, understanding the question but not really following Dan's train of thought.

Chuckling a little, Dan shakes his head. "It's not that hard to get, is it? What do you want to eat at this time, tomorrow? Pizza? 'Fish 'n' chips' loses its charm if you have it two days in a row."

"You want to have lunch again tomorrow?" Phil asks, still slightly behind, having expected many things but not this. Definitely not this.

His eyes brightening, Dan nods. "Of course. I'm addicted to your giggle."

As if on cue, Phil giggles. He then claps a hand over his mouth again but his eyes are smiling when he looks to Dan with a look of gratitude. As soon as he's stopped giggling, he lets his hand fall and beams. "Pizza can be your payment then."

"Oh, what, now you're a drug dealer?" Dan asks, scoffing, but there's a spark of amusement in his eyes.

"Only for you, Dan." Phil winks. Or rather, he tries to wink. He ends up just blinking, making both Dan and himself laugh.

Thankfully, Dan seems to understand that he's embarrassed and emits what sounds like an audibly lopsided cooing sound, putting both hands over his heart and leaning forwards. "Damn, Phil, I feel special."

Without thinking about anything and acting purely on instinct, Phil replies, "You are."

He's not lying when he says so. To him, Dan is special. There aren't many other people who have held a conversation with him and nobody, nobody, has ever actively tried to do something for him instead of just pitying him and leaving. Nobody had ever complimented him or his garden and nobody had felt anger or sadness on his behalf before. He can't think of one person who had found shelter in his company and there's never been anyone who's sat in the middle of a mess just to spend time with him, only to then offer to help him clean the mess. Dan's different to everyone else and that makes him special, special to Phil.

"What the heck, Phil," Dan mutters, "you can't just say stuff like that, I have a reputation to maintain."

Phil just cocks his head, confused.

Dan chuckles. "Don't worry, it's not your fault. I guess it's my fault that I find you so cute... No wait, it is your fault. How dare you be so adorable?"

Now Phil laughs, laughs at Dan's apparent inner conflict and at the way Dan's scowling and blushing at the same time. It occurs to him that Dan had compared him to a drug - or at least, his giggle - but, really, it's Phil who's utterly addicted to Dan and everything about him.

Dan's very presence is intoxicating and Phil can't get enough. A part of him hates the idea of liking Dan so much so quickly, because, in his experience, people don't tend to stick around and, if Dan leaves, it'll hurt so much more than anything else has ever hurt. But another part of him loves being able to love, loves being able to be loved, and he doesn't want to let go of that just yet, if ever. He's more than a little addicted to Dan and he doesn't want to get over it.

"Sorry," he says in the end, literally unable to express anything else.

The grin on Dan's face suggests that it's alright and that Phil's belated, half-hearted apology says more than Phil thinks it does. The two of them then catch themselves staring at each other, lost in one another's eyes, and awkwardly cough, not having realised they'd stopped focusing on the rest of the world.

"You should, um, go," Phil says.

"What?" Dan asks, looking almost hurt.

Immediately, Phil shakes his head, slightly worried, "No, no, I just mean that I don't want you to waste your day- uh, your afternoon with me."

Halfway between a frown and a smile, Dan shakes his head. "Nope. You're a cute little drug, remember? Why would I want to do anything other than stay with you for as long as possible?"

Phil smiles to himself. Not wanting to just let himself blush and lose the ability to string words together again, he forces himself to smirk. "Then I hope you're ready for some manual labour."

"Right, yes, the leaves! Shall we?" Dan stands up without waiting for an answer, holding his hand out for Phil to take. It's honestly one of the best sights Phil has seen in a while, and he's seen some of the most beautiful flowers known to man so that's saying something.

"Shall we, what? Dance?"

It's not even a second later when Dan doubles over laughing, then exhales heavily, clumsily catching his breath, and shrugs. "Since when does dancing consist of throwing leaves around?"

Phil chuckles, taking Dan's hand and pulling himself up. Once he's on his feet and has let go of Dan's hand because the skin contact makes him dizzy with a warmth he can't name, he grins. "Props are a thing, right?"

"Right." Dan agrees, nodding pretty seriously. Which lasts about five seconds before he dissolves into giggles again like someone who's just inhaled a dose of laughing gas, something that anyone else would probably have to do before they could tolerate Phil for so long.

Either way, Phil is addicted enough to Dan to agree in some way or another, because that's an accurate summary of what everything is to him at the moment: just right.

like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks! 

#phanfiction #Dan and Phil #phanfic #danisnotonfire #daniel howell #dan howell #phil lester #amazingphil #dnp #fanfic #fanfiction #phan #phandom #fluff #romance #plant boy phil #space boy dan #pastel and punk #pastel punk au #pastel phil #punk dan #cheesy #i feel special you are #ppp #my writing #mutual pining

[lynyrdwrites]

Past Is Prologue

@goldcaught wanted Immortals After Dark for crossover/fusion day, so here it is.  I’m not sure yet if this will be how the actual multi-chapter starts, or if I’ll work it and edit it into something different... but it gives you an idea of what the plan is?

Please enjoy my KC AU week Day 1 contribution for @everythingisklaroline

---

              Ba-dump.

              At first, he didn’t realize what it was.  Not really. A thousand years of life, most of that spent with an absence of the sound, and when it suddenly roared to life, all Niklaus could do was look around in befuddled confusion.

              Ba-dump.

              It took another beat, and blood roared his ears as Klaus realized the noise didn’t come from the crush around him, but, rather, from  within.

              Ba-dump.

              A thousand years… and Klaus had forgotten what his own heartbeat sounded like.

              His fingers dug into the metal of  the barrier guard meant to prevent  patrons of the upper level of  the club from falling onto the lower.  As his heart beat out a far too rapid staccato, another part of him, one he preferred to ignore, rose to the surface with an angry roar.

              Mine.

              It was all  Klaus could do, not to roar out the word, even as his gaze rove rapidly around the dance floor, searching for whomever it  was that had set his long dead pulse to racing.

              And dammit, in a crush like this, a vampire had no way of telling whom it was that had brought him to life again – no way of knowing which one of the creatures below was his Bride –

              MINE!!

              That animal, the one Klaus so studiously ignored, roared its victory when Klaus’ eyes fell on a blonde below.  The victory was short-lived, however, when he realized that she rubbed herself against another man, one with horns that marked him as some demon, though Klaus didn’t particularly  care what the breed was.

              He would soon be dead, no matter his lineage.

              He was vaguely aware of the arrival of Elijah – the half-brother it had taken Klaus centuries to both track down and finally cajole, threaten, and finagle into meeting with him, but the beast didn’t care. Nor, if Klaus were truthful, did the vampire.

              Their mate… Bride… mate… was being man handled by some heathen, and it wasn’t to be tolerated.

              “Niklaus, what-”

              Klaus was quite sure that Elijah tried to grab him before he leapt down to the dance floor, but he was too quick, and far too focused on the blonde.

              As though she too felt the mating call, she looked away from her dance partner to meet Klaus’ gaze. Her movements came to a halt, and she stood frozen in the loose hold of the  demon.  Glancing over his shoulder to see what had distracted his partner, the demon’s gaze met Klaus’ and widened slightly. Klaus felt a grin curl his lips – a vicious grin, one that promised eternal pain and suffering.

              The demon’s eyes widened even further, and he bent down to the blonde, and murmured something quickly.  Klaus recognized the look on the other man’s face and increased his pace, determined to stop the demon from fleeing before his head could  be removed from his shoulders in order to feed the blood lust that roared through Klaus’  veins.

              He reached out, claws bursting from his fingertips, only to find himself thrown back into a table on the edge of the dance floor, wood splintering beneath his back.

              “Valk fight!”

              The pounding music  came to a halt as Klaus leapt to his feet and bared his teeth at the little blonde who stared him down fearlessly.

              “Fifty bucks says the Valkyrie kicks his ass.”

              “No way. Don’t you know who that is? It’s  Klaus.”

              “Klaus?”

              “Like, the Klaus.”

              “No fuckin’ way.”

              Had he been more himself, Klaus would  have rolled his eyes at the frantically whispering witches. Instead, he bared his fangs in an angry growl that sent them frantically backing away from him.  He didn’t bother to pay them any more attention beyond that, however, his attention instead caught on the blonde.

              She was magnificent.

              Valkyrie.  The witches had called her Valkyrie, and he could see it now.  She had  the delicate pointed ears that too many fools would assume marked her as Fey.  But in her anger, her eyes sparked silver in a way no Fey’s would.

              And over her lips peeked the tiniest  of fangs.

              Klaus quirked his head, the sigh of those sharp little points leaving him transfixed.  Valkyries didn’t have fangs, but any number of species could have fathered her. Only the very old amongst the Valkyries were not hybrids..

              “You’re very brave,” Klaus stated, stepping towards the Valkyrie. Her whole body seemed to tense, but she refused to retreat. She was reckless, his Bride.

              That could be concerning. Klaus would, of course, protect his Bride, but he was also a man with a plan.  A Bride who was reckless could be a detriment to his purpose, unless she was carefully monitored.

              “What’s your name?” he asked, when the Valkyrie remained resolutely silent. When Klaus took another step closer, she lashed out, and it was only thanks to incredibly quick reflexes that he managed to avoid being slashed open by the viciously sharp dagger she had palmed.

              “Damn,” murmured one of their observers. “The Valkyrie has a death wish.”

              Klaus bared his own fangs in a grimace. His pulse seemed obnoxiously loud to him, particularly among so many that would happily see him dead. This wasn’t quite how he had imagined his eventual courtship, should his Bride ever appear, would go.

              The odd times he had imagined such a thing, there had been far fewer observers. And a bed.

              “Careful, Love,” Klaus murmured low. “Or you might lead me to believe you don’t like me.”

              “Were you going to try and kill Enzo?”

              Finally, she spoke. And it was only because Klaus found far too much enjoyment in the sound that it took him longer than he cared to admit to realize she spoke of another man. Enzo.

              The demon, he assumed.

              “Try is such a sad little word. I would have been successful in tearing off his horns and gifting them to you.  We could have had them mounted, like deer antlers.”

              “Yeah  I don’t like you.”

              When she attacked this time, Klaus was prepared. She was strong, but far younger than Klaus.   Then again, most Loreans were.

              There weren’t a whole lot of creatures that dared to threaten The Hybrid… at least not any old enough to possibly do him harm.

              The few that might stand a chance knew better. Or were insane.

              “This will hurt us both,” Klaus murmured to her, his voice low for their ears only.  Her eyes widened slightly when she realized there would be no breaking the hold he had on her neck.  “I do apologize. But it should be an interesting story to tell the children someday.”

              It was impossibly easy, for him to snap her neck. Had she been anyone else, he would have torn out her  heart and left her to the slow, painful process of re-growing the organ.

              But this was his Bride. He could be forgiven for showing her mercy.

              “Niklaus…”

              Elijah stood behind him and trailed off when Klaus looked over his shoulder at him.  Klaus wondered if his half-brother could  hear it, the pounding of his racing heart, the roar of the wolf in his ears.

              Many thought him completely mad, taking his red eyes as a sign that he’d long ago lost his grasp on sanity.  Klaus imagined he quite looked the part, when he grinned at Elijah, victory for having found  his Bride pounding in his veins.

              “We’ll have to re-schedule, brother.  It appears I’ve found a more attractive date.”

              The news of his Bride’s abduction would likely cause an uproar in Val Hall, and the harridans would likely demand her return. But they could fuck themselves if they thought Klaus would give up his prize to them.

              He bet her blood tasted delicious.

---

              Caroline’s neck felt like someone had tried to remove her head from it with a baseball bat. That meant someone had snapped her neck.

              Dammit, she hated when that happened.

              At least if they had removed an organ  she would seem badass. And would have remained conscious.

              She swore, if it was Katherine again, she would –

              A blonde man, with electric blue eyes… no, they were red and –

              Shit.

              The club.  She had been dancing with Enzo, and then she had seen him.  

              The Hybrid.

              Of course, she hadn’t realized it was him until those witch whores had mentioned his name,  and  so much for an alliance, because they had all but pissed their pants and run when Klaus looked at them a little mean.

              So had Enzo, but she’s always known he was a cowardly shit.  It was half his charm, really.

              Fearless in battle, useless in a bar fight.

              Still, it had been Caroline’s own recklessness that had gotten her into this hot mess.  Now she’d have to use the same to get out.

              Or maybe she could just sleep with Klaus  and escape that way?

              Bad idea, her brain pointed out. And it was true; vampires were impotent without their Brides, which mad Little Klaus useless… unless it wasn’t useless, in which case hoo boy, she’d never hear the end of it.

              She rolled out of the bed – a very nice, very comfortable bed – and wished she hadn’t lost that  stupid bet with Sage.  Now, instead of practical jeans, or one of the sundresses she was far more comfortable in, Caroline was stuck in an unknown locale in a corset that was one bad twist  away from a wardrobe  malfunction.

              She hated everything.

              She patted herself down and scowled when she came up weaponless.

              The asshole took her knives!

              Damn him.

              Moving silently, she stepped into the hall. Like her bed had been, the place was ridiculously lavish and…completely lacking in personality.

              Caroline cringed most of the time when she looked at what her sisters considered “interior design,” but at least Val Hall had personality. This place was just… dead.

              It was kind of creepy.

              I will never say that the fangs of our enemies aren’t proper decorations ever again.

              She  stepped into a kitchen, which made her raise a brow. Loreans could eat, of course… but unless it was a big plate of fries to dull blood lust, why bother?

              But at least there was a knife block.

              Caroline took out the longest knife, grinning at her reflection in its surface.  She already felt more comfortable.

              “I’m afraid that if you want to use that, you’ll have to choose a different target.  I prefer not to spill my own blood in the kitchen.”

              Caroline whirled, pulling another knife out of the block at the same time.  It was more light weight, and sliced through the air far quicker than the larger one would have.

              Klaus scowled at it, when it sliced through the palm of his hand, and his precious blood hit his precious floor, making Caroline grin.

              Not quite bullseye… but she’d take it.

              “Mature,” Klaus grumbled, ignoring the way she kept the other knife between them as he dumped the knife into the sink and washed the blood from his hand.  By the time he turned off the faucet, the wound had already healed, making Caroline wrinkle her nose in what one might have called a pout.

              It wasn’t, of course, but one might call it that.

              “So, Caroline… what am I to do with you?”

              “How do you know my name?” she demanded, her back stiffening at the way her name sounded in that far too attractive accent.

              “I know many things… including how to read a license.” Klaus smirked and held up the card carrier she’d stuffed into her top, even as Caroline scowled down at her cleavage. “Although I doubt Evans is your actual surname. I thought the Valkyries would have more imagination, yet you chose something so… generic.”

              Actually, she chose the name of her favorite Chris – all the Valkyries had at least one ID with the surname of their favorite Chris; and their favorite Tom – but Klaus didn’t need to know that.

              “Generic is usually safe.  If you’re looking for a ransom, you should know we all took a vote and decided to stop doing that.  Elena was costing too much money, and we figured if we stopped paying her and Damon would finally figure their shit out.”

              They hadn’t.  But the results of the vote remained.

              “I have no interest in ransom,” Klaus replied with a careless wave of his hand.  “Do I look like I need money?”

              Caroline looked around, once again noting the lavish, yet dead, surroundings.

              “Depends on if you think money can buy taste,” she muttered under her breath, but the way Klaus’ eyes narrowed said it hadn’t been quite quiet enough.

              “You can do whatever you want,” he declared after a moment. “I don’t care.”

              “Okay,” Caroline replied slowly.  “Then I’ll go back to Val Hall-”

              Even with her own immortality-induced speed, she wouldn’t have been able to follow how he moved in front of her so quickly. It was instinct, to lash out with the knife when he was suddenly right there, and it was downright galling, that he could grasp her wrist and pluck the knife from it, as a mother would a child.

              “Since I refuse to believe that anyone would curse me with a fool for a fated female, I’ll assume you’re being purposely obtuse. You may decorate as you wish.  You may not leave.”

              Caroline felt her mouth  drop open in shock as Klaus made that declaration, then turned and strolled away.

              “Wait!” she said, after far too many beats of no reaction.  But really, she was only fifty-seven.  Hardly old enough to know how to react to that kind of bombshell.  “Just wait a damn second – you can’t keep me here!”

              Since Klaus hadn’t bothered to move quicker than a human would, it was no difficulty for Caroline to get ahead of him and block his path.

              “I certainly can,” Klaus replied easily, and though they were nearly the same height, it kind of felt like he was looking down his nose at her. Asshole.  “You’re young, and reckless.   And that makes you a liability until I’ve achieved my goals.”

              “A liabil – I’m a fucking Valkyrie!” And vampire… but Caroline tended to ignore that little fact.

              As did her sisters.  Everyone was more comfortable that way.

              “I’m aware of that, Love.  Very aware. Uncomfortably aware.  But since you made my heart beat and my beast…” he trailed off with a sneer, as though it didn’t particularly matter what his beast had done.

              Caroline had heard The Hybrid preferred to ignore the fact that he was, indeed, a Hybrid. Huh. So they had something in common.

              Weird.

              And uncomfortable.

              She’d ignore that, too.

              “As  I responded to you in multiple ways, I’ve made the decision to keep you here until such a time as I have no enemies remaining who would try to kill you.”

              “Okay, so you want to keep me here forever. That’s cool.  Or, you know, you could go fuck yourself, because no way in hell am I staying here.”

              She turned on her heel and headed for what, she hoped, was an exit.

              In the next moment, her back was shoved into the wall, his warm body pressing against her.

              She could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, and leaned down, running his nose along her  throat in a way that made her own pulse pound as well.

              “I can hear it,” he murmured, his eyes flickering between red and blue again.  “Your blood, all that blood… I bet you’re delicious Bride.”

              Her breath caught when one of his fangs scraped along her neck, making her own gums ache in response.

              “The sun rises soon… I need to take care of you… but just a taste.”

              They would both have to retreat once that happened, or risk being burned alive… but so close to him, Caroline wasn’t sure she cared.

               She would bet he would be delicious, too.

              She leaned in close, her mouth already watering for just a bite and –

              Heat seared across the back of her hand with so much pain that she hissed and dodged away from him, holding the limb close.

              “Wha-”

              For a moment, Klaus looked dazed.  Then he realized that the sun had breached the horizon, leaving them susceptible to its rays, and in just a heartbeat, he whisked them both away to safety.

              “Forbes,” he murmured, as he looked down at her healing hand.  Something in his voice made Caroline very nervous, and when Klaus looked up at her – his eyes red, but clear, and filled with some odd sort of victory, she knew she had screwed up, though she didn’t know how.  “You are Caroline Forbes.”

              “I-”

              “Again, I apologize… but I  truly can’t let  you go. Not now.”

              And for the second time, Caroline’s neck was snapped.

---

              Klaus held his Bride close to his chest, cradling her like something precious.

              And she was.

            �� Caroline Forbes… daughter of William Forbes, and heiress to two vampire thrones, since her father had successfully killed his own.

              He had wished to meet with Elijah, to manipulate his way into the royalty of Dacia and take them down from within – but that was no longer necessary.

              Fate had been kind to him, and had handed him everything he needed for vengeance in one pretty, blonde haired Bride.

#Klaroline #klarolineauweek #Klaroline AU Week #Day 1: Fusions/Crossovers #goldcaught #Klaroline fic

[hakyeonni]

in war with time for love of you

pairing: n/ken, n/hyuk, hyuk/hongbin

words: 8150

rating: nc-17

summary: the past can't hurt him. this is what hakyeon tells himself, even when he hears the rustle of feathers following him, even as he tries to forget. the past cannot hurt him.

notes: part eight of little incubus! sorry it took so long. star wars au took waaaay longer than I thought.

previous instalments

Hakyeon sees Jaehwan everywhere he goes.

It’s hard not to; their time together was measured in months rather than years or decades or centuries, and yet he can’t think of a single thing that has shaped him more than Jaehwan has. So when he walks into the kitchen and sees Jaehwan bending over to get something from the fridge, only to reach out to touch and have him disintegrate underneath his fingertips, it’s not a surprise. Neither is when he wakes to see Jaehwan lying on his side staring at him with such wonder Hakyeon blushes—and when he blinks, Jaehwan’s gone. When he closes his eyes, he sees the ghost of Jaehwan’s face; when he opens them, it’s like the real thing is there. It’s the purest, worst kind of torture, and he feels like he is slowly going insane.

So when he’s out one night with Sanghyuk and they’re making their way home after a feed, and he hears a noise behind them and turns to see a disgustingly familiar silhouette shadowing them, complete with the outline of black wings—he stares at it for a moment before turning his back on it firmly. The past cannot hurt him. The past is not real.

That’s what he tells himself, even when he hears the rustle of feathers behind him, feels wind against the back of his neck.

Lying to himself is easy.

//

Slowly, he rebuilds himself—or at least, the image of himself. It’s so easy to hide behind a mask of jokes and vulgarity, laughing and swearing and drinking red bulls. It’s so easy to get the others to believe he’s doing fine, and if he keeps at it enough, maybe he will start believing it too. Fake it til you make it, right?

“Hyung!” Sanghyuk calls from down the hall. “Do you want breakfast?”

For once they’re both up in the daylight—Hakyeon is back to a (relatively normal) mortal schedule of sleeping at night and waking during the day, considering he hasn’t spoken to Wonshik in more than a month, although Hongbin is over a few times a week to spend time with Sanghyuk. So when he crawls out of bed, bringing his blanket with him and wrapping it around himself, he sees that what Sanghyuk is cooking is indeed breakfast and not dinner—although it doesn’t look particularly appetising, since Sanghyuk apparently doesn’t have the slightest idea how to cook eggs.

“Did no one teach you to cook?” he chides, dropping his blanket in a puddle on the tiles and butting Sanghyuk out of the way gently. The eggs look disgusting, but are probably recoverable, if he tries. Probably. He doesn’t much feel like it, though, and tips the contents of the saucepan into the bin neatly.

“Fuck you,” Sanghyuk scowls, and jabs his fingers into Hakyeon’s ribs. “I was trying to do something nice for you and this is what I get?”

Hakyeon whips out his phone and navigates to a delivery app, neatly dodging Sanghyuk’s swipes. “Trying to poison me isn’t very nice. I’ll order breakfast.”

Sanghyuk rolls his eyes, and stalks over to the sofa to flop down on it dramatically. “What’s that saying? Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day…?”

“You don’t even need food to live, so shut up,” Hakyeon replies not unkindly, scooping his blanket off the floor to fling it at Sanghyuk’s head. “Want to go hunting tonight?”

When Sanghyuk finally untangles himself from the blanket and looks up at him, Hakyeon can see the slight surprise and gratitude there. Surprise, because he still can’t believe Hakyeon is back to himself—he isn’t, really, but he’s managing to quash those feelings for now—and gratitude because Hakyeon can sense through the bond that he still isn’t as confident as he should be with feeding. Not for the first time, he feels a weak pang of guilt for retreating into himself so soon after Sanghyuk was changed; it appears to have fallen to Hongbin to teach him the basic immortals dos-and-don’ts, which isn’t what Hakyeon intended. None of this is what he intended. After he met Jaehwan, his life seems to have spun way out of control, and he’s only just starting to wrestle it back.

“Tonight? Ah, I was going to hang out with Hongbin,” Sanghyuk stammers, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, hyung. Raincheck? Maybe you could see what Wonshik is up to?”

Hakyeon smiles breezily, like it’s no big deal, even if his heart is aching something fierce. He doesn’t have Jaehwan anymore. Wonshik isn’t talking to him. Sanghyuk is pulling away from him, into the arms of Hongbin—and everything is his fault. He has no one but himself to blame for this. “Sure! What are you guys up to?” he asks, leaping over the back of the sofa to land neatly next to Sanghyuk, reaching for the remote to switch on the TV.

He listens to Sanghyuk blither on about what he and Hongbin are planning to do with half an ear, not really paying attention to the TV either. It’s not that he doesn’t care, more that he’s become so jaded about love; when did that happen? He watches Sanghyuk fondly, sees the affection on his face as he describes how Hongbin had faced off against some vampires that had wandered into his territory, always putting himself in front of Sanghyuk, always taking care of him. It’s sweet, sickeningly so, and while Hakyeon is happy for them there’s a little voice in his head telling him that it won’t last, it won’t last, it can’t last.

“...Hyung,” Sanghyuk blurts, stopping himself midway through an anecdote about Hongbin bringing him flowers, “I know Wonshik really misses you. You should talk to him.”

The image of flowers triggers a distant memory, something he’s buried, but he shakes it away. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he replies evenly, because there’s not. Wonshik loves him too much to want to watch him self-destruct, which he’s doing.

“No,” Sanghyuk replies, and then he’s pressing himself into Hakyeon, shoving him back down on the sofa and hovering over him, his eyes hard. Any other time this would be sexual, but it’s not; all he can feel through the bond is indignation, and a little anger. “You need him. You might be able to pretend you’re alright, but I know what I feel through the bond, and you’re not as alright as you’re pretending to be. So go and see Wonshik.”

Hakyeon contemplates throwing Sanghyuk across the room; the fact that he’s thinking such violent things with ease should worry him, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t even know if he has concerned programmed into what feelings he’s allowing himself to feel; it appears he doesn’t. Oh well. “Alright,” he concedes, only because there’s still that memory floating around in the back of his head and it’s annoying him. He has no idea what he’s going to say to Wonshik, doesn’t know if he has the words, but he’ll work it out.

The breakfast arrives then, and they eat glumly in silence. Hakyeon quietly regrets throwing out those eggs—not that he’d ever say that. He almost wants to reach out to hold Sanghyuk’s hand, to close the impassable gulf that widens between them, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really deserve to, anyway.

When breakfast is over, he wanders back to his room and flops down on the bed dramatically, groaning loudly as he hears the front door slam. Sanghyuk had said he was going back to his apartment—that he’s still paying rent for, God only knows why—to sort out some stuff, leaving Hakyeon alone to his reverie. The image of Hongbin presenting flowers to a smiling, blushing Sanghyuk is stuck in his mind, and no matter what he does it won’t go away. He tosses and turns for a while before pulling the blanket over his head and trying to sleep, because there’s nothing else to do, the image of flowers tugging him backwards.

//

When Hakyeon wakes, it takes him a moment for him to work out where he is. All he can remember is—the palace, the panic, Jihoon drinking poison with a steely resolve. He gasps and digs his nails into his arms, grounding himself. He’s not at the palace. He’s in the woods, somewhere, sort of identical to where he’d been when he’d come across the other immortal, Wonshik, who is nowhere to be seen. Hakyeon is nestled amongst a patch of soft plants, and when he sits upright he can see a patch of freshly-dug dirt upturned next to him. He leans over and places his hand on it, feeling, and gets a faint sense of Wonshik. He can feel him, just like he could feel Soyeong, but it’s not with any human senses—more like a piece of his soul, of his blood, recognising another immortal for what they are. It sort of seems like Wonshik’s sleeping, which doesn’t make any sense until Hakyeon remembers what he had told him, the last words he’d heard before he passed out—I’m a vampire, in case you couldn’t tell. Hakyeon doesn’t exactly know what a vampire is, but if he had to guess he would assume they can’t be up in the daylight.

Getting to his feet slowly, he assesses himself. As he’d run from the palace he’d found his body changing without him having any control over it—he’d shifted through a half-dozen different animals, and various human forms, while still desperately trying to run. Perhaps that’s why he’s hungry now, and not in the mortal way but in a way that has him gritting his teeth against the feeling. It’s a horrible, aching hunger that comes from his chest, and he knows he must feed, and it must be on a human. Soyeong can’t help him any longer. The only problem is he has no idea where he is; he could be in China by now, for all he knows. He can feel that he’s in nothing but woods, though—there’s no humans around, no immortals, nothing. He’s completely and utterly alone, left with only the clothes on his back—the slave clothes he’d left the palace in are tattered and dirty, now—and the vampire sleeping in the earth next to him.

Instead of opening his heart to the pain that’s waiting in the wings to overtake him, he picks a direction and walks, enjoying the shade dappling his face and trying to distract himself. He won’t go too far, he knows, because whether he likes it or not Wonshik is his ticket out of here, the only thing he has left. How ironic. How many times will he realise that whatever good he has in his life will get ripped away?

No, he thinks, shying away from those thoughts violently. Instead he bends over and picks a pretty blue flower, twirling the stem absentmindedly between his fingers. Songi, blossom, flowers. He’ll probably never escape that insignia.

He walks for the rest of the day, a good six hours or so since he woke up at midday (that’s another thing he’s noticed since being changed—he can tell what time it is exactly with some weird innate sense), never straying very far from where Wonshik sleeps but just wandering, touching everything, enjoying the rawness of being in nature. This is the first time he’s been really, properly alone since he’s changed, and while he knows that he’s going to break soon when it sinks in that everything he knows is gone for good, for the moment he can just enjoy the peace and quiet. He watches the sky turn from blue to orange to a burning red to dark, his eyes adjusting to the change easily. The moment the sun disappears from the sky a hand bursts out of the dirt and he rears backwards, watching with eyes wide as Wonshik emerges from the ground, so covered in dirt he looks like some kind of monster. He shakes himself violently, not unlike the way dogs do when they get wet, and Hakyeon has to bite back a smile—somehow he doesn’t think Wonshik will appreciate that comparison.

“You’re still here,” Wonshik deadpans, pulling his shirt off over his head and hitting it against the nearest tree to rid it of dirt.

Hakyeon gulps. “I didn’t… I didn’t know if you’d want me to be.”

Shrugging, Wonshik turns to look at him, his gaze even. “It makes no difference to me.”

So far, Hakyeon can file this with the things he knows about vampires: cold. It adds to strong and sleeps during the day. It’s a pretty damn short list. He tries not to wither underneath Wonshik’s steely gaze and instead gets to his feet, thrusting the small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked at Wonshik, a peace offering. “Here. These are for you.”

A range of expressions cross Wonshik’s face in rapid succession, and it’s kind of amusing to watch them go past—surprise, skepticism, befuddlement, and finally a soft sort of gaze that includes a smile. He’s actually not bad looking when he stops glowering, and Hakyeon finds himself smiling back as Wonshik takes the flowers. “What’s this for?”

“To say sorry,” Hakyeon replies, fingering a tear in his pants and avoiding Wonshik’s gaze. “And thank you, for saving my life.”

There’s a long, long silence, before Wonshik pulls Hakyeon in for a hug, startling him. He gets the feeling Wonshik isn’t really a touchy-feely person. The closeness is nice, and even if this is so distinctly different to hugging a mortal (Wonshik’s cold) Hakyeon appreciates the hug for what it is. He certainly hadn’t expected to find another immortal in the woods outside the palace, but the last thing he expected was to find a friend.

“Let’s get going,” Wonshik says, and when he pulls away Hakyeon can tell he’s blushing. Huh. He really must not show affection often. “Where do you want to go?”

Hakyeon has nowhere to go, so he shrugs and lets Wonshik pick a direction, trailing behind him and staring at the wildflowers that Wonshik is clutching in his hand.

//

Hakyeon doesn’t even bother to knock; it’s daylight and the vampires will be dead to the world, so he scrounges for the key underneath the mat and unlocks the door, letting himself in. For someone so paranoid Wonshik is really lax about personal security, but that’s a lecture for another time. The apartment is spotless, as per usual, and Hakyeon heads straight for the fridge, dumping his stuff on the kitchen bench. There’s nothing in there but blood and red bull that Wonshik keeps especially for him, and he cracks open a can and downs it in one go.

The moment he’d awoken from that dream—that wasn’t really a dream at all, but a memory so vivid he can still feel the sunlight dappling his face, can still hear the noises of the woods around him—he’d swung himself out of bed and sprinted out the door, shifting into a bird the moment he was outside. It’s stupid of him to think that some flowers can fix things, but he knows it’s a start, and he also knows he needs to start. He’s tired, so tired, and he just wants his friends back.

Scooping up his stuff, he heads into Wonshik’s bedroom, sitting down on the bed next to him and watching him fondly for a moment. In his sleep Wonshik can’t glare, and he looks young, younger than he usually does. He was twenty-three when turned, a full two years younger than Hakyeon, but he doesn’t come off that way at all. Immortals don’t really go by human ages, anyway; their new life starts when they’re turned and they start counting from there (Sanghyuk gets shitty whenever someone refers to him as a ‘newborn’ or ‘0 years old’, insisting he’s twenty-one—he hasn’t quite gotten it yet).

“Hey,” Hakyeon says, shaking Wonshik’s shoulder gently. He doesn’t even feel guilty about waking Wonshik up when he’s sleeping; Wonshik has done it to him more times than he can count. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Wonshik sits bolt upright and blinks blearily at Hakyeon. It’s pretty close to sunset, so he’s reasonably alert, but he still clearly has no idea why Hakyeon is sitting on his bed when they haven’t spoken for an age. “What are you doing here?” he says gruffly, slouching and tugging his blankets up.

Hakyeon doesn’t say anything, just reaches for Wonshik’s hand and curls the bouquet of flowers he’s been carrying into it, wrapping his fingers around the stems. This is the simplest, purest way Hakyeon knows how to say sorry, and he knows Wonshik will understand what he means.

Wonshik smiles softly at the flowers, and Hakyeon feels a weight lift off his chest, a weight he didn’t even know was there. He hadn’t put it past the vampire to chuck the flowers at his head and tell him to fuck off—especially as it’s still light outside—but he finds himself relaxing anyway, smiling as Wonshik tugs him in for a quick hug. Wordlessly, Hakyeon crawls onto the bed next to him, watching as Wonshik goes back to sleep almost immediately, still hanging onto the bouquet of flowers for dear life.

//

“You’re even making me breakfast?”

Hakyeon turns from the microwave—where a blood bag is spinning wearily around and around—and raises an eyebrow at Wonshik, who looks adorable in a sleep-shirt that’s entirely too big for him, his hair all over the place. He still has the damn flowers clutched in his hand, and it plucks at a string of Hakyeon’s heart so severely he has to turn back to the microwave and clench his fists. The month without Wonshik had passed in a blink of an eye, but it was certainly a quiet one. They complete each other in stupid, funny ways, as people who have been together for three hundred years have, and Hakyeon feels a strength fill him, like he’s just regained a piece of who he is.

“I have a lot to make up for,” he replies as the microwave beeps, picking up the blood bag and wincing as it sloshes in his hands. “Microwaving some blood is the least I can do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wonshik dismisses as he takes the bag and tears into it. It’s a pretty gross sight, even if Hakyeon’s got used to it over the years—drinking blood fresh is the quickest, and easiest, way for a vampire to replenish, but blood bags tide them over for a while, give a little hint of energy that’s enough for Wonshik to last for a few days on with how old he is.

Hakyeon leans back on the bench and folds his arms across his chest. “Have you seen how Hongbin and Sanghyuk are acting? Sanghyuk went on for a full half hour about how great Hongbin is. You’d think the sun shines out of his ass,” he sighs.

Wonshik finishes the blood bag and licks his bloody lips, smirking. “That was you just a few months ago, so watch yourself. I think it’s bizarre. Love is just bullshit anyway.”

The light-hearted teasing, the banter, is probably what Hakyeon missed the most about Wonshik, and he follows as the vampire heads back into his bedroom, looping an arm around his neck and dragging him closer. “Just because you’re into women doesn’t mean you can’t find love, you know,” he mutters, digging his heels in in an attempt to stop Wonshik—who doesn’t even falter.

“I’m also—asexual,” he grunts, taking the arm that Hakyeon has looped around his neck and using it to flip him over onto the bed, a move that shows he’s been watching WWE again. “Which you keep forgetting.”

Hakyeon watches from his back on the bed as Wonshik moves to his chest of drawers and fossicks around for a shirt. “I said love, not cunnilingus. Do you even listen to me? Like, ever?”

It’s probably the greatest of ironies that he and Wonshik ended up best friends—they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. Wonshik has watched Hakyeon whore himself all over Korea, sucking and fucking anything that came his way, with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a snide comment here or there. Hakyeon hadn’t known Wonshik was asexual at first—for the first decade he’d kept begging for them to go hunting together because it would be fun, and alright, Wonshik was kinda hot. It had culminated with Hakyeon drunkenly kissing Wonshik, much to his amusement; Hakyeon doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that conversation as long as he lives.

“Most of what you say is bullshit,” Wonshik replies, mildly, pulling his shirt over his head. “So, no.”

Hakyeon realises with a start that Wonshik is going out, probably to feed, and rolls around so he’s on his belly. The fact that Wonshik hasn’t kicked him out is, he knows, an implicit invitation to join him, so he sits up and shifts, feeling slightly mad with anticipation. Hunting with Sanghyuk is fun, but he and Wonshik work together so easily, always have. Tonight he makes his hair blonde, because why not, and goes with his regular staple of a black shirt, black skinny jeans and black combat boots—but he makes the shirt gappy, so whenever he moves it flows, which he knows will look good when he dances. Wonshik, no doubt, feels the energy as Hakyeon uses it up, but he just glances up and rolls his eyes. “You look like a hit man.”

“And you look like a walking stereotype,” Hakyeon points out, noting that Wonshik is dressed all in black, too, with a long trench coat, complete with vampiric collar. “Are you cosplaying Dracula? I thought you got out of that habit centuries ago.”

With a playful roar, Wonshik flies onto the bed to get Hakyeon into a headlock. Even though Hakyeon can shift on strength, there’s no competition, not really; Wonshik is stronger than he ever could hope to be, and he pins Hakyeon to the bed easily and tickles him mercilessly until Hakyeon is begging for a reprieve.

He doesn’t even consider that maybe Wonshik missed him too until they’re in the lift heading downstairs and he feels Wonshik’s hand curl around his own, squeezing gently. It’s a touch that says so much, and Hakyeon smiles to himself shyly. The burden on his shoulders is still there, of course, and sometimes he’s still choked by it. But he has Wonshik, he has his best friend, and it’s with a renewed sense of optimism and actual hope that he practically skips out of the elevator, a grin stretched over his face, Wonshik’s laughter echoing in his ears.

//

When Hakyeon lets himself back into his apartment, having slept on Wonshik’s sofa—and waking with a cricked neck, as per usual—he toes off his shoes and calls, “anyone home?” not expecting anyone to be. Instead, he hears a grunt from the direction of Sanghyuk’s room, and bites back a smile.

“Why are you always getting into bed with people?” Sanghyuk mutters sleepily as Hakyeon slips under the covers next to him, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist to tug him backwards so they’re spooning.

“Because bed is a nice place to be,” Hakyeon mumbles into Sanghyuk’s shoulder, pressing a kiss there for good measure. “You’re not allowed to go out tonight.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“We’re getting drunk and watching a stupid movie,” Hakyeon tells him, and the tone of his voice indicates this is a mandatory activity.

Sanghyuk sighs, and rolls over so they’re face-to-face, one eye squinted against the daylight. “I think I liked it better when we were just fuck buddies. At least then you weren’t being so… peppy. You’re like a cheerleader.”

Hakyeon hasn’t thought of Sanghyuk like that in a while—not since he was turned, at least; his mind had been so consumed by Jaehwan that he didn’t even consider anything else. Even the humans he fed on were nothing but a means to an end, a way to get more energy so he could go back to Jaehwan. But he is a creature of desire after all, and sex is fun, so he swoops in to press a gentle kiss to Sanghyuk’s lips. It’s not passionate, or fueled by heat; it’s a placid suggestion, a soft sigh, and Sanghyuk kisses him back equally as idly.

“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling back slightly to rest a hand on Hakyeon’s face. “This… You said it wasn’t allowed. That I wasn’t going to get energy from you unless I was dying. And I sure as hell hope I’m not dying.”

“This isn’t about energy,” Hakyeon murmurs, sliding an arm around Sanghyuk’s waist, tugging him closer. Sanghyuk is so sweetly familiar that he nuzzles his way to press hot open-mouthed kisses to his neck, knowing it’s one of his weak spots. “This is about you and me.”

Sanghyuk’s fingers clench in the fabric of Hakyeon’s shirt. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he mumbles, but his voice is pitching up at the end of his sentences the way it does when he’s turned on, so when Hakyeon comes up to kiss him again Sanghyuk kisses him back more enthusiastically, his eyes fluttering shut.

They don’t even bother to shift their clothes away, just peel each other out of them slowly; Sanghyuk’s only wearing a sleep shirt and boxers, but Hakyeon’s still wearing layer after layer of clothing, a balm against the cold of outside. When they’re naked, Hakyeon takes a moment to just look at Sanghyuk, stretched out in front of him. He’s gorgeous, nearly impossibly so. Immortality looks so good on him, suits him, and when Sanghyuk whines it’s like music to his ears.

“You’re so pretty,” Hakyeon whispers, slipping his fingers into Sanghyuk’s mouth, gritting his teeth as Sanghyuk sucks on them.

The moment Hakyeon removes his fingers, Sanghyuk smirks at him. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say that. Say it aga—oh,” he moans, arching up as Hakyeon slides a slick finger inside him.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing that,” Hakyeon counters, kissing Sanghyuk again because it’s familiar and soft and nice and hearing Sanghyuk whimper underneath him galvanises him somehow.

It’s slow movements, gentle touches, whispered pleas; when Sanghyuk begs to be fucked Hakyeon obliges, marveling silently at the way they still fit so well together, how well Sanghyuk takes his cock. He likes this, likes being in charge, likes being the one to pin Sanghyuk to the mattress and bite his neck, loves the way Sanghyuk moans for him. He knows he said it’s not about the energy, and it’s not, but they’ve come this far, so as he’s thrusting smoothly into Sanghyuk he leans down to kiss, to taste, and whines. This is new. He’s not fed from Sanghyuk the incubus before. He tastes exquisite, like he used to as a human but with an element of power that was never there before; his humanity is there too, still fresh, and it’s like nothing Hakyeon’s ever felt before. He groans, a shudder running through him, and when he opens his eyes to see Sanghyuk’s glowing a mirroring yellow, a smirk quirking at his lips, he wraps his fingers around Sanghyuk’s throat in response. “You taste so good,” he growls throatily, licking a stripe up Sanghyuk’s cheek, feeling the younger man clench around him.

Even like this, when Hakyeon has one hand wrapped loosely around Sanghyuk’s throat, he can’t stop thinking that it’s soft, everything is just soft and genial. Sanghyuk’s moans and little breathy noises are low, and his skin almost glitters from the sunlight hitting it; when he comes, it’s with no fanfare or announcement, just a quiet ah! sound that colours the air, his fingers digging into Hakyeon’s arm. With an inhale, he tastes Sanghyuk again; with an exhale, he comes as well, burying his head in the crook of Sanghyuk’s neck and whispering his name, the syllables warm in his mouth. He doesn’t even mind that he can feel Sanghyuk feeding on him.

“I think that’s the first time I haven’t been exhausted after sex with you,” Sanghyuk says a moment later—but his chest is still heaving, and he’s covered with a thin film of sweat.

Hakyeon sits up and stretches, licking his lips as if he can still taste Sanghyuk on them. “I mean, we could go again if you really want to be tired out. Give me five minutes.”

Sanghyuk sticks a finger down his throat and gags, but his eyes are sparkling with the hint of a smile. “You’re a lecherous old man.”

“Yes,” Hakyeon replies, catching the back of Sanghyuk’s neck to drag him down into another kiss, tracing the younger man’s bottom lip with his tongue, feeling him react automatically. “And you love it.”

“Get off me,” Sanghyuk chides playfully, pushing Hakyeon away to crawl out from underneath him.

Hakyeon lets him go, flopping back onto the pillows and humming contentedly. Intimacy and sex go hand in hand for incubi, and he can feel through the bond that Sanghyuk feels content, too. They’re closer than they have been in months, and when Hakyeon rolls over onto his belly he closes his eyes and smiles. The horrible snarly knot inside him is starting to untangle, piece by piece. No longer does he feel like he’s wearing a mask of happiness while secretly being miserable; most of the time the happiness actually fits... And sometimes, just sometimes, he feels like he actually belongs again.

//

“That one’s watching you.”

Hakyeon doesn’t turn from leaning on the bar, just smiles into his beer and takes another swig. It’s not a surprise that he’s being watched; he and Hongbin are the only immortals in this club, and eyes are naturally drawn to them. “Who?”

The quirk on Hongbin’s lips tells Hakyeon that it’s a girl—interest would show on his face if it was a boy, but Hongbin’s as gay as they come—so he dips his head back to the bar. “She’s my age. Alone. Looks out of her depth.” He pauses, assessing. “She’d be easy for you.”

Hakyeon and Wonshik taught Hongbin everything he knows—he and Hakyeon have gone out hunting more times than he can count, and they work well as a pair, especially with how sensitive Hongbin is; he has a remarkable affinity for everything supernatural and it comes in handy. This is the first time they have been out alone for a while, though—Hakyeon had insisted.

“Do you want her?” he murmurs, turning around to make eye contact with the girl, who blinks, startled. She’s pretty in a doe-eyed way, her hair falling over her face. Her nervousness is endearing, but not as much as the way he can see how much energy she’d give.

When Hakyeon looks back over, he can see Hongbin’s eyes are glowing red in the darkness, and when he smiles his fangs are out. Hakyeon isn’t gagging for energy anyway, so he nods imperceptibly, pretending to look away. They’re hunting in unfamiliar territory tonight, which means he has to pay attention and watch for danger. If any other vampires turn up, it would mean trouble—and he’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

He sees the girl’s eyes glow a matching red as Hongbin glamours her, cupping her face gently with a smile. His glamour is so strong that he could probably make her do a handstand if he wanted to, but instead he just takes her hand and leads her towards the exit, filtering through the throngs of people. Hakyeon finishes the rest of his beer and follows, keeping to the shadows, noticing how Hongbin keeps looking back over his shoulder at her like he’s infatuated, keeps the glamour going. Hakyeon grins to himself in the darkness, even though there’s no one to see; Hongbin is so good at what he does he is practically bursting with pride.

The cold hits him like a smack in the face, and he shifts on a coat, wincing. Just because the cold doesn’t affect him doesn’t mean he can’t feel it, and it’s still unpleasant—the sky is heavy and swollen, threatening to snow, and he knows that when he wakes up tomorrow the ground will be blanketed in white. It’s nice, he muses as he follows behind Hongbin and the girl, keeping his distance. The passing of seasons is nice. Change is nice. Change is good. His memories of Jaehwan are tainted by the colours of autumn, cool oranges and reds and browns, and the crunch of leaves underfoot. The coming of winter has helped him forget even more.

He loiters around for a while, kicking at the dirt and feeling, as best he can, for any other immortals who might be in the area. There’s nothing as far as he can tell; just mortals milling about closer to the entrance of the club. It’s a relief, really. He doesn’t particularly want their nice night out to be marred by violence.

He hears it, around the same time Hongbin softly calls, “hyung,” from across the street—the rustling of feathers behind him, too big to be a bird, too close to be an angel, he’d sense it. Black feathers, he knows; he can see them in his mind when he closes his eyes, and his fingers twitch, curl, wanting to touch, to hold.

“Coming,” he calls back, stepping off the kerb and hurrying across to Hongbin, not looking back, not even tempted to.

The girl is slumped against the wall, the only evidence of Hongbin’s feed the tiny pin-pricks on her neck. Hongbin, however, has blood lingering on his lips, and when he licks them Hakyeon sees the flash of fangs. For her part, the girl is still conscious, and moans softly when her eyes lock onto Hakyeon. Well, conscious, but not particularly lucid.

“She’s all yours,” Hongbin whispers, stepping back and dragging a hand across his mouth.

Without hesitation, Hakyeon steps closer to the girl and cups her face between his hands tenderly, gently. She sighs into him. He must seem comforting after Hongbin. He leans down and kisses her, just a brief brush of lips, and feeds off what little energy she has left, his eyes glowing yellow. He was right—her energy is pure and it fills him with a rush, right as she loses consciousness and slumps in his arms.

“Where will we leave her?” Hongbin asks, slinging her over his shoulder easily, his touches soft as not to injure her further. “Dump her at the club entrance?”

“Let’s take her home,” Hakyeon replies, reaching for her bag to dig out her license. “She’s too sweet for that.”

They head off back down the street, staying to the shadows, melting into the darkness in the way that comes so naturally to them. There’s a furious sound of flapping behind them, like a huge bird has just taken off, but Hakyeon’s steps don’t even falter. He doesn’t look back, not once, even when Hongbin catches his gaze and raises an eyebrow, a wordless did you hear that? The temptation is gone, the spell is broken, and that part of Hakyeon is long since dead.

//

“Merry Christmas!”

Hongbin is as enthusiastic as ever, and the moment Hakyeon tugs the door open he falls on him, hugging him so hard he’s lifted off the ground. Wonshik, holding a plastic bag of supplies, looks decidedly less exuberant, a santa hat jammed on his head. Hakyeon smiles, which earns him a shove, and when he turns away he feels the other two follow him into the apartment.

“Merry Christmas,” he calls back over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen, gathering the alcohol and glasses in his arms and padding back into the lounge room. “I thought you guys were never going to turn up.”

“Hyung had to do his hair,” Hongbin explains helpfully. He’s already laid down in Sanghyuk’s arms on the sofa, and the sight of that makes Hakyeon’s stomach turn, although he’s not really sure why.

Wonshik stalks past them to sit on the floor heavily, resting his chin on his hands and pouting. “And then Hongbin had to go and put this fucking hat on me.”

Hakyeon kicks Wonshik gently on the thigh before folding himself on the floor, dumping the bottles of soju and vodka in front of him. Sanghyuk whistles at the sight of all that alcohol, and sits up, reaching for a bottle. “I want to have a nice Christmas, everyone,” he explains, slapping Sanghyuk’s hand away neatly. “So no fighting, no biting, and no fucking.”

For the past hundred years, it’s just been the three of them at Christmas, and they never really did anything special—they usually just holed up in an apartment and watched whatever vaguely-Christmassy movie they could find. They didn’t even give gifts, because there is absolutely no point—what does one even get a six-hundred year old vampire? But this year is different. Hakyeon had put his foot down and explained that since there were four of them now, they should make an event of it, hence why his apartment is draped in so much tinsel it’s probably become a fire hazard, and there’s a pile of presents stacked under his brand new fake Christmas tree.

“You’re always the one doing those things,” Wonshik points out, which earns him a pinch in the side from Hakyeon.

Hakyeon glowers. “I’m not the bloodsucker here. Anyway! Should we do presents now or later?”

“Later,” Hongbin mutters, taking the shot that Hakyeon hands him and throwing it back. “I have a feeling I’m going to need to be drunk for whatever Sanghyuk’s got me.”

//

So far, Hakyeon’s got a slab of Red Bull from Hongbin, and a veritable stack of novels that Sanghyuk had found at a second-hand book store, which Hakyeon nearly devours straight away—it’s hard to find books that he hasn’t read, considering one whole wall of his bedroom is dedicated to a bookshelf that’s stuffed to overflowing.

“This is for you,” Sanghyuk’s saying, handing over an old-fashioned wooden box to Wonshik, wrapped simply with some ribbon. “And this one…”

As Hakyeon watches, Hongbin tears into the shoddily wrapped package, and holds the resulting book up in the air for everyone to see. Wonshik just rolls his eyes, but Hakyeon raises an eyebrow and points at the offending object, slowly, because he’s drunk. “Sanghyuk, you got him Dracula? Really?”

“He hasn’t read it!” Sanghyuk replies, his hands in the air defensively. “I thought it would be cool. Even if Stoker does get most things wrong about you guys.”

In Wonshik’s box is a beautiful old-fashioned dagger, and when Hakyeon snatches it away and weighs it in his hand, he looks up at Sanghyuk and makes an impressed face. It’s well-made, with a gorgeous pattern on the handle, and when he hands it back over to Wonshik to examine he’s smiling. “A silver dagger?”

As Wonshik pretends to be injured by the silver, writhing around on the floor much to everyone’s amusement, Hakyeon reaches for the bottle of soju and brings it to his lips. This is nice. It’s just really nice. He finally feels like he’s back together again, like Jaehwan doesn’t have a piece of him still, like maybe he can keep going. For a while there he thought he wouldn’t be able to. But now? Like this, with Sanghyuk shrieking in alarm as Wonshik’s eyes roll back in his head before he leaps up to tackle Sanghyuk and Hongbin both, laughing the entire time? Like this, where his home is warm and full of laughter and there’s no sadness to be found? He thinks that maybe all the pain was worth it, if not for all of this.

He can see that Hongbin feels it just before he does—there’s a millisecond where there’s a question in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something. Hakyeon can see his lips part, wonders what the hell that’s about, and then, and then.

With a rush of angelic energy and a queer bitterness that makes him wince, Taekwoon appears in the lounge room, looking so bizarre and out of place next to the brightly-lit Christmas tree that Hakyeon shrinks away automatically, his drunk brain refusing to accept the two images.

Wonshik roars, and with a start Hakyeon realises the vampire still has the dagger in hand—so when he whirls and sinks it into Taekwoon’s thigh, it’s with a quickness that belies his intoxicated state, and before Hakyeon can move Taekwoon grabs Wonshik by the neck and slams him into the wall, his wings trembling. Sanghyuk has dissolved into a wailing mess—all Hakyeon can feel through the bond is fear, so raw that it cuts him to the bone—and Hongbin is hissing, his fangs bared, Dracula in his hands like he can actually use it as a weapon. There’s a rush of power, a roaring in his ears, and as he watches Wonshik twists his head around and sinks his fangs into Taekwoon’s wrist, tearing at his flesh savagely. Even with a knife sticking out of his thigh and Wonshik wriggling like a rabid animal, Taekwoon doesn’t even look fazed. In fact, when Hakyeon stands up and, with a swing of his arm, smashes the soju bottle on the back of Taekwoon’s head to get his attention, he just looks back over his shoulder disinterestedly.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hakyeon snarls, his hands on his hips as he tries not to sway on the spot. “If this is about Jaehwan, you can fuck off right now. I haven’t spoken to him in months.”

That makes Taekwoon pause, and when he drops Wonshik and turns Hakyeon shivers under the weight of that stare. He never used to find Jaehwan’s black eyes terrifying, but then they weren’t ever narrowed with malice, and Jaehwan never stalked towards him in a predatory way that makes Hakyeon’s skin crawl. So much for angels being good. This being in front of him may as well be a demon for the evil that’s wreathing him, and when he pulls the knife out of his thigh and licks the blade, tasting his own blood, Hakyeon has to stop himself from shifting out of fear. “I find that hard to believe,” Taekwoon mutters, twirling the dagger in his fingers. “He was so attached to you.”

Hakyeon stretches out a hand towards Taekwoon, intending to touch him on the face, and flinches when Taekwoon catches his wrist. He feels it, the horrible moment that the connection opens up between them; angels can read minds through touch, and Taekwoon is currently poking around in Hakyeon’s head. Everywhere he goes, every memory he touches… Hakyeon sees it again, as real as if he was really there. Soyeong, smiling at him across the palace gardens. Jihoon, swallowing a bottle of poison with a stoicness that didn’t belong. Hakyeon stumbling through the woods, terrified, his body changing without him having any control over it. Wonshik, taking a bouquet of flowers with a shy smile. Hongbin, rising from the ground, covered in dirt, his eyes scarlet, roaring and leaping for Wonshik with his hands curled into fists. Sanghyuk, bleeding out on Hakyeon’s carpet. Jaehwan… Jaehwan.

Taekwoon sifts through every single memory Hakyeon has of Jaehwan, all at once; he falls to his knees, but Taekwoon still has his wrist so he can’t get away. All the times Jaehwan had kissed him, all the times he’d moaned Hakyeon’s name, all the times he’s whispered nonsense words into Hakyeon’s skin. His sins are laid bare, his inadequacies spread out for Taekwoon to feast on, and he closes his eyes and whimpers.

“You are base,” Taekwoon hisses, flinging Hakyeon’s wrist away like it’s dirty. “No wonder you drove him away. A creature such as you is incapable of love.”

Before Hakyeon can even react to that, Taekwoon disappears, and he sags. All that’s left of his Christmas—the Christmas he’d worked so hard to make nice—is Sanghyuk twisting himself into knots, sobbing, while Hongbin tries to comfort him and Wonshik vibrates with anger. There’s blood on his carpet, Taekwoon’s blood, and a high-pitched ringing in his head, but worst of all, oh, worst of all, are the memories he’d locked away assaulting him over and over. Taekwoon didn’t have to lay a finger on him to wound him; he’d just brought forth everything he was trying to forget, and it cuts him so deep he can barely breathe.

//

Sanghyuk had eventually quieted, and by the time the sun is threatening to rise Hakyeon has tucked him and Hongbin into bed together, watching over them until they both fell asleep, stroking Sanghyuk’s forehead because it’s all he can do. Wonshik had taken a little more soothing. Hakyeon had had to physically crawl into bed with him and hold him until he fell asleep; he was vibrating with rage or fear or some other emotion that Hakyeon wasn’t privy to, but he kept clenching his fists in the sheets and shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe what’s happened. Now that he’s sleeping, Hakyeon can see a ring of faint bruises around his neck from Taekwoon’s hand, just beginning to bloom.

It’s with a heavy heart that he makes his way to the roof of his apartment complex. He comes up here sometimes when he feels particularly lonely or destitute; most nights he just sits and looks at the moon, but today all he can see is the sky turning violet to the east, the faint pinpricks of stars in the sky. It’s bitterly cold, and he trudges through snow, wrapping his arms around himself but not bothering to shift on a coat. He needs to feel.

“Jaehwan,” he sighs to the empty air.

He comes, because of course he does. A flapping of wings behind him, a rush of air, and when Hakyeon closes his eyes for a moment he can practically feel Jaehwan at his back, not saying anything, just waiting. He doesn’t turn around. Not yet. He’s terrified of what he might say when he lays his eyes on Jaehwan, so it’s safer to just stare at the sky.

The stars beckon to him as he whispers, “Taekwoon said I was incapable of love,” to no one in particular.

“That angel wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the face,” Jaehwan rumbles from behind him, and he sounds grumpy.

Hakyeon snorts, but the sound of Jaehwan’s voice has him breaking out into a new round of goosebumps. He still does not turn around. If he doesn’t turn around he can pretend that he’s strong, that he’s torn between leaping off the edge of the roof or running straight back to Jaehwan. He doesn’t pretend to know anything of fate, but that’s what this feels like; all his hard work over the past few months has been erased by the touch of an angel, and his feelings hit him once more. How can he be incapable of love when he is being choked by it? It winds its fingers through his hair, wraps around his throat, steals his every breath; he is nothing without it. He doesn’t even mind, not anymore, not when Jaehwan’s this close.

He loves Jaehwan. The realisation hits him at once, and he sags to his knees once more, his teeth chattering loudly in the cold air. Jaehwan’s wings rustle behind him, but he closes his eyes and digs his fingernails into his palms, stigmata, his shame. He loves an impossible being, and their love cannot exist. It’s a paradox, a painful one, but one that hurts so horribly to tear away.

“Jaehwan?”

Jaehwan moves closer; Hakyeon can hear the slush of his feet through the snow, can feel the heat of his body close, so close. “Yes?”

“What are we?”

“That’s up for you to decide, little incubus,” whispers Jaehwan, a smile in his voice.

There’s no point fighting this any longer. That much is clear. No matter what he tries to do, he and Jaehwan are on a collision course—their fates are intertwined, he knows that much. He doesn’t know why, or how, only that without Jaehwan he is incomplete. For three hundred and eighty-six years he was incomplete in a way he never knew. He is only just realising this now, and he feels like a fool.

When he turns and steps into Jaehwan’s arms, it feels like coming home.

#little incubus #vixx #vixx fanfiction #haken #chasang #nhyuk #hyukbin #hakyeon #jaehwan #sanghyuk #taekwoon #wonshik #hongbin #incubus au

[pejifukurou]

(2/4) Leviathan nodded. "It's... not really spells. I can float and bring things closer to me, if need be. I can't change the weather. But, I can shape shift. In a way. I can become mist, or a bat, or a wolf. I don't do it often, though. Unless I'm particularly bad at catching something, being a wolf helps. That's really the only one I use, though."

Dominik frowned, furrowing his brow. "I would have expected you to use the bat more often. That's what vampires are known for, anyway."

"I... don't like to."

"Why?"

Leviathan chuckled, turning away from Dominik. "You'll think less of me."

"What? Why would I ever?"

"You'll laugh at me, then. At the very least."

"Come on!" Dominik scowled, leaning forward and resting a hand on Leviathan's knee. "I won't laugh. I swear."

"You swear?"

"Yes."

"... I'm afraid of heights."

Dominik blinked. "You're... afraid of heights?"

"Yes."

"..."

"...It makes me feel sick. My head swims and my vision starts to go--it's terrible. So I just. Don't. Fly. And things like that."

"... You're a vampire who's afraid of heights."

"Yes."

"So you're traveling vampire who catches their rabbits and who is afraid of flying?"

"I'm also half-blind."

"Do you have any other quirks you want to tell me about?"

"... I can play violin."

"A musical traveling vampire. My gods, who would've thought it." Dominik snickered, grinning at the other.

"You have any other questions or are you going to continue laughing at me even though you swore you wouldn't?"

"I--I'm sorry," Dominik stammered, exhaling a final laugh. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, you're alright," Leviathan said, smiling at him. "I understand. You were expecting something more... intense, no?" He chuckled. "Everyone thinks all vampires are monsters, but it's not always the case... " Leviathan went quiet, his voice trailing off as he stared off, seemingly lost in thought. "At least, I hope I'm not the case... "

"You're not like the stories," Dominik said softly, watching him. "I... like you better that way."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

The smile returned to Leviathan's face. "That's very kind of you... "

Dominik returned the smile, staring back at Leviathan. His gaze rested on the other's lips and he stared for a moment before he spoke again.

"I have... one more question."

"Yes?"

"... nevermind."

"Come on now. Ask me."

"... can I see your fangs?"

He watched the other carefully for any signs of displeasure or annoyance. Dominik found his eyes to be soft, almost understandable, in a way as Leviathan grinned, curling his lip to expose his teeth. Sure enough, there were his canines, extended past his bottom row of teeth, nestled against his lower gums. They appeared to be filed to a point, tiny bone-white daggers in his mouth. Dominik began to reach out, but he hesitated, thinking against them.

"... Can I... ?"

Leviathan nodded, his eyes still soft and pleasant. "Be careful," he muttered as Dominik reached out to cup his cheek. "They're sharp."

Dominik nodded and Leviathan curled his lips back again, allowing Dominik to gently run his thumb against his upper lip, barely grazing by his teeth. He continued the motion, hypnotically, but his interest turned away from the fangs to Leviathan's lips, which began to slowly uncurl and close as Dominik continued running his thumb across his lips. Soon, they were barely pursed as Dominik ran his thumb across them one last time. As he reached Leviathan's mouth, the other turned their head, pressing a gentle kiss to Dominik's fingers by barely pressing his lips to it.

Dominik felt a warmth settle in his heart and his own mouth seem to be numb from aching. He began to close the distance between them, his body moving on its own as he pressed his lips to Leviathan's and closed his eyes. Leviathan did the same, closing his eyes. He did not pull away, instead letting the warmth of Dominik's mouth seep into his own lips.

Dominik was surprised at how warm the other was against his mouth. It was a simple kiss, merely pressing their lips together, nothing more. After a moment of holding it there, he began to pull away. Leviathan them moved forward, closing the gap again. He was now the one to press against Dominik, his hand finding its way to Dominik's knee to gain leverage as he pressed his mouth against the other's, lips parted as he took in the taste of Dominik's lips. As Dominik pressed back, his hand snaked from Leviathan's jaw to the back of his head, gently gripping onto the locks of copper. When he moved to catch his breath, Leviathan moved forward again, not wanting to separate just yet.

The sudden movement caused a sharp pain in Dominik's mouth and he jumped, letting out a soft yell as he pulled away entirely. Leviathan opened his eyes, also pulling back, his brow furrowed in confusion and in worry. He stared at Dominik's lips and he seemed to pale, expression now that of shock. Dominik reached for his lip, feeling wet and warmth. Pulling his hand back revealed blood on his fingertips--his lip had been sliced open.

"I--I'm so sorry," Leviathan stammered, finding his voice. "I didn't mean to, I wasn't paying attention. I'm--"

Dominik's laughter caught him off. He blinked, watching the other giggle to himself. "You're alright," he insisted, still chuckling. "You did tell me your teeth were rather sharp."

Leviathan forced a laugh, trying to relax. "Yes, I, I did--"

Dominik pressed one more kiss to his lips, this time, the blood from his wound seemed to cascade into Leviathan's mouth, filling it with a sugary-sweet taste. Dominik pulled away, noting the smear of blood across Leviathan's mouth. He couldn't help it, laughing again. "What? Am I too sour for you?"

"N--No," Leviathan said, shaking his head as he laughed nervously. "The opposite... actually. You're... rather sweet."

"... am I?"

"Yes. It's... It's nice."

"Is it really?"