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miyuhpapayuh · 8 months

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Thank you, anon!

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𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 (𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛)

“Do you need to use your safe word, baby?”

Dragging the leather crop against her skin, he intensely watches her, making her squirm under his gaze, trying to brace herself for the next pop.

“N-no.” She answers quickly, her body still buzzing from the first five. He smirks at her eagerness to not get punished any further.

“Three more, since you're being so good for me.” He says, watching the relief wash over her face. Her eyes flicker to his as she nods.

“Thank you, sir.”

Dragging the crop up to the middle of her chest, he cracks it against her skin, his eyes darkening at the way her body arches into the feeling, her thighs rubbing together again.

“Such a slut,” he chuckles, popping her thighs with his free hand, he commands her to spread them back apart.

“Wider, don't play with me.” He warns, running his thumb over her sensitive bud, her hips fighting to roll into the sensation.

He brings the cold leather down on it before she can blink, a heavy sob leaving her lips. Her hands almost leave her sides to cover herself as her hips jerk upward.

“You okay?” He asks, peppering kisses to her face.

“Yes— yes, sir!” She damn near yelps as he pops her again in the same spot, sending her eyes into the back of her head.

“You like that shit don't you, baby?” He teases, hovering over her lips as he throws the crop to the side, popping her clit with his wide digits, smirking at how wet she is.

“Huh? You like how I smack this pussy? Get it all nice and wet… listen to that shit, baby.” He makes a show of the mess between her legs, smacking her wet lips until it echoes off the walls, her legs threatening to close around his hands even though she knew better.

“F-fuck, yes! Yes, I love it!” She whines, blissed out already. Her hands clawed at the sheets at this point.

Plunging them into her, he pushes her thighs toward her chest and holds them there, making her take it.

Oh fuck bounces off the walls in different octaves as his fingers curve just right into her spot, her body hot with a blistering pleasure.

Her head thrashes around as he expertly works her up, leaving her at the cusp of her orgasm. Her whines and pouty face earns another laugh.

“I know what you want, baby.” He nods, slowly dragging them in and out, bringing her right back to the beginning again. And, then again. And again.

“Please.. please!”

“I love it when you beg, baby.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to the back of her thigh closest to him. His fingers still slowly tugged at that spot, loving the way her lip found a home between her teeth, trying desperately to hide her whines.

“Untuck,” he speaks, “don't hide those pretty sounds from me, baby.”

“Please, I- I'm— I can't,” she desperately tries to form a sentence, but the feeling of his fingers prodding at her sweet spot and his teasing tone are making it difficult.

“You can't what?”

“I can't take it,” she whines.

“Yes you can, baby.” He nods, kissing the back of her other thigh, working her up even more. He even leaned down to kiss her clit, feeling her throb around his fingers and against his lips made him chuckle, her body jerking from the vibration.

“Please,” she begs again.

“You ready to cum like a good girl?”

“Yes, sir!”

As soon as the word left his mouth, she gasped hard, closing her eyes as he sped up. Her hands rush to his arm, gripping for dear life as he pushes her over the edge.

Her wild mewls bounced off the walls as he tirelessly worked his hand between her legs, pulling several more orgasms out of her.

Her body was buzzing, head fuzzy, drunk on every ounce of pleasure he'd given her, even if it was starting to feel like way too much. It felt way too good.

“Ff-fuck!” She rasps, “I'm cummin’ again!”

“Like a fuckin’ faucet… look at that pussy go,” he lewdly remarks, smacking it with his open palm, making her jolt up from the bed.

“M-mango!” She yelps, covering her sensitive lips and scooting away from him. She needed a breather after all of that.

He pulls himself up from the bed, licking his fingers clean as she comes back down to earth.

@harmshake @abeautifulmindexposed @ghostfacekill-monger @sheabuttahwrites @soufcakmistress @honestpreference @thegifstories @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @twistedcharismaaa @headcannonxgalore @henneseyhoe @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites

#michael b jordan smut #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #smut #trying my hand at sumn new is fun 🤭 lmk what y'all think fr

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fishofthewoods · 3 days

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Oh my god I woke up this morning and my Stardew Valley meta post had almost 150 notes????? Hello?????????? Anyways I started writing this last night because @moon-is-pretty-tonight left nice tags on the original so thank you so much!!

We know from the starting scenes of the game that the farmer's grandfather loved Stardew Valley. So why did he leave? Pelican Town is a good place to grow old; George and Evelyn are just fine. It's a fine place to raise a kid, but maybe he just wanted to raise his child closer to real schools and other children.

Or maybe, just maybe, he understood.

Was there a day when he was in his thirties where he looked at his friends and realized they weren't like him? That he could run faster than them, work longer, explore deeper into the hidden places of the valley?

Was there a day when he went to the wizard to ask him for help, for knowledge if nothing else? Did he learn then that his family was different? Special? Chosen? And how did he react? He couldn't possibly raise a child in the valley if they would be as strange and fey as him. He had to leave. There was no other way.

But years later, on his deathbed, did he regret that choice?

Is that why he gave the farmer the letter?

Is that why they went back home?

When the farmer steps off the bus that first day, the valley is still on the cusp of winter, just barely tipping over into spring. The flowers are starting to bloom, but a chill still hangs in the air. As soon as the farmer's boots touch the soil there's a change. The air gets warmer. The trees get greener. Not by too much, not all at once, but it changes.

The junimos watch the farmer as they do their work. They're new to farming, but take to it with frightening speed; their first batch of crops is perfect. None of the townsfolk tell them that parsnips don't normally grow in less than a week, that cauliflowers don't grow to be ten feet tall, that fairies don't visit when the sun goes down and grow potatoes and beans and tulips overnight. The junimos talk amongst themselves in their strange, wild language, and agree: this is the one. They're back. The valley recognizes its own, even when they've left for a generation. The farmers have come home.

Things change fast in the valley. The community center, empty and decrepit for so many years, is rejuvenated. (Lewis says it was abandoned only a few weeks after the farmer's grandfather left. Strange coincidence, he says, that it both came and went with the farmer's family.) The mines and the quarry, similarly abandoned, are explored for the first time in ages. The town becomes cleaner, brighter, more vibrant, happier.

And it is happier. Not just the environment, but the people. It's the talk of the town for weeks when Haley does her first closet purge. Leah's art show in the town square is a huge success. Shane's smiling for the first time since he moved to the valley. All of them, when asked, say it's all thanks to the farmer.

People love to ask why Lewis didn't fix the community center on his own. Why Willy never repaired the boat to ginger island. Why Abigail or Marlon never went down to fix the elevator in the mines, or why Clint didn't fix the minecarts.

But isn't it so much more interesting to ask how those things were there in the first place? How they got so broken down? If the stories the townspeople tell are true, the valley was once a beautiful place, flourishing and full of life; why did that change? When did it change?

Was it when the farmer's grandfather, the locus of the valley, its chosen representative, left town?

And if so, what happens when the farmer comes back?

#lich says shit #stardew valley #stardew farmer #sdv #my writing #Hope y'all enjoyed!#I'm thinking about developing this into. Like. An actual Fan Fiction. Still sort of short-form but like with more detail?#LMK if you'd be interested to see that! Also if you want to be tagged in future installations of this please just let me know :)#I'm super into this version of the farmer as like. Blessed and cryptic child of the valley with all the strange behavior that entails #If i DO write a more in-depth version of this it'll be from the perspective of someone in town #maybe Leah? She seems like she'd be the one to notice the farmer being Odd. Either that or I'll do it from the perspective of multiple--#--different people to get their unique insights and stuff #I'd also want to dig into like #The family history of the farmer. And what that's like.#Because like why did grandpa leave?#He clearly loved the valley #So why didn't he stay?#Why did he give the deed to his grandchild and not his literal child?#And is it a coincidence that everything in the valley went downhill when he left?#I don't think so.

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imminent-danger-came · 8 months

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So, this parallel, right.

That parallel and the 4x11 shadowpeach fight as a whole:

Macaque: "No that's YOU! You're the one always running off! Looking for more power, more sources of immortality—you're the one who wouldn't quit while were were ahead! Not the great sage, he's got to drag EVERYONE else into his mess!" Sun Wukong: "You're not in this mess, you're still free! Everything I did was for us!" Macaque: "You did it for yourself! You've become like this, obsessive demon! I told you going against the Jade Emperor was a bad idea, but no, Wukong doesn't listen to anyone! He just does whatever he wants! You put yourself here, not me."

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

A large part of Wukong's motivation to keep getting more power was the freedom of it—the more power you have the easier it is to do whatever you want. It's easier to ignore everyone else and focus solely on yourself. It's also easier to ensure yourself and your loved one's are protected and have the ability to do what they want.

So, a punishment where the great Monkey King is imprisoned and trapped for hundreds of years? It's effective and tragic and fitting. Wukong wanted to have the freedom to protect the people he cared about, and in trying to reach for the power to do that, he completely had his freedom removed. He went from the mountain, to then the circlet, and then all of a sudden he had morals and was bound to those.

And then I think about his end of s3 choice to go face the Lady Bone Demon alone. Once again Wukong was trying to protect his loved ones (not to mention the whole reason he went after the Samadhi fire to begin with was to have the power, the freedom to stop LBD (which in itself is another case of SWK believing he needed to be stronger for such freedom)), but he also wanted to make sure MK and himself both had agency. He didn't want MK to have to fight LBD, and he didn't want LBD to end the world.

This is exactly the sentiment he tells Macaque in the 4x11 flashback:

Sun Wukong: "It's so we don't have to worry about anything or anyone ever again! Just living a lazy life, sitting in the sun, eatin' fruit, and doing whatever we want!"

But where does it all lead him?

To possession, imprisonment. Once again Wukong no longer had the freedom to do what he wanted (which is to protect the people he cares about). Once again in his attempts to help his loved one's, he only hurt them.

This can be applied to his relationship with Macaque, to MK in s2, hell, even Wukong trying to get the map in the first place left him powerless, which then led to him and the gang being imprisoned in 3x02. It's a familiar pattern, one we see with antagonist and protagonist alike.

MK in s2 trained to become more powerful, which in the end only strengthened LBD and forced him and his friends on the run. Mei in 3x12 protects MK by letting herself get captured and placed into LBD's crystal. Mei in 4x05 goes to protect MK, breaking her sword and leaving her vulnerable to being captured by Kui Mulang ("How am I supposed to protect everyone without my sword?"). DBK reached for more power and then became possessed by LBD, hurting his wife and son. Azure reached for the Jade Emperor's power and bound himself to that role, jeopardizing Peng and Yellowtusk in the process.

It's a cycle of reaching for power, endangering others, and then being imprisoned.

So anyways, here's why MK is going to lose control (his agency) next season and hurt his friends with his own- *get's shot*

#*cough cough* shut up this isn't similar to Callum and Viren from tdp at all.#Ignore everything I said about the reach for power to have freedom and that leading to consequences. Shhhhhhh #anyways GOSH HMMM THE CHARACTER ARCS YAY #I LOVE WHEN THEMATICALLY RELEVANT THINGS HAPPEN TO CHARACTERS #Like. It's not just ''Wukong got possessed'' it's how Wukong getting possessed plays into his character and the show as a whole #Which is why lmk is so good #A league above the rest #Ignore that this is also the exact same thing that happens to Callum with possession. Shhhhh.#But y'all get my point #So anyways in reaching for power and having the agency to protect those you care about #And continuing Mei and SWK parallels #I think it would be neat if Mei accepted the Samadhi fire again to protect her friends for whatever reason #It'd also be neat if she did it specifically to fight MK/get him back #Like teehee that would be so cool #Am I saying MK next season might very well parallel possessed Wukong? yes that's exactly what I'm saying.#lmk SWK #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk analysis #you know what executive decision tag #hero mei warrior mk

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reallyhardydraws · 1 year

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as a historical fashion enjoyer the quarry's "1950s" DLC pack outfits are a bit 'modern people trying to put a vaguely '50s look together with modern clothes' looking to me (which may very well have been their intention!) but here's some ideas because i love to be extra:

emma inspired by casual marilyn monroe looks, but with a retro cheerleader ponytail. i liked the scarf idea but i thought her look read the least as 1950s with the colour choices and style of shirt/trousers. for abi i was looking at a picture of 1950s tomboy style with a bigger sweater and rolled up, masculine trousers. i thought as the artist she should have paint on her clothes, and her hair is curled tighter to look shorter and pinned with a barette. also for a 50s backpack, it should look like [this, probably with its own paint stains too.] for nick he's described as 'nerdy' so i added glasses (i think he had them in concept art too?) and leaned into that so he looks more like doody in grease live lol. the orange soda badge is a gift from a camper.

jacob can wear jeans tbh there should be more jeans idk why supermassive decided that ppl didn't wear jeans in the 1950s, especially elvis-loving teenagers. the classic white tee, jeans and converse look is great for him he just needs the proper 1950s elvis hair. for laura's again i was leaning into casual marilyn , (like i think supermassive were trying to do) just more dressed down than emma with rolled jeans. and she needed a hat! so i also put her hair down. max needs a proper short, gelled preppy hairdo. also i don't think he'd be in a full buttoned up collar and tie to drive down to summer camp, so i used the same-ish colour palette but gave him a flannel.

dylan's look was the most true to 1950s i'd say, so i just used a more exciting print for the shirt. i like the clashing patterns for him. ryan's was also not bad but has very little personality so i thought he could have more of that rebel vibe like again seen in some concept art for him. in the group livestream justice was talking about wanting to play a competent badass character anyway! for kaitlyn she's got the most tomboyish look of the gals, but i missed the colour in her outfit so she gets a fun shirt too. anyway, here they are!

#the quarry #emma mountebank #abigail blyg #nick furcillo #jacob custos #laura kearney #max brinly #kaitlyn ka #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #i think my biggest takeaway with the decades look actually #is that if they'd changed the HAIRSTYLES it might have read better on quite a few of them #same with the 80s fits. it's the hair that's not giving the right decade #lmk what y'all think in the replies!!!!#i love reblogs but i know since these are rough sketches they might not be everyone's taste

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acoraxia · 4 months

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the urge to draw more blindjustice and get more blindjustice content out there into the fandom vs the strongest fucking fear that people from the fandom will find out about it and either call it toxic and unhealthy because it's not their favorite ship with Erlang or COMPLETELY eradicate what makes them both so interesting and cool to begin with

#think pan #ive seen what y'all do to every ship in the lmk fandom #i know what you guys did to my boy qxt #im not about to let su daji be given the fate of 'shes actually very soft and kind' when in reality shes eating a bird with her bare hands

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insectaesthetics · 3 months

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been thinking about starting an insect (and other inverts) trap sample sorting livestream if I can pull the equipment and support together. maybe if I get in cahoots with the museum we could even do something like unboxing some of the old old specimens we have that haven't even been looked at yet

#lmk what y'all think #it would be..... a lot but also fun

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angry-roomba-army · 8 months

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y'know eventually we're going to get. like. a whole bunch of wukong and macaque being buddies scenes cuz eventually they'll make up and become friends again. that's gonna happen. that's the direction their relationship is headed it will happen

#angry roomba whirrs #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk shadowpeach #i suppose #y'know what i don't think y'all are ready for that actually. the moment y'all see them interact in a friendly fashion the entire fandom will #collectively explode leaving behind no trace of the lego monkie kid fanbase

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happi-tree · 6 months

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dust to dust (tell me i am good enough)

“Does it ever get easier?” She asks, voice hoarse and low (you are used to this from her) and hesitant and very quiet (you are not used to this).

“What?” You ask, a knee-jerk reaction, overcome with shock that she would ask anything of you after everything you’ve done.

“Th- ugh, never mind, it doesn’t matter,” Her gaze drops to the pouch in her hands, fingers fiddling with its thick, plasticky edges, pinching at the places where it’s sealed and watching the last stubborn dregs of blood shy away from the pressure she applies.

“I wish I could tell you it does, Scary."

Or: When newly-Turned Scary starves herself from blood to the point of illness, it's up to Terry to help her recover and help her gain her footing in the new, monstrous world in which she now finds herself.

ao3

Happy Dndads Halloween Week, lovebirds! Here's my fic for day 1: vampires. It's part of a supernatural au that @kaseyskat and @llumimoon masterminded alongside me, and I'm really excited to post more about it in the coming days. Hope you enjoy!

The silence between the two of you stretches like a rubber band, chafes like an ill-fitting starched shirt. Discomfort is familiar company, though, so you allow it to settle on your shoulders and pretend the way that her glassy, red-pupiled eyes stare through you doesn’t make you want to shatter the silence.

You’ve barged into her life enough, you think, you mourn. You’re always mourning something, been mourning since you were thirteen and it never stopped.

But this isn’t about you. This is about her, the young girl that’s pushed herself up awkwardly to sit, still clutching one of the many drained pouches you brought for her. So you wait as stolen color begins to warm her pale skin, as her eyes seem to gain some lucidity.

She swallows, clears her throat, and you reach for another blood pouch, but before you can grasp it, she speaks.

“Does it ever get easier?” She asks, voice hoarse and low (you are used to this from her) and hesitant and very quiet (you are not used to this).

“What?” You ask, a knee-jerk reaction, overcome with shock that she would ask anything of you after everything you’ve done.

She looks so small like this, you think for the millionth time since she invited you through the doorway in a blood-starved haze, propped up against the headboard of her bed and tangled in pastel bed sheets. Her dyed hair falls slowly from where she has hastily tied it back, ratty tee shirt and bright pink athletic shorts swamping her malnourished frame.

“I wish I could tell you it does, Scary,” You say to her, blundering on and overstepping anyway, a habit passed down but not inherited. You can feel the weight of her new-moon eyes on you, hear the way her slightly-tremoring hands pause.

“Oh,” She says, and that one syllable, soft and fear-edged, holds denial-anger-bargaining- depression-acceptance fifty times over, its very own Atlas upholding a life made much heavier than before. You know this because you have uttered it yourself, the same tone coloring your newly-unliving throat, a few years younger than her, and here its ghost is resurrected before you. Oh.

“After a while, you adjust to it,” You reassure, “become desensitized to it, in a way. The newness wears off and eventually, it’s your new normal, but it never gets easier.”

You sigh, turning to look at her. “You can’t stop sensing the life in people, and you can’t stop wanting to take it for your own. It’s your nature now, and you can’t -” the words get stuck in your throat as you see her hands start to tremble again.

You’re unsure if it’s the right move, but you rest an artificially-warm hand atop her corpse-cold one. She doesn’t move to hold it, but she doesn’t push you away either. Her fringe obscures her eyes, and her mouth is drawn into a taut line, as if she’s trying to stop it from wavering.

“Scary, look at me, please, this is important,” You say, you beg, squeezing her hand once. She lifts her head, one eye still covered by magenta-ebony, but the other pierces into you. Good.

“You can’t keep fighting yourself like this. Your mom was worried sick, and even though I’m used to this, I was terrified when she called me. I’m sorry you weren’t given the time to be a regular kid with a normal rebellious phase-”

“- It’s not a phase, Terry,” She scoffs halfheartedly, and it brings a smile to your face.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” You agree. “But I need you to promise me something. I need you to take care of yourself, okay? It’s hard, and it’s gross, and it feels bad sometimes, I know, but I need you to keep going. For your mom, for your friends.” For me, you think selfishly.

“I - I don’t want to keep killing things,” She admits, voice lowered to keep it from wobbling, and it feels like something you aren’t supposed to hear. Scary is a fortress of a girl, and it worries you that going this long without has atrophied her walls where they should be unforgiving.

You need to treat this moment with care, and a voice that sounds like your mother’s bounces around in your brain as you attempt to tow the line between empathy and care and pity.

“You won’t,” You say, just barely cutting off an oh, honey from the beginning. “Not right now. Maybe you will eventually -” Scary turns a shade paler and you squeeze her hand again. “But I would never ask that of you. There are other ways. I can handle it for now, if you’d like. Or your new friend would probably be more than willing to help.”

Scary shifts on the mattress. “Normal? Uh, yeah, he has already, actually, but I’ve never told him anything and I don’t know how he knows but he’s never asked me about it and it kinda weirds me out-”

“He’s an Oak kid. They have a habit for sniffing things out,” You say, lips curling at your own joke. “He’s a Good Person, they’re nice folks.”

“You seem… really weirdly certain about that.” Scary notes, question implicit.

“I know his father and uncle,” You say, smile nostalgia-tinged. “Childhood friends, actually, we go way back. Small world, huh?”

“Huh,” She says.

“Yeah,” You agree.

You remember the times you had neglected yourself when you were younger, starving until your vision fuzzed and your stomach panged and you could barely stand. You remember the way that the twins had fussed over you like mother hens. Sparrow would push blood at you while urging you not to drink too much lest you make yourself sick, hold you with his warmth surrounding you and his nose buried into the side of your neck as if reminding himself by scent that you were still there. Lark would stand guard at the threshold, pacing restlessly until you gained your strength back, gold-tinted eyes darting between you and the world beyond, hands balled into clawed fists, protective and vigilant.

You don’t have the nose that they do, but based solely on the snippets of anecdotes Scary’s mentioned, you wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them were packmates by now. The thought fills you with warm satisfaction.

You weren’t lying when you said that Normal is a Good Person - in both senses of the phrase. She needs more people in her corner, you think, and Normally Oak-Swallows-Garcia is a decent place to start.

She moves her hand out from underneath yours, only to brace herself on the mattress to sit up more fully. Her deathly pallor is a little less ashy, her expression a little less open, more lucid. Bloodshot eyes dart to the maroon-filled pouches beside you, and you wordlessly hand her another before she asks.

Scary raises a single slitted brow as she takes it from your grasp, and her hands are still far too cold for your liking, but at least their shaking has subsided.

She carefully pokes a straw through the packaging and sips, eyes going wide and dark before pulling away with a small cough.

Blood hunger is a delicate balance, you have long since learned. The longer you starve yourself, the harder it is to show restraint once you start to feed again.

She takes another small, delicate sip, and clears her throat.

“So,” she starts, “Mom doesn’t… know yet, right? About you.”

The implicit why haven’t you told her, what are you doing, why would you do this to her go unspoken but not unheard, accentuated by her pointed glare.

(The overgrown child in your mind replies to the latter with two can play at that game, and you quash him down with prejudice.)

You exhale. “No,” You reply.

Veronica is a lovely woman. Too lovely for you, many would argue, including yourself. Beautiful and kind and hardworking and supportive, she is a spot of light for you, who cannot walk in the sun.

She’s also remarkably headstrong and stubborn, you know. You see it in her daughter, immortalized in her blood: the strength of her gaze, the arch of her brow, the set of her shoulders, the calculated carelessness of her words.

However, Veronica Marlowe is also human - and one unaware of the second world that lies atop (or perhaps beneath) her own, like a second shadow or perhaps a mirage. The world you now inhabit, though you hadn’t always.

The world her daughter now inhabits, unbeknownst to her.

Though San Dimas is… safe, for your kind (and you are forever grateful to the Wilsons for that), part of you still remains a little boy, rabbit-hearted and afraid of how others might react to you. Honesty and vulnerability had never been your strong suits, but that is no excuse for your cowardice.

“I kept… trying to bring it up,” you start, glancing just to the right of her face, unable to bear the full weight of her gaze. “It’s difficult, trying to tell someone that you’re undead, that you won’t age the way they do.”

Scary looks a bit pale.

“I was going to tell her, of course! That’s always been the plan, once I… knew that it would last. That I would be a more permanent fixture in your lives. I had planned on telling both of you, but then -”

“Then,” she finishes, her frown deepening, taking a small sip from her blood bag.

“Yeah,” You reply, feeling rather helpless. “Then.”

“Hey,” Scary says, and you look up at her.

“You’re not, like… two hundred years old or something, right?”

The question shocks a burst of laughter out of you.

“God. Fuck no, absolutely not. No, I’m not that much older than I look. Oh, ew, I’m sorry if you thought-” She’s smiling, just a little, and a lopsided bit of fang pokes out from between closed lips.

“Okay, thank fuck. Not that I don’t still hate you for, like, getting with my mom, or whatever, ugh,” she grumbles, which is fair, you think. “Just, like, how -”

“Thirty-nine,” you answer for her. “I’m thirty-nine years old.”

“You’re younger than her?” She asks, bewildered. “I mean, I had kinda figured, since you… y’know,” she says, gesturing a hand at her own face. “Initially. But that was before I knew any of this.”

You simply nod in response.

Scary looks like she wants to ask something more, then disguises it with another sip at the pouch. She looks down, considering, and you wait.

“How,” she says, voice coming out strangled. A pause. “How young were you? Wh… when it happened?”

Something in you softens. Or breaks. It’s hard to tell, these days.

“Thirteen,” You tell her.

Her gaze snaps up to meet yours.

“Really?”

“Really.”

A thousand things push with each pulse of your stolen heartbeat, beating against your ribcage and rising up your throat.

I know what it’s like, to be young and angry and seeking a darkness to match the one inside your head. I get it. I can help you. You will get past this, but it’s hard. It’s so terribly, horribly hard, growing up when you know that you’ll never grow old, and it sucks shit, and I’m sorry. You’re not alone. You have me, if you invite me, but I would never ask that of you.

Her eyes bore into your own, and you wonder if she can somehow read your thoughts.

Maybe she doesn’t need to.

“When you tell her -” she sighs, growls to herself, looks up again.

“When you tell her, do you think we could tell her together?”

You smile, and it’s a fanged, monstrous thing.

“Yeah,” You respond, and though you haven’t fed yet today, you feel oddly warm. “I’d like that.”

Your smile is returned, fanged and monstrous and headstrong and bright.

“I thought you might.”

#YEEHAW i made it on time!!! barely!!!#anyway um. i started writing this before terry uh. gestures at current canon. yeah 😭😭😭#felt very cathartic to finish though!!!#happi scribbles #fic #dndads #dndads halloween week 2023 #vampires #bat and wolf #<- tag for my fics for this week ehehe :]c #anyway. hope y'all like it lmk what you think!!!

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saltymongoose · 2 years

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hey i know most if not all of these have the player be human but i was wondering about maybe having the player as something close to human but not? yeah i’m going with it how would they (Hank, Deimos, Sanford, 2B) react to a vampire Player (specifically one doesn’t die to sunlight in Nevada only because it’s not technically their sun) who maybe might or might not have a pleasant (as in it feels almost as good as sex kinda pleasant if that’s ok) bite to them when they drink blood from the grunts?

Ahhh I love this so so much, you have no idea! :D I like anything having to do with vampires, and this is the perfect time to be doing spooky requests, so thank you for sending this to me! We’re going with a bit of VTM/WoD and (mainly) Hellsing logic for vampires here, just in case anyone is curious, but you don’t need any experience with either of them to read this. [Also, given the more suggestive nature of the biting that you asked for, I've relegated that to a shorter second part for safety. ;)]

[WORLD WITHOUT LOGOS] - How They React to a Vampire!Player ft. The Main 4

(Warnings: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Violence, Brief Mentions of Blood and Gore, Mentions of Biting, Reader is a bit of a sadist.)

It had been very easy for you to hide your vampirism from the humans back in your world. Sure, technology and medicine had come a long way over time, but there were always ways to avoid detection. Being mysteriously vague about your person and what you do outside of streaming, taking jobs that require work at night and/or inside, and keeping just enough distance from humans to stop from being found out or suspected. Playing with the minds of those you drained to ensure they wouldn’t be able to get you caught. (It took some practice, but you had more than a few decades to perfect it.)

Besides, no rational human would ever believe that vampires were actually real (something your kind used quite often for your benefit).

However, keeping it from your vessels in Nevada was far more difficult - impossible, even, given your circumstances. The first time you met them, you were required to touch Sanford because he helpfully picked you up to help bring you back. He expected you to be hot to the touch; it made sense that you’d radiate immense heat, considering the beacon of warmth you appeared to be with the cozy aura you had. However, he was shocked when instead of this he was met with your freezing skin. You were worryingly cold, but the lack of any viewable cuts or bruises showed that it wasn’t from any large injury.

You noticed his worry, and at the mounting discussion of what could possibly be wrong with you, you saw fit to just reveal it right away. It was unprecedented, but secrecy wouldn’t work here, especially not when you had to feed once a day (and with how much they seemed to care, they probably wouldn’t let any unexplained disappearance go).

Given the many differences between regular humans and grunts, and how open your vessels already were to your strange appearance, they accepted the news of your undeath rather easily. You being a literal supernatural creature wasn’t met with any recoil (as to them you kind of already were).

It wasn’t something you expected, but you welcomed it nonetheless. However, some of the more unique features of your vampirism made them very curious, and their fascination with a part of you that you kept hidden from most in your world, one that was so integral to who you were as a person, only brought you closer to them.

- [HANK J. WIMBLETON] -

Hank had little to no interest in the supernatural before you met, and as such, he never bothered to learn the intricacies behind folklore or media regarding vampires. Nevada has enough weirdness already without that. This gap in knowledge bothered him for the first time when you finally revealed what you were, but he couldn’t figure out what exactly to ask you. Fortunately enough, you were more than happy to demonstrate what you could.

You know that one of the things Hank understands best is destruction, and considering that you aren’t restricted by the rules that your kind has to adhere to any longer, there’s no need to keep yourself and your abilities hidden. As such, you had no issue with fighting at Hank’s side instead of merely controlling him. It honestly scared him at first, seeing you come up close to the battlefield when he had already engaged the enemies in front of you. However, you had never steered him wrong before, and he loved you, so he trusted you wholeheartedly. He knew from the confident look in your eyes that whatever you planned wouldn’t end badly.

He immediately noticed the dark, inky blotches beginning to form on your shoulders over your clothes, shadows pulling from your surroundings as the unstable mass grew larger. It was disturbing, especially when eyes started to open within its depths, only for it to spill over the rest of your torso, obscuring your body in a flowing mess of crimson irises and indescribable darkness, lit only by the pulsing glow of souls trapped within. (It was at this moment that he realized how little he actually knew of your true nature.)

“Alright, big guy,“ you said, flashing him a too-wide grin, sharp teeth glinting in the light. "Let’s see how my powers match up against grunts, shall we?”

It had admittedly been a very long time since you were able to show off any of your more flashy abilities, and you might go a bit (very) overboard when you have the opportunity to join the fight. Summoning some familiars who you’ve consumed in the past, physically changing the form of your own body in seconds, even using your own immense strength and speed to tear your poor enemies apart whenever one got too close for your liking. It was more energy than you’d used in centuries, and you were reveling in it. And so was Hank.

He knew there had to be a reason why your strategies were so sound, and why every battle you got involved in went their way, and it was exemplified by your stunning proficiency in battle. You had several years to perfect your techniques, and seeing them awed him more than anything else.

Hank can only watch adoringly as you spear, slice, and tear your enemies to pieces, internally gushing when you shoot him a wink or a self-satisfied grin after another gory kill. You destroy your enemies in a way that’s horrifying and brutal, but Hank thinks you never look more beautiful than when you’re covered in the viscera and gore of your enemies, mouth stained with blood and a cruel look of victory on your face. Those poor grunts never stood a chance - and neither did his heart if the way it palpitated almost worryingly at the mesmerizing sight of you was any sign. His hands shake as he reaches up to place them on his cheeks, lost in openly fawning over you until he is reminded that he can also assist you in taking them out.

This admiration didn’t stop the flare of jealousy that would happen when he saw you use your teeth on one of them though. Seeing you hurriedly drain someone of their life, watching them weakly cling to you as their putrid blood poured into your maw only reminded him that it was his blood you were supposed to be drinking. (He was, of course, ignoring the fact that you only did it to kill the other grunt, but death by your hands wasn’t the worst that could happen, especially when Doc could just bring him back.)

One of the only other specific things that Hank showed open interest in was “blood bonds”, as he heard you discussing them with 2BDamned. You were confused about him bringing it up, since it was such a random thing to pinpoint, but tried to explain it in the simplest way possible nonetheless.

It was certainly an interesting idea to him. The notion that each drink of your blood would bring you deeper into a bond with each other. Sure, there was the fact that it made the thrall have little to no free will unless you allowed it, would make him adore you beyond any logical reason, and make it excruciating to be apart from you for long periods of time, but who’s to say that wasn’t the case already? (Free will was overrated in his opinion if it meant he couldn’t be wholly yours.)

He even asked if you’d be willing to do this to him, which earned a dumbfounded look from you. (You know he liked you well enough, but no one ever just wants to be in a blood bond with your kind. Perhaps you underestimated just how much he enjoyed your presence. He thought that you’d have some idea of that, after all this time.)

“Hank- I already drink your blood a lot,” you said, gesturing to his neck. “If you have mine right now, you’ll just become a vampire along with the whole thrall thing. So no, I can’t do that.” You paused upon seeing his shoulders slump slightly in disappointment. If you weren’t so taken off guard, you’d have found it comical. “…Plus, you are already one of my prized vessels, and I like you too much to want to be apart from you for long anyway. We don’t really need a blood bond to be close if you think about it.” (Was it maybe a little manipulative to steer the conversation in that direction just to stop him from fretting about it? Yes. But it was for his own good, you don’t want him to be an unthinking immortal servant. Besides, everything you said was true anyway.)

He perked up at that and nodded quickly, seemingly appeased by your words, but still pulled his mask down to give you a little affectionate nip when he hugged your cold form (one that didn’t draw blood, thankfully). You welcomed it well enough, even if the irony brought an amused grin to your face.

(What, you think that just because he couldn’t drink your blood (right now), he wasn’t gonna put his teeth on you? Consider it payback for all those marks you give him. Besides, grunts have their own behaviors regarding biting, and even if he didn’t tell you that this was a claim, what matters is that the others knew just how much you belonged to each other. You were right; it didn’t matter that you didn’t have a true blood bond with each other, not when his complete devotion and love for you was so great that it could surpass that.)

- [2BDAMNED] -

The only “Vampires” that 2BDamned knew a lot about were the grunts who made up the gang that shared the name. He’s aware they shared some traits with your kind, however, he was far more curious about the vampires from your world.

He's the first to ask you deeper questions regarding your abilities and what limitations vampires had, mainly so he can find ways to circumvent them. He knows you are incredibly resilient, and nearly immortal, but he isn’t willing to risk any injury to you. (What kind of vessel, no, partner would he be if he lets such a thing happen?)

This includes discussing everything about what could possibly harm you, which you were understandably hesitant to divulge (because it’s something your kind makes a huge point to not ever do). However, Doc doesn't push you to share information, unlike the mortals in your realm that knew of your affliction. It was comforting. (Really, he wants to know more everything about you, but he won’t do it in a way that pushes too far. He has too much respect for you to do that, and that’s not how you treat someone you love.)

His patience makes it almost easy to tell him about how a stake through the heart can actually kill you if used properly, how hunger could drive you mad, and how holy water burns through your skin if you’re in a state of weakness. It was simple to talk about how unfavorable contracts could be formed if you were in a weak enough state to be forced into such a thing.

The words are spoken quietly, ensuring that only he’d be able to hear them from where you were sitting, comfortably pressed to his side in his office. You’re still closed off about yourself, but you know that Doc won’t use your weaknesses against you. He swore it to you, after all; made a promise and even offered to bind himself into a contract with you over it, no matter the terms or the price. His devotion to you was blinding, you had to admit. It made you realize you felt something akin to actual affection and fondness for him (which you didn’t even know you could still do.)

One subject you can discuss openly without fear, on the other hand, is your anatomy. You’ve touched upon what your body was weak to, but he was still extremely curious about how you worked. Luckily for him, you’re willing to entertain all his questions and prodding.

He’s quick to take your tentative offer of a hands-on examination. You weren’t open to people in your world inspecting you, but you trust Doc despite your underlying reservations, so you allow him to manipulate your body to get a better look at your limbs and torso with little resistance. His touch is painfully soft when he moves you, gloved hands soothing over your fingers and arms as he turns them to check your non-existent pulse. Perhaps it was an excuse to feel the contrast of your icy skin with the odd, comfortable warmth you exuded. Or maybe he just liked touching you.

You raise a brow at the tender way he runs his hands over you, unused to being treated with such gentleness, but lean in when he gently grasps your jaw to look at your face. (Even after looking you over so many times, he never skipped it.) He hums when you helpfully open your mouth for him to inspect your sharp teeth. (And with your superhuman hearing it’s to miss the hitch in his breath when you open your maw a bit further, “accidentally” brushing one of your long, pointed fangs against his fingers. The corner of your mouth twitches when his heart rate picks up drastically. Mortals could be so amusing sometimes.)

Being in any physical contact with you was something 2BDamned needed getting used to, mainly because he had the tendency to hyper-fixate on everything about the feel of your skin and the way you looked. You look perfectly “human” and personable, but he knows from the dark look of your eyes and the unnatural coldness that something otherworldly and sinister lurks beneath your visage. To anyone else, it might be unsettling, but it only makes you more alluring to him. (He wants to spend every waking minute of his life around you if only so he can take in everything about your unique form.)

Verbal questions, however, are another matter. They leave Doc feeling unfulfilled more than anything, no matter how simple he thought the answer might’ve been. Case in point, that one time he asked you a simple question about your regenerative abilities. He wanted to know about how you were completely unscathed, clothes and all, even after the others had reported you got injured.

“Ah, that’s thanks to my regeneration. Getting shot doesn’t have much of an effect besides the obvious, so healing isn’t an issue. For clothes, I guess you can say my abilities extend to mending cloth as well as flesh.” That had been your answer, and while Doc was thankful for your clarification, it certainly didn’t help him figure out how you could do that to begin with.

2BDamned is very intelligent, which is a given; he wouldn’t have his current position if he wasn’t. However, the fact that he can’t fully understand your complex biology, as magically influenced as it is, bothers him to an unreasonable degree. He supposes it’s because he’s always operated from a position of power when it came to knowledge, but now he’s in one where he simply can’t get you completely. It makes him feel…inadequate, in a way. What help is he to you if he can’t employ his smarts? He’s not a combat-oriented vessel like the others, so how could he possibly assist you enough to be entirely useful (and irreplaceable) like he wants?

You knew about this worry he had the moment he first thought of it around you (mind reading was one of the many effects of drinking blood from someone), and sought to persuade him otherwise. The fact that he thought it was even possible to understand everything about how your kind worked was naive, but you could get it. For someone who knew so much about his own world, it would make sense that your natural ambiguity would be a point of irritation for him. However, that didn’t mean it was actually worth that level of annoyance.

“Hey, Doc.” you got his attention at the tail-end of one of your explanations, and he looked up from the tablet he was recording your answers on. “I should probably tell you: not every ability I have can be logically explained, and even I don’t know everything about them. So don’t worry if you can’t find an answer; I’ve lived like this for hundreds of years and I know what I can do. If anything, you’re helping by ironing out what I’m weak to and making sure we avoid it.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, too busy processing your words. They certainly put things into perspective for him; if you yourself didn’t know the reason why everything about you was that way, how could he? No, it made perfect sense, and he wasn’t so foolish as to believe he could understand you better than you yourself could.

Instead, this gave him a different objective to focus on. He knew that he had to use any option necessary to prove himself worthy of your attention, even if it didn’t rely on figuring out how you worked. A large part of him yearned to be useful to you in every way possible, and he swore to himself that he would. As his Player (and future romantic partner), you deserve nothing less.

- [SANFORD] -

Sanford is concerned about you more than anything. He knows that the sun can’t hurt you here, but there might be other things that can, and as a result, he’s always on the lookout for anything regarding silver (or enemies that might use it) so he can warn you. His main concern has always been your safety and well-being, and that’s not going to change just because you’re a vampire. Plus, it’s how he shows his love.

He also worries about your mental health as well. He can’t begin to imagine the toll that immortality could have on your psyche, so he lets you know very early on that if you need somebody to vent to, he’s there. You’re comforted by this, even though you don’t exactly come to him for this specific purpose. (You were hesitant to talk about anything personal, centuries worth of careful secrecy had that effect on you. Sanford makes it hard to keep this up, though.)

When you do have your discussions, they’re at the times when you’re alone together, and when you’re feeling particularly vulnerable. Sanford will always remember the first time you opened up to him about yourself, even if it was small. He had woken up at dawn, deciding to do a quick patrol around the perimeter to check for any encroaching enemies (especially AAHW), only to open the door and see you sitting on the steps outside. You were looking upward, watching Nevada’s sky begin to color its usual crimson as the broken sun rose. You had a wistful expression on your face, one that conveyed a wordless longing and deep appreciation. He shifted from behind you, weighing whether or not he should interrupt your peaceful isolation before you spoke to him.

“I once knew a vampire who became so transfixed by the beauty of the sunrise that they stood in its rays just to see it for longer, only to turn to stone and crumble to dust.” It was said as a near whisper, and Sanford was struck by how open and vulnerable you sounded. You didn’t turn your head to see him, keeping your gaze on the changing shades of red and pink. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen it myself.”

You didn’t move when he stepped closer, something he took as an invitation to sit down beside you, moving his gun to his lap when he did. He didn’t know what to say, afraid of speaking out of line and making you close in on yourself. He settled for a simple question (small talk, really): “What do you think of it?”

“…It is different from how I remember mine being. But I suppose I can understand where my kindred was coming from,” you responded. The words of how much you missed seeing the sun went unspoken, yet Sanford understood the sentiment all the same. How hard it must’ve been, to go so long without seeing the light of day. “It is beautiful, and the warmth is something to be missed.” You kept your eyes trained on the red sky for a moment longer before turning to face him. He had already been staring at you, and shyly averted his gaze, his visual-cross evading your sight before returning (even if he was a tad embarrassed at the blush he could feel heating his face, you still deserved his full attention). He found that your crimson eyes were more radiant than Nevada’s scarlet heavens could ever be. You smiled at him softly. “But the company makes it better.” (He hoped you couldn’t hear how his heart stuttered at your words. You could.)

Most of your discussions about how you actually are go similarly. He lets you instigate them, wanting you to be in full control of your vulnerability so you feel safe letting him in on such things. Surprisingly, it’s something you actually engage in, even if you’re never that direct about your feelings. It also becomes customary to have these in talks in the morning when you watch the sunrise together. (Truthfully, the first time it happened had been a fluke: it was Deimos’ turn to take first watch that day, and half an hour after Sanford had awoken. He never thought he’d have a reason to thank his finicky biological clock, but he’d never been happier than when he was spending time with you, alone and uninterrupted by the others in your group.)

Sanford is also the main one out of the four who asks about your history. It first came from wanting to understand you more, as a person’s background could tell a lot about them and their way of thinking. While you don’t see much of an appeal in discussing clan politics, it does let you unload on all sorts of gossip and weird things you’ve seen and done. (Deimos also joins you occasionally for these talks, mainly because hearing you talk about the outlandish acts you’ve witnessed with such a straight face is hilarious to him.)

(“Wait, so the Camarilla is your main governing organization, right?” Sanford asked, and you nodded with a noise of confirmation. “So why aren’t you a part of them, then? You’re smart enough to be, in my opinion.” (It was with this that Deimos added on a “And powerful enough”, to which Sanford nodded in agreement.)

“Hah, flattery will get you everywhere, you know,” you responded with a sly grin (one that made pink dust his cheeks, and had Deimos aim a pointed glare at him, even if he couldn’t hide his own reaction to your expression). “But no, not at all. The Camarilla doesn't like me because I’m old.” Deimos snorted loudly and Sanford furrowed his brow (because they supposedly knew you were immortal, what the hell-), looking so innocently confused you couldn’t help but laugh.

“In Vamp society, people of 150 years are considered Elders - and there are very few of them. I am over 700 and older than their entire organization. I don’t like toddlers telling me what to do, and they’re threatened by the fact that I’m so powerful that nobody’s managed to kill me yet. I think they’re annoying and they don’t trust me.” (‘Oh, that makes sense,’ he thought. ‘But how powerful are you then, anyway?’)

Honestly, Sanford finds great enjoyment in listening to you discuss what you’ve done for the past centuries, but even better, you had also told him that he had been the first to ask about your past and get an actual answer from you (which made him feel weirdly giddy). He was the first person you opened up to in this way, and he took it as both a privilege and a sign that you two were closer, perhaps even more than the others were with you. It was him who’d managed to break your carefully-crafted shell, after all.

He’s extremely curious about your abilities too, but he doesn’t ask very much about them compared to your past, preferring to just observe when you’re willing to show them off. He thinks it would be overstepping; he loves finding out more about you, but he doesn’t want to get too greedy with it. (You might even be uncomfortable with that, and the last thing Sanford wants is for you to feel that way around him.)

This doesn’t stop him from openly staring when you use them, however, attention completely focused on you when your form shifts, warping into something objectively horrifying, yet captivating at the same time. He knows that he should probably feel terrified by the sadistic look on your face and the almost feral glint in your eyes, and the oppressive aura you have when you unleash your true power, but he isn’t. How could he be, when it was you who he saw creating such carnage? You, whom he loved and revered above all else, who had worked to protect him and keep him from harm? If anything, your power was a testament to how worthy you were of being their Player. He couldn’t help but feel safe around you, knowing that the overwhelming might you had would only be used to harm your mutual enemies.

Now, what remained was the need to grow more skilled himself to show you that he was deserving to be at your side (where he belonged). So you’d accept him and his limitless affection, so you’d never part, for the rest of your eternal life and his finite one.

- [DEIMOS] -

Deimos handles your vampirism a lot more casually than you’d first expect. He asks a bunch of questions, of course, but they’re not really related to specific things like how your clan works, or the history of vampiric society and how it runs. (Something you’re grateful for at this point; it’s not like it was very easy to present common things that had centuries of complex history behind them time and time again.)

Instead, he asks about pop culture and how accurate it is, and he’s immensely surprised by what actually is true. This includes your weird inability to cross large bodies of water without help and how garlic can actually hurt weaker vampires, for instance. They’re all things you’ve seen in the media again and again, and it would be tiresome to discuss them if it were with anyone else. However, there’s just something about the childish excitement Deimos has about you that endears you to it enough to make the discussions fun.

He also jokes about it a lot too, making a show of welcoming you into a room like you need verbal permission to enter it, and asking whether they should get you a coffin to sleep in. He even puts on a gaudy Romanian accent sometimes when imitating a stereotypical vampire, and refers to you as “Count.” (Which makes you raise a brow. You knew Dracula.) You try to act above it, stoic even if you play along a little sometimes (like when you outright refuse to enter the room until he invites you). This just makes the feeling of victory all the sweeter for him when he manages to break you, making you crack a genuine smile and laugh.

You return the favor though, teasing him back whenever he says something flirty to you by innocently asking him if he’s always been into older people or if it’s just you. He’s always taken aback by it, which makes it amusing enough. Sometimes you also flirt back, in your own way. (You shot him a charming smile, leaning in close enough to earn a blush from him. “Careful, Deimos; if you tempt me enough, I might turn you just so I can hear that voice of yours forever.” You meant it as a bit of a tease since he had taken to saying things right in your ear because he knew he could get a reaction out of you that way. You failed to recognize that he doesn’t see spending eternity with you as a vampire to be anything close to a bad thing.)

It becomes a frequent thing for you to watch horror movies together too, as well as any film that has supernatural elements. Every so often, Deimos will lean a bit closer to whisper a question about whatever creature is on screen, to which you’ll give an answer. (Turns out werewolves were real in your world, and they did actually have a feud with vampires if the grimace on your face when speaking about them said anything.)

(Soon enough, you might find yourself near to being completely in his lap, since while he does move closer, he won’t actually go back to where he’s sitting. (Prolonged contact with you was too tempting for him to do so.) It’s not like you mind though; his body heat is very cozy, and you savor the new experience of having him so close.)

Like Hank, Deimos is also really excitable about your abilities, except he’s far more direct with it. He’ll openly cheer and praise you when you tear people apart, becoming more animated as you get more and more over the top with your kills. (You also might show off a bit, not gonna lie. It’s nice to have someone praise you instead of screaming or going still from pure fear; it makes your cold, undead heart feel warm for once.)

He also will ask you to try doing specific things with them, just to see if you’re able to. You humor him most of the time; it’s not like there’s any harm in taking down enemies in a fashion he recommends (or shouts out in the middle of the fight, like it’s some kind of special move), and the way his face looks when you decide to show him how you can walk up walls if you want is honestly really funny.

In fact, since you willingly let him see nearly all your “magic” up close, he’s the first to see your more complex shape-shifting too (mainly because you suddenly remember that you can do it, and you know he’d like to see it). Anything from transforming yourself into a swarm of bats (at his request - you just watched another film about Dracula), or a writhing mass of centipedes and other bugs (absolutely disgusting, but fascinating) to even making yourself into a single animal, like a dog. Sometimes you even disappear into his shadow, hiding in plain sight.

He occasionally uses this to sneak you somewhere more private so you can hang out without the others. (They try to do the same, so it’s not like there’s anything wrong with having you all to himself for a while.) You’re fully aware of why he does it, but you go along with it anyway. It’s new to have someone like you so much they don’t want to share you with anyone else, or at least, new to people you didn’t have a blood bond with.

While it was a relatively small effect, something you also showed him was how you could make all of your teeth sharp - exactly like his. (For a moment, when he peered into your mouth to see the sharp points, he wondered whether any kids you might have would inherit his grin or yours. He quickly snapped himself out of this intrusive thought the moment he became aware of it - it’s not like he knew if such a thing was even possible, and he didn’t even think he wanted children, to begin with. But it didn’t stop the red from suddenly painting his face, earning a look of interest from you. You blinked, lips curving in an amused grin. Oh, that’s right. He didn’t know you could read minds yet.)

Although, sometimes you regret telling him about your more nonlethal abilities, because he frequently asks you if you'll try them on him. It honestly makes you wonder if grunts just have the lowest levels of self preservation possible, because no one concerned about their own safety would just ask a vampire to control their mind or envelop them in the unstable mass of souls they had “just to see what it it’s like” (his actual words). Then again, Deimos was actually the first to ask about your rather strict diet, and the first to openly offer himself to you if you wanted to feed on him, so perhaps there was some merit to this theory.

However, he never gets annoyed with you for any rejections over his ideas, which (given how egotistical vampires are) is a breath of fresh air. Plus, keeping you happy was always his main priority anyway. You never feel any pressure to do anything from him, which makes you more at ease. (It's odd; a few months ago, you never imagined yourself being so comfortable with anyone like this - especially not a mortal.)

Deimos is honestly overjoyed at how you willingly show him nearly everything you can do. Being the first to know so much about your abilities (even over Hank) is a huge deal for him, and with how much he mentions it (brags), it's clear just how much he values it. It makes him feel a lot closer to you; the time spent with you going over Nevada's movies and shows combined with the late-night talks about your abilities, the inside jokes you develop, and how close you get when you let him touch you as you change forms, allowing his clawed hands to touch nothing yet everything within the mass of tortured souls you hold. You've let him really see you, more-so than anyone else, at least. Which is exactly what he wants.

He longs to know every side of you, from the human appearance you wear to the horrid beasts you contain. And maybe, with enough time bonding with each other, he'll get the thing he wants most of all: for you to want him too.

He already knows you've got part of his soul, with those drinks you took of his blood. Now all that remained was to become yours in every other way possible.