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ancuninfiles · 25 days

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Bite Night

Gif by @astarionposting

18+ MDNI - M/F - Astarion x Tav (Baldur's Gate 3) - Words: 3.6K

Tags: smut, somnophilia (if you squint), non-consensual vampire bites, blood drinking, enthusiastic consent (sex), vaginal fingering, P in v, creampie, mating press, outdoor sex, soft Astarion, sorcerer Tav, nondescript Tav, Aftercare, idealized version of events, no beta we die like cazador

Summary: It has been 3 days since the nautiloid crash. Tav may be the sweetest person that Astarion has ever met. Night falls, and he is overcome with intense feelings of hunger. Tav sleeps alone, peacefully by the fire. He can hear her pulse from the treeline, and it invites him in. Or... could it be more than her pulse inviting him in?

Sorry, Idk how to write summaries. :,)

Read on AO3

Astarion had never met someone like Tav. She was so kind to him, despite their first meeting beginning with him holding a dagger to her throat after having tricked her into thinking he needed help. It was interesting to note that in retrospect, Tav being a sorcerer, could have easily used Shocking Grasp on him while he held her, pinned beneath his blade. She, instead, was oddly compliant.

__________

“I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod.” Astarion cooed

Tav looked up at him with eyes half-closed and eyebrows knitted together, nodding. A look he could only assume was partially caused by the sun beating down on her face. It was as if she completely surrendered to him, going practically limp in his arms, which made him soften his grip slightly.

“Splendid, and now you're going to tell me what you and those tentacle freaks did to me.” he peered down at her, eyes briefly flicking to her neck and then up to her eyes again. Despite her relaxed form, her pulse was quickened and it was distracting. Astarion's mouth started to water slightly.

“I- I didn't do anything… I was abducted, same as you!” She pleaded.

“Don't lie to me. I- AUGH” Astarion yelped, as a purple aura surrounded both him and Tav. Their minds were suddenly connected, he was able to peer into her thoughts and feel what she was feeling.

To his surprise, her mind had been focused on compassion towards him, the man holding a blade to her throat. “He and I have the same problem. These tadpoles. And he is likely reeling after all this. He could be a good ally to have.”

Astarion's mind had then shared broken pieces of his past with Tav. Pieces that he would have rather kept to himself, but nothing incriminating yet. “What was that!? What's going on!?” He raised his voice.

Tav's was panting as if their minds connecting had worn her out. “You saw into my mind, it was the parasites! They connected us.” She said, with her eyebrows still knitted. Her mouth was agape and she took one last big breath before calming her expression.

Her breath smelled of mint, and her hair smelled like lavender. ‘Gods, her scent, her pulse, her expression. Everything is distracting about her.’ he thought to himself.

Although he would have loved to hold her for longer, grab her hair and sink his teeth into her flesh, he decided against it. Feeling confident that she was not a threat, he released her. They maintained eye contact with one another as they both slowly stood up.

‘She wants to be my ally’ he thought to himself.

__________

They had picked up a couple more allies on their misadventure so far. A cleric with an odd name and an annoying wizard who talks too much. Tav seemed naive. She was picking up strays left and right. Were these others to be trusted?

Tav had a way of making everyone feel accepted and comfortable. “If you need anything, please let me know. I don't care if I'm sleeping, reading, or otherwise busy, you can wake me up. I want to help.” she exclaimed to the whole group with an earnest look in her eye. She made sure to look at everyone in their eyes when she said this.

‘Gods, she couldn't be more sweet. So tempting.’ He thought to himself. He wondered if she would taste as sweet as she acted, but no, he had to stop thinking things like that. Even Tav would surely end him if he were to slightly hint at the fact that he was a monster.

Besides, Cazador would most definitely flay him for drinking the blood of a thinking creature. Although, the parasite had granted him immunity from the sun. Maybe Cazador can't control him at all anymore.

__________

It was time to settle in for the night. They had an exhausting day looking for a healer, which they had to fight through a hoard of goblins to get to. It had been 3 nights since the nautiloid crash, and Astarion had already snuck off the previous night to find a boar, which he stupidly left in the middle of the road. Tav and the cleric had fixated on it. The cleric had pointed out that the boar had been left fully intact but without blood. To Astarion's dismay, these stangers were smarter than he initially had thought.

Tav was so exhausted that she had fallen asleep beside the fire, while everyone else left to their tents. She was a powerful ally indeed. Tav and Astarion carried the team, while the wizard was frequently coming within an inch of death and you would have thought the cleric was blind because she missed almost every shot. 'Leave it to Gale to cover the ground in grease and then slip in it and fall prone, himself', Astarion thought.

While everyone was sleeping, Astarion slipped away into a clearing in the woods to have some privacy and decompress after all that's happened, for the first time since the nautiloid crash. Finally able to be alone with his thoughts, Astarion's memories of his master plagued him. It was as if he were there, reciting his rules.

First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

'Terrifying. So much for being alone with one's thoughts' Astarion thought. He left the clearing in distress, feeling like he was being stalked by Cazador. 'He can't control me anymore, I can walk in the sun...' Astarion told himself, in an effort to calm himself down. A burning feeling climbed up his throat. He was starving. Exerting himself more than usual was likely to blame. He had to find something to eat, soon.

__________

Astarion made his way back to camp, stopping at the tree line to assess the state of the camp. Sweet Tav was still sleeping soundly by the fire. Sweet Tav's words replayed in his head. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I don't care if I am sleeping". Sweet Tav who had shown him compassion almost immediately after he had pulled a dagger to her throat. Sweet Tav whose breath was minty, whose hair smelled of lavender, and whose pulse sounded so beautiful; hypnotic.

Astarion snuck close enough to Tav to see her throat, so beautifully exposed. An easy target. Tav was wearing nothing but a thin silky nightgown with small flimsy straps. Her supple legs were exposed and glistened in the firelight. The wind blew and her scent wafted into Astarion's face.

This was too much for Astarion to bear any longer. He slowly and stealthily climbed atop Tav, making sure not to wake her. He held his breath, he didn't need to breathe anyway. She was lying on her back, so Astarion slotted his leg between her thighs and placed his left elbow on the ground beside her head. He used his right hand to tilt her chin to the side slowly and gently brush her hair away from her pulse point. 'Formalities' he thought. Astarion slowly lowered his open maw onto Tav's throat. Finally puncturing the skin, blood started flowing into his mouth as he latched on almost like a feral animal. Tav's blood was ambrosia, it tasted like nothing he had ever tasted before. It was sweet, but complex like a fine-aged wine.

He could no longer control himself, he was sure to wake her. He tightly grabbed onto Tav's hair with his right fist and pushed her neck into his lips. It was then that he heard a sweet mewl coming from Tav. 'Of course, she would be moaning when a monster is consuming her.' Astarion groaned into her neck and brought his knee flush up to Tav's core. Tav began to writhe beneath him, arching her back and slowly bucking her hips on his knee. She was enjoying this. A desire started building in Astarion's lower abdomen, causing his cock to strain against his pants.

Astarion continued to take generous gulps of Tav's blood, running his tongue across her pulse point to try and force more blood out, faster. He let loose a primal groan into Tav's throat and then repositioned himself so that his clothed cock was pressing into Tav's exposed cunt. She accommodated Astarion and wrapped her legs around his pelvis with tact and enthusiasm. Tav reached her right hand up to Astarion's curls, but Astarion grabbed her wrist and pinned it beside her head. Tav moaned, but her rutting became slower, as did her pulse.

"Astarion - I" Tav whispered. Astarion finally came to and unlatched his teeth. His brows knitted together as he licked, and pressed his tongue firmly against her wound to soothe Tav and congeal the blood. He placed a chaste kiss on her neck, and then slowly started releasing her wrist, but Tav let out a breathy whine into his ear and grabbed his left hand, lacing her fingers with his. Perplexed, he looked up at Tav with round eyes. She was gazing at their laced hands. Astarion eyed her fresh puncture marks to make sure the bleeding had seized, and then gently tilted her head to face him.

Her eyes were wet and filled with lust. Her chest was heaving, her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils were blown out. "Why did you stop?" Her voice came out breathy, almost a whisper.

Astarion smirked, "Oh, you sweet, generous thing."

Tav's left hand came up to touch Astarion's face in a gentle caress while her right hand was still affectionately connected with his left. She eyed his lips, taking in the blood on his chin and swiping it softly with her thumb. Her eyes fluttered back up to meet his gaze, but he was eyeing her lips as she had his.

Tav's lips were the same colour as her blushing cheeks. They were seductively parted. Astarion's gaze shifted back to Tav's eyes again, as she caressed his face with her thumb. Such a gentle little thing, and after what he had just done to her. He ought to feel shame for taking from her. 'She is so beautiful' he thought. The firelight flickered in her wet, sleepy eyes. Her hair was gorgeously spread amongst her bedroll. She was like an angel, no, a goddess. It was hard to believe she was real, or that someone could even forgive him for what he had done to her, let alone want him to continue. He looked at her with concern in his eyes which were becoming wet themselves.

Tav's hand slithered shakily to the nape of Astarion's neck. "I want you if you'll have me." She smiled earnestly, her eyes curled with her smile like tiny rainbows. She caressed his nape as she did his chin. "Please, Astarion." She sang

His name sounded like a melody on her lips. She was a siren, pulling him in with her song. Pulling him in, to drown in her. Their lips crashed like the waves in the Sea of Fallen Stars. They moaned into each other as their tongues danced around one another's teeth, exploring, and tasting. Astarion didn't want to stop until he had tasted every corner of her maw. Their kiss was bruising and sloppy. Tav made advances with her tongue as well, and she opened her mouth wide enough to let Astarion explore deeply. Her mouth tasted as minty as it smelled, and his mouth tasted like her blood. He paid extra mind to not hurt her with his fangs.

One of her hands tangled in his hair and the other hand rested on his back. He pressed his pelvis closer to her's and he groped her soft flesh with one of his hands, hastily exploring her body and reaching under her nightgown to grab her breast. He pinched her nipple and rubbed it between his fingers. Tav let out a higher-pitched moan in his mouth. He snaked his hands down to her exposed and throbbing core. She was unbelievably soaked. Finally lifting his mouth from hers, he looks at her with a smirk and says "You are positively dripping for me, darling." He started rubbing slow circles on her clit and her back arched, seeking more from Astarion.

She groaned. "I want you inside me, please." Her eyes pleading and her words drifted out in a soft sigh. She was squirming slowly and weakly. The poor thing was so weak from the blood loss.

He peered down at her face which seemed to be blushing more and more, and her skin was now glistening with a thin layer of sweat. "Only because you ask so sweetly." He exclaimed before plunging two digits inside of her, working her open. She hummed in a whiney tone, which only egged him on further. His fingers curled up as he patiently started getting her hole ready for his cock. Her mouth opened and her eyes nearly rolled back into her head. She was the most enchanting creature in all of Faerün. He wanted to do anything for her, and he wanted to bury his cock entirely between her legs.

His free hand pushed her nightgown above her breasts, exposing her naked and writing body to the night air. It hadn't occurred to him until then that they were in the middle of camp. The cleric and the wizard could catch them, but Tav seemed unbothered. Astarion had noticed that his senses were much sharper after drinking Tav's blood. He realized he was confident enough that he would hear anyone coming long before they could see anything.

His fingers started to pump into her faster, and he palmed her clit. Her breathing became heavy and jagged. "I'm so close! Astarion!" She moaned his name as her pussy fluttered around his digits. He fingered her through her orgasm, only pulling away when she started to twitch at the touch of her clit. She inhaled deeply and let out a groan. Her head fell back and her breasts rose and fell with each exasperated breath. "Hmm, you are wonderful, Astarion." She hummed with a bright smile on her face.

Astarion crept up to meet her eyes with his, "You're unbelievably beautiful." He said sincerely. She looked up at him with her pleading eyes again. He brushed her hair with his fingers and admired her features. He brought her into a molten kiss that both burned and bruised their lips. His hand caressed her naked torso, gripping her in every place he could before landing his strong grasp on her ass. Their kiss flew apart and she let out an exceptionally whiney moan and looked down to where his clothed cock was.

His cock was beginning to strain unbearably against his pants. He expertly unlaced his trousers and his large member sprang free, glistening with precum. He glanced down at her soaking core, her thighs were covered in her cum. He hooked her knees over his biceps and he teased her entrance with his cock. He groaned and exhaled, and looked at her face so he could read her expressions. Her brows scrunched in anticipation.

"Hmmm please fuck me. I want you to fill me up so bad." she sobbed and clenched her jaw.

Astarion groaned "I love it when you plead for me, little love. Your voice sounds so sweet. Please tell me if you want me to stop, can you do that for me?"

She bit her lip and looked him in the eye, again with that sweet look on her face. "Mmhm" she nodded.

He didn't need any more confirmation from her as he slowly sunk his cock into her hole. Her mouth opened slightly and she started breathing heavier. He pulled out all the way and stroked her wetness onto his shaft. He sunk back down into her languidly until he finally was fully inside. He grunted at the feeling, and she was breathing heavier than ever. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were wet.

"Are you okay, sweet love?" He said with concern as he stilled inside her.

"Mmm yeah. You're just - so big, I've never had someone -reach into me so deeply. It doesn't - hurt, I promise" she spoke softly. Panting throughout her sentence. "It feels, so good" she whined.

His cock twitched at her enthusiasm and she moaned quietly. "Oh darling, I am going to fill you right up," he said as he pulled back and then snapped his hips into her. He leaned down to her and stroked her cheek as he kissed her jaw. "Precious." He whispered in her ear.

He began rutting into her at a consistent pace. She pulled his shirt up to feel more of his skin against hers. She was so warm compared to him, her aura engulfed him like the fire they lay next to, consuming the carbon in a flickering rage. She was so tight, and warm, and wet. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to last, but he knew he wanted to make her cum one more time before he finished.

He reached down to her clit, and started rubbing tight quick circles. She moaned between her teeth and the muscles in her legs tensed. Her mouth fell agape and she started panting beautifully. "That's it, good girl. Cum on my cock."

His words were enough to send her over the edge, and her cunt clenched and fluttered around his cock. He fucked her through her orgasm, only stopping his attention on her nub when she was pulling away. He readjusted her legs atop his shoulders, and her knees were practically beside her head. He was able to reach deeper in her than before, and his cock was hitting her sweet spot at a perfect angle.

"Do you want me to fill you with my cum, darling? Is that what you want?" He teased as he fucked her mercilessly.

"Yes!" She begged, "Please, I need you to fuck your cum into me!"

Her lewd suggestion sent him toppling over into his own climax, and he pressed himself deeply into her folded form. Groaning as his head fell to her side, he placed chaste kisses on her neck where he had bitten earlier. She could feel his cock twitching deep inside her, his spend spurting on her walls and dripping down her ass. He pulled out a few inches and then slammed back into her again, stuffing his cock into her deepest depths, making sure that her desires are met and that his seed has thoroughly coated every corner of her tight, quivering hole.

They stayed connected for many long moments and then eventually they both rolled over to lie on their sides, facing one another. They stared deeply into each other's eyes. Astarion pulled his pants back up, and Tav lay sleepily with her flesh still exposed. "This won't do." He said as he scooped her up with his arms.

"Oh!" She squeaked, as Astarion carried her bridal style to his tent.

He lay Tav down on his bedroll. "One moment, love, I will be right back!" He said with newfound energy.

Astarion searched for one of the most soft fabrics that he had kept for future sewing projects. He found the silky red cloth and he soaked it with water from the river. It was cold, but it will have to do. He made long strides back to his tent to find Tav, who was almost sleeping.

"This is going to be a bit cold, little bird." He cooed. He then ran the damp cloth along her most vulnerable parts. She hummed sleepily and smiled as he slowly cleaned her up with seemingly the highest degree of care. He then took the same cloth and cleaned himself up briefly.

The night was warm, but Tav, being alive, was more susceptible to the temperature. He only had his brown boyish blanket in his tent, so he quickly went to Tav's tent and snagged all of her pillows and blankets to bring them back to her in his tent. She was like a sleepy doll. He propped her head up on the softest pillow and covered her body in the warmest blankets. She sleepily hummed with glee, and Astarion looked at her snuggled up in the blankets, admiring his handiwork.

He changed into a fresh set of night clothes and then joined her under the blankets. He faced her and affectionately brushed his fingers across her cheek and under her ear. His palm rested on her cheek and his thumb stroked her cheekbone. He would speak to her about all this in the morning, and apologize for feasting upon her like a ravenous beast; but for now, she was in his arms and he felt an unyielding desire to take care of her. She nuzzled into him and kissed his hand. He leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead. She turned around so her backside was facing him. She scooted back to connect with him. His touch was soothing and cool against her under the warm blanket. He froze for a moment at the overwhelming affection, and then he fell into her and held her tight.

He didn't know exactly what these feelings were, but he knew that this was nice.

They both closed their eyes, and Tav fell into a deep sleep. Astarion began to trance. He didn't know it yet, but this would be the best trance he would have in 200 years.

Author notes:

HEY. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. I actually haven't really ever written anything before, and I don't plan on writing anymore. It took a really long time, and it was way harder for me than I thought. The number of times I had to look at synonyms. Ffs... lol. But YEAH. I actually don't have much of an interest in writing anyways so it's all good. Srsly kudos to any of you who are writing fics, especially the lengthy ones. I have no idea how you do it. Every paragraph is a brain fart for me. Please don't mind any mistakes. I used grammarly, and I TRIED MY BEST LOL. ANYWAYS, LOVE YOU, SMOOCHIES.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion pov #astarion fluff

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dotster001 · 6 months

Note

Since requests are open in honor of my favorite holiday, Halloween, how would Vil, Rook, Malleus and Lilia react to a f!reader/f!MC’s witch costume complete with the pointed hat, fingerless lace gloves, a lace sleeveless black dress with a knee high skirt, witch socks and buckled shoes. (I can probably see Vil and Rook helping her with her nails and makeup for the occasion.)

CW: Fem reader

A/N: we've waited a long time for this one, nonnie. Happy Halloween!

Let's be real….Vil designed the outfit. Vil bought the outfit without telling you. Vil brought it to your dorm, said, "change", and then stood there while he waited for you to change.

He then styled your hair, did your makeup, did your nails, yelled at you about how to properly compose yourself in the outfit, then Snatched your wrist and dragged you with him to show off your look.

He's not going to go all gaga over you like some of the others. He knows how beautiful you are, and he hopes you know with how often he tries to make it clear to you. That said, he is very proud, both because he designed it, and because everyone is complimenting you.

Designed the outfit pt 2

The night before Halloween festivities began, you heard a knock on your second story window, and when you opened it, he was perched on the windowsill, outfit in hand. Gave you a roguish wink, and said something about being very excited for tomorrow's festivities, then he jumped off the sill, and did a perfect roll landing, before skipping off into the woods.

You would think he had never even seen the outfit (he gives Wataru in this clip energy) He's wild, almost crazed as he compliments every aspect of the look, and how it sits on you. If you say something along the lines of "you designed it why are you so nice?" He'll say, "Ah, but you are the one who brings life to my humble design!"

He's immediately thinking about what you'd look like in traditional Valley of Thorns regalia. It's not anywhere similar to your witch costume, but your costume is dark, and Valley of Thorns robes are dark, so that's the only tie in Mal Mal needs.

He's going to treat you like a lady, placing your hand in the crook of his arm, escorting you where you want to go, pressing kisses to your exposed fingertips.

You're just too pretty dressed up like a witch. And as your brave dragon, he has to protect you from evil pirates, vampires, and gravediggers! He was so excited for Halloween festivities, but now he's far too busy hoarding you and your time.

Will steal your outfit for himself once you're done with it.

He wishes you'd have told him about the outfit, he totally would have tried to match. Think of how adorably mischievous he'd look in a witch costume!

He'll giggle and ask if he can be your bat familiar. Wouldn't that be so fun! His beautiful little witch, and her handsome bat companion! How exciting!

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll @stygianoir

Note: haven't used the taglist in a while, so if I forgot you, or you want to be added, let me know!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader

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gigabyte-flare · 7 months

Text

He Comes Alive (Part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: The townsfolk decide to hold the annual Harvest Festival despite the police chief's son being found dead. Meanwhile, Leon acts on his instinctual desires.

Word Count: 6.7k

Pairing: vampire/plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Biting, blood, gore, murder, unprotected p in v, masterbation, oral (m and f receiving), stalking, pet names, kidnapping, breeding kink, blood play/kink, age gap, dubcon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future entries]

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

You’re somewhere in the middle of asleep and awake as you listen to Leon descend the stairs to answer the door, hearing him call out as you hear the squeak of the front door opening. You can’t understand what they’re saying but you immediately recognize the voice as Chief Bob, causing your anxiety to immediately spike.

Had your Dad actually called the police on Leon?

You decide it’s best to get up and look for yourself, so you climb out of bed, your eyes widening at the literal bloody mess that’s on Leon’s sheets. You’re mortified but you’ll deal with that later. Not wanting to put yesterday’s clothes back on just yet, you walk up to what you assume is Leon’s closet, opening it to see if you can find a t-shirt you can throw on. You spot a navy blue t-shirt, grabbing it and slipping it on over your head. It just barely covers everything, but it’ll work.

You go downstairs, following the sounds of Leon and Chief Bob’s voices to the front door. You walk up from behind Leon to stand next to him rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Everything ok, Leon?”

Leon turns to you, his eyes widening subtly upon seeing your attire before he replies, “everything’s fine, angel, Chief Dion was just telling me about the emergency town meeting later tonight.”

“Oh?”

“With the closure of the hiking trails up in the Notch, we need to decide if it’s safe to have the Harvest Festival,” Chief Bob explains, “I hope to see you both there tonight. It’s at 7:00.”

“Of course, we’ll try to be there,” Leon replies, giving Chief Bob a warm smile.

“Perfect, take care, you two,” Chief Bob says, giving the two of you a subtle wave before walking back over to his police cruiser.

Leon shuts the front door, looking over at you. His eyes scan up and down your body, a subtle smirk forming on his lips.

“I never thought you’d look so breathtaking in one of my old Raccoon City Police t-shirts.”

“Oh--” you reply, looking down at the faded R.P.D. logo before shifting your attention back to him, “I just threw on the first t-shirt I saw in your closet. I hope you don’t mind…”

“Of course not, angel. Now then, I’m sure you're starving, let’s get you some breakfast, hm?”

You reply to Leon with a nod as you follow him into the kitchen and watch him make breakfast for the two of you; the smell of bacon and eggs soon filling the room.

“Thank you, by the way,” Leon suddenly says as he continues to cook breakfast.

You raise an eyebrow, “for… what?”

You watch Leon plate the bacon and eggs before turning to you, handing you the plate, “for letting me be your first.”

“Oh…” you say, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks, causing your cheeks to turn pink, “n-no, thank you. You were amazing… and sorry that I’m on my period… I can’t imagine that was pleasant…”

“On the contrary, angel,” he says, plating his own breakfast before leading you to the dining table, “I very much enjoyed myself, regardless.”

If your cheeks weren’t red before, they certainly are now as you slowly eat away at your breakfast, glancing over occasionally to see Leon doing the same. After a few minutes of eating in silence, you speak up.

“Do you think they’ll cancel the festival?” you ask, mid-chew on a piece of bacon.

“Only one way to find out.”

The rest of the day had gone by in a flash and, before you know it, it’s time to go to the town meeting. You and Leon get into his Jeep and drive into town. You are taken aback by how crowded it is; Leon had to park in the grocery store parking lot, forcing the two of you to walk about 10 minutes to the town hall. You gather that almost everyone is here; there weren’t even any chairs left in the meeting hall; you and Leon stood in the back of the room, his arms wrapping around you.

You lean into his embrace as your eyes scan the crowd for your parents. Sure enough, your eyes settle on your father’s. The look on his face as he stares back at the two of you could have set something on fire. You watch as your mother suddenly turns to you, smiling before turning to your father and smacking him in the shoulder, forcing him to look away from the two of you.

You watch as Chief Bob walks out to the podium, tapping on the microphone to get everyone’s attention. The idle chatter immediately ceased, the room so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Chief Bob begins, “We honestly did not expect this large of a turnout but it warms my heart to see that the festival is something that our town clearly cares about.”

He clears his throat before continuing, “as many of you know, Oakvale has held this festival since 1947, this year marking its 40th anniversary. We’re about two weeks out but the festival committee has been keeping a close eye on the situation with hikers getting attacked and killed on the Franconia Notch trails. With Nate’s untimely death, that hit close to home for many of us, especially for my wife and I.”

You feel Leon give you a reassuring squeeze in his arms upon the mention of Nate.

The Chief continues, “and with the closure of the Notch trails, the committee has gone back and forth on whether or not we cancel the festival for the safety of not just our citizens, but of the tourists that will come here for the festival. However, it was decided that we will discuss this as a town; I’d like to open the floor for questions, concerns and comments.”

You and Leon listen as compelling arguments are tossed back and forth both for and against canceling the festival, the main concern being the loss of revenue for the town. There is no doubt that the festival is a huge money maker for Oakvale. Another concern, one that your father unsurprisingly brought up, is that with the trails now closed, that there’s a risk of the animal wandering into town, drawn by the large crowds.

“That can be avoided with enough police presence, Lincoln and Woodstock have already stated they’d lend us officers in the event we decide to hold the festival,” Chief Bob replies to your father.

For agonizing minutes, the room bursts into chatter while you and Leon stand in the back of the room, observing the spectacle. Chief Bob taps on the mic once more, the room going completely silent once more.

“Alright, let’s hold a vote. All in favor of canceling the festival, raise your hand.”

You watch as about a dozen hands go up, including your parents’.

“All in favor of holding the festival, raise your hand.”

This time, almost everyone’s hands go up, including yours and Leon’s. You lock eyes with your father once more, his look of disdain going straight into you, causing your blood to turn cold.

“Well…” Chief Bob says, looking around the room full of raised hands, “I guess that answers that question.”

It’s late; Leon doesn’t know what time it is. What he does know, however, is how perfect his angel looks beneath him, passed out from the string of orgasms he gave her some time ago. It’s been a week since she started staying here with him; Leon couldn’t believe his good fortune. He finds his gaze focused on her exposed neck, his hunger becoming ravenous.

No. He made a promise to himself he wouldn’t feed on her until it was time to give her his gift. Climbing off her, he sits at the edge of the bed as he peels the condom he used off. He lifts the condom up to eye level to inspect it, watching as a single larva wriggles around inside his seed trapped in the condom. Letting out a sigh, he stands up, walking into the bathroom, grabbing some toilet paper to wrap the used condom in, giving it a firm squeeze in his hand to ensure the larva is dead before tossing it into the trash.

Walking back into the bedroom, he grabs his boxers and jeans off the floor, putting them on. He walks over, checking to make sure she’s sleeping before he leaves the bedroom, descending the stairs to the padlocked basement door. Digging his keys out from his pocket, he unlocks the padlock and descends the stairs, turning the light on at the bottom. What he finds troubles him.

The young man he had brought back from his hunt over a week ago is clearly dead, his body slumped forward; the only thing keeping him upright is his restrained hands tied behind him around the support beam. Leon walks up to him, grabbing him by the hair on the back of his head and lifting his head up, letting go. He watches as the young man’s head immediately drops forward, confirming that he is very much dead. Judging by how white the man’s skin is, Leon wouldn’t have gotten much out of him anyway if he was still alive.

“Shit…” Leon mutters to himself.

Leon walks over to a workbench against the basement wall, grabbing a large knife from it. He walks back over to the dead young man, cutting his restraints. The body falls forward onto the floor with a loud thud. Leon walks back over to the workbench, putting the knife down and picking up a large tarp to wrap the man’s body in. Once the body is thoroughly wrapped, Leon slings the body over his shoulder, carrying it up the stairs, shutting the light off on his way up. He sets the body down onto the floor, turning around to lock the basement door back up.

He then turns to go up the stairs, stopping in the bedroom threshold to admire his angel’s sleeping form for a moment before he walks around to her side of the bed, bending down to give her a soft kiss on the lips. She stirs in her sleep.

“Leon…?”

“Hey angel,” Leon starts with a soft smile, “I have some traps on the hiking trails I need to check for the B.O.W.. I’ll be back, ok?”

“O-Ok… be careful…” she says softly, closing her eyes.

“I will. I promise,” Leon replies, giving her another kiss on the lips before he turns, leaving the bedroom.

He goes into the living room, putting his socks and work boots on before he walks back over to the body to pick it up off the floor, walking outside with it. He walks up to his Jeep, opening the tailgate and tossing the body inside, shutting it. He walks over to the drivers side, putting his keys into the ignition and driving off.

It must be really late because there isn’t a single soul on the road as Leon drives to the trailhead where he originally found the two poor hikers unfortunate enough to cross his path on his hunt. The fact that they were the same two men that gawked at him and his angel as he was courting her was just an added bonus. Coming upon the trailhead, Leon kills the headlights on his Jeep and turns in to park. He wastes no time grabbing the body from the back, unwrapping it from the tarp and heading deep into the woods with it. He finds a good spot to dispose of it, about a half mile from the body of the other hiker he killed that same night. He’s honestly surprised Fish and Game hadn’t found it yet.

After disposing of the body, Leon goes on the hunt, sniffing the air for any signs of anyone on the trails. He knew it was a long shot now that the trails are closed, but he is hoping there would be someone stupid enough to come anyway despite the ordinance. Leon must have walked several miles but can’t find a single scent of human life in the forest. He does stumble upon a deer. He technically can survive on animal blood but Leon is a picky man.

Human blood tastes so much better.

After several hours, Leon can see that the sun is about to come up, so he calls off his search, returning to his Jeep to drive home while it’s still dark. His timing is perfect, because the sun is just starting to rise as he pulls up to his house, parking his Jeep to go inside. He’s surprised to be hit with the smell of eggs and bacon as soon as he walks in; his angel must have gotten up to make breakfast.

“I’m back!” he calls out as he walks into the kitchen, confirming his suspicions upon finding her in front of the stove.

She turns, smiling at Leon as he walks into the kitchen, “you went out without a jacket or anything? Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah I’m fine, the cold air is good for burning calories,” Leon replies with a chuckle as he walks up next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, “thank you for breakfast, angel.”

Leon kisses the top of her head as he watches her cook. He appreciates the gesture, even if the food will do nothing to sate his hunger.

“Any sign of the B.O.W.?” she asks, leaning into his embrace as she cooks.

Leon shakes his head, “nope. Nothing.”

While the town is busy getting ready for the Harvest Festival, you and Leon are hard at work on his house. Over the last couple of weeks since you practically moved in with him, you two managed to get the living room and entryway redone and decided to work on the master bathroom upstairs. It’s small, so most of the time it was just Leon working on it while you keep him company. Currently he’s laying under the bathroom sink, redoing the plumbing from the sink while you sit on the edge of the bed.

Over the last day or so, you notice that Leon is looking exceptionally pale and today, you can see some of his veins are dark and prominent, especially on his arms. He also seems to tire more easily, his breaths heavy as he works to wrench off one of the pipes under the sink.

“Leon,” you finally speak up, “have you been feeling ok?”

Leon stops what he’s doing, sitting up and looking at you with a quizzical look on his face, “what makes you ask, angel?”

“You just look… I dunno… sick…”

Leon looks down at his bare arms, seemingly acknowledging how pale he looks as he nods his head before standing up from the floor.

“I suppose I have been pushing myself pretty hard, lately,” he says, walking up to you before sitting next to you on the bed.

“Maybe you should take a break. The Harvest Festival starts tomorrow and goes until this Saturday, Halloween; let’s pick a day and go!”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, angel,” he says, wrapping his arm around you.

You notice immediately that his skin is cold and clammy, but you chalk that up to his exhaustion from working on the house nonstop.

The two of you decide to go Wednesday in hopes that it wouldn’t be as crowded. Unfortunately, you were wrong, very wrong. Parking was next to impossible until Leon finally found a spot way in the back of the lot by the forest. It’s late afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky. The Oakvale fairground is teeming with life, the sounds of people laughing and screaming on carnival rides filling the air. The star attraction, a large ferris wheel, lights up the entire area like a lighthouse, drawing everyone to it like moths to a flame.

Leon is wearing one of his dark leather jackets, but even with that on you could see that Leon looks even more pale than he had the other day, noting dark veins spreading over his muscular neck.

“Leon, are you sure you’re feeling ok, you look worse than you did the other day.”

“I promise, I’m fine, angel. I just need some fresh air, which I’m sure we’ll get plenty of here.”

“Alright… but if you look worse tomorrow, promise you'll go to a doctor.”

"I will, angel," Leon replies, giving you a reassuring smile before he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

He suddenly leans down to you, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling deep. You let out a playful giggle at his gesture.

“Leon! What are you doing?”

“You smell irresistible, angel,” he replies, giving you a kiss on the top of your head before he pries his nose from your hair.

It takes several minutes to walk the length of the parking area to the fairground, the setting sun turning everything a brilliant orange as it makes its descent behind the mountains.

“How about we watch the sunset from up there?” Leon suggests, nodding his head towards the ferris wheel.

You feel your cheeks tingle at the idea, “we’ll have to get tickets first, there’s a ticket booth right there next to it.”

“Wait here,” Leon says, planting a kiss on the top of your head before you watch him walk up to the ticket booth.

You watch them exchange words, unable to hear anything they’re saying over the sounds of the crowd and the rides. With tickets in hand, Leon walks back over to you, reaching to take your hand and leading you over to the ferris wheel line. It’s long, but it goes fast; the two of you are next to board before you even know it. Getting into the cart, the two of you sit on one side as the wheel slowly begins to move up. Leon wastes no time pulling you into his embrace.

“So…” you begin resting your head on his chest, “once the B.O.W. is taken care of, you’ll have to leave, won’t you?”

You feel his chin rest on the top of your head, “I should be able to pull some strings to be able to stay here, I wouldn’t be fixing the house up otherwise.”

As the cart makes its ascent to the top, the two of you sit there in silence, but Leon’s gentle rubbing of your upper arm and the occasional kiss he places on the top of your head speaks more than words ever could. The love you feel for him is overwhelming, although for some reason you were hesitant to say it out loud. The cart finally reaches the top, stopping for a few minutes.

“Wow…” you say under your breath.

The sunset is the most beautiful you have ever seen. It looks like the whole sky is set ablaze as the sun slowly creeps behind the mountains. You feel Leon’s nose bury itself back in your hair, feeling him inhale deeply once more.

“Someday soon… I hope to give you something really special,” Leon says suddenly, “a gift.”

You shift in his embrace, looking up at him into his blue eyes, “what kind of gift?”

You can barely contain your excitement at the implication of his words. The first thing that immediately comes to mind is an engagement ring. You watch a smirk cross Leon’s lips as he stares back at you.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise, you’ll have to wait and see.”

“You’re such a tease,” you say as you playfully punch his shoulder.

“God, I love you,” Leon replies before he pushes you into the side of the cart, kissing you deeply.

His words give you whiplash, you aren’t even given enough time to process them when his tongue dips into your mouth as he practically devours you. He breaks off the kiss for a moment, his lustful gaze locked on yours.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I fucked you up here?” he says with a smug look.

“Pretty sure they’d notice one of the carts moving erratically,” you reply, unable to contain your bashful giggling.

“Damn,” he replies, the disappointment evident in his voice as he leans back so that you can sit back up in the cart as it begins to make its descent.

You watch his eyes scan the fairgrounds for a moment before you shift back over to him, his arm draping across your shoulders. After a few minutes, your cart descends back to the ground and you’re let off the ride.

“I need to use the bathroom real quick, I think I saw it over there while we were up on the ferris wheel, I’ll meet you back here, ok?” Leon says, leaning down to give you a quick kiss on the lips.

You reply with a quick nod as you watch Leon head into the crowd. You take this opportunity to look around at some of the vendors in the immediate area. A lot of them were selling cheap knockoffs of popular cartoon characters, funny hats and toys, but there are some homemade soaps and other homemade crafts and foods as well.

15 minutes go by and Leon still hasn’t come back yet. You do your best not to worry, you figure there is probably a large line to use the bathrooms; there always seems to be a line at the festival. You’re at a stall belonging to a lady that made handcrafted signs when all of a sudden you hear a very distinct sound.

Bang. Bang, Bang. Bang…

“Is that gunfire?!” you hear someone say as you hear more banging sounds ring out.

You quickly realize the sound is coming from the direction of the bathrooms.

“Leon!” you call out as you make a run to the bathrooms.

As you run closer, you can still hear the gunfire, and as you come upon the bathrooms, you realize the gunfire is coming from the woods behind them. You don’t hesitate and run into them, noting that there are several police officers following behind you with their guns drawn. You run about a quarter of a mile when you find Leon standing over a young man; his gun drawn and pointing to the depths of the woods.

“Leon!” you call out to him, the officers quickly catching up to you, “are you ok?! What happened?!”

Leon turns to you and you’re shocked to find his jacket, shirt and face are covered in blood, “when I got over here to use the bathroom, I heard someone calling for help, so I came to investigate. Something was on top of him. I managed to drive the creature off him but it bolted into the woods. I tried to resuscitate him but…”

You watch Leon’s gaze shift to the young man splayed out on the ground. The man had a large gaping wound in his neck, blood still coming out of it and his mouth. That at least explains why Leon has blood all over him, he had tried to perform CPR.

“Sir we’re going to need to see some identification,” one of the officers states, approaching him.

“Of course,” Leon says, pulling his wallet out and flipping it open to show a federal ID, “I’m agent Leon S. Kennedy, Division of Security Operations. I’m stationed here on official classified business.”

The officer nods, looking down at the dead young man, seemingly satisfied with Leon’s response. Chief Bob suddenly approaches, running his hand through his hair, staring down at the dead young man in disbelief.

“Son of a bitch…” Chief Bob says under his breath as he gently kicks the body with his foot before turning to the other officers, “evacuate the fairground, we need to shut down the festival.”

The ride home is solemn, you zone out looking out the window into the night as Leon drives. All you can smell is the man’s blood that is all over Leon’s clothes; he thankfully managed to clean off his face in the bathroom before leaving the fairground. You suddenly feel Leon’s hand caress your thigh, making you jump a little as you come out of your daze.

“You ok, angel?” Leon asks softly as he glances over at you.

“Yeah… I guess I’m just shaken. What was that guy even doing out there?”

“From what I saw when I first found him, he went out there to smoke a cigarette. Poor guy…”

“Did you see the B.O.W. at all?”

Leon shakes his head, “not really, it was dark, but I could see it had these back claw things and a long tail before it bolted into the forest. I’d never imagined it’d try attacking so close to town like that.”

“We’re never going to hear the end of it from my Dad…”

“Your father can kiss my ass,” Leon says, his voice full of malice.

“Leon… please don’t…”

“He treats you like shit, tries to control everything you do. It’s a miracle he’s even married to be honest.”

“Leon, he's still my Dad.”

“And you’re my mate. So long as I’m around, your father has no power over you.”

You blink a few times, your brain trying to figure out if you heard him correctly, “I’m your… what?”

You see Leon shake his head quickly, correcting himself, “sorry… city slang. My girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend.”

Hearing him refer to you as his girlfriend makes your nerves spark, you lean your head against the passenger side window in an attempt to calm yourself. The Jeep finally pulls into the driveway; Leon parks it on the side of the house and the two of you head inside. Leon makes sure the front door is locked.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a shower,” Leon says, peeling off his blood soaked jacket and shirt, walking over to the washing machine adjacent to the kitchen and tossing them inside.

“I like that idea a lot, actually, “ you reply as your eyes move up and down his naked torso, admiring his physique.

Leon smirks at you, seeing you gawk at him, “I knew you would, angel.”

You watch as Leon goes upstairs, you soon follow close behind him. He goes into the master bathroom, turning on the shower to warm it up before he discards the rest of his clothes. Even from where you stand in the master bathroom threshold, you can see that he’s already starting to get hard, meaning the two of you clearly had the same thing on your minds. The second thing you notice is that his skin looks a thousand times better than it had when you first got to the fairground; full of color and life. He was right; he had just needed the fresh air.

You begin to undress as Leon steps into the shower, joining him once you’re fully unclothed. Leon’s hands are immediately on you once you’re inside the shower with him, pushing you against the shower wall as he leans down to kiss the crook of your neck. You feel his hands grasp at your hips as you feel him kiss, suck and gently bite your neck; there will surely be marks later but in that moment, you don’t care; the only thing on your mind is him and how much you want him.

A soft moan escapes your lips as his own begin to trail down from your neck, to your shoulder, then to the front of your chest where his mouth latches onto one of your breasts. You feel his tongue lap the sensitive nipple, causing shivers to travel down your spine and throughout your entire body. With one of your hands, you caress down his toned chest until you’re greeted by his rock hard member, your hand grasping around it to give him slow, but firm strokes.

“Oh… fuck…” Leon moans, taking his mouth off your breasts to lean down and kiss you.

His kiss is deep and hungry, his tongue invading your mouth as he has your hips in his vice-like grip. You manage to break away, suddenly getting on your knees, gently holding his throbbing cock by the base as your tongue gently runs up the bottom to the tip. It’s a lovely shade of dark pink, crying pre-cum as you take him into your mouth.

“I get to fuck your pretty mouth?” you hear Leon growl as he thrusts into your mouth, his hand grasping the hair on the back of your head.

You gag as the tip of his cock pushes into the back of your throat at an increasingly fast pace; the sounds coming out of your mouth are borderline pornographic. You feel tears tease the corners of your eyes as Leon relentlessly fucks your mouth and just when it's becoming too much, his hand that’s on the back of your head yanks your mouth free, pulling you up to force you to stand.

Leon pushes the shower door open, aggressively pushing you against the bathroom counter. You manage to catch yourself with your hands, looking up into the mirror to see Leon looming behind you. One of his hands is placed on your back, pushing you forward as you feel his cock prod at your soaked hole. He quickly sheathes himself inside you, eliciting a loud moan out of you when he bottoms out inside you, your walls instinctively squeezing around him as he fills you.

He wastes no time thrusting into you. The thrusts are slow, but powerful, with purpose. A combination of his name and ‘oh my god’ spilling from your lips as you are fucked dumb on his cock.

“That’s it, taking me so well my pretty angel,” Leon purrs as he picks up the pace on his thrusts.

You lean your head forward, your arms shaking as they struggle to prop you up on the bathroom counter. Suddenly, you once again feel Leon’s hand grasp the hair on the back of your head, pulling you up so that your back is against his chest.

“This pussy is all mine, you hear me, angel?” Leon growls in your ear, “I want you to watch yourself as I breed you.”

His thrusts become aggressive, your mind too cock drunk to protest him cumming inside you. Your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head as the head of his cock abuses your cervix. A wave of pleasure washes over you as you cum on his length, your walls squeezing him tight as you moan loudly. Letting out an animalistic growl, Leon pushes himself as hard and as deep into you as he possibly can. You suddenly feel a sharp, excruciating pain from deep within your core followed by the warmth of his cum filling you as he pushes himself inside you; you watch as your face contorts in the mirror. Tears stream down your face as Leon’s arms wrap possessively around you while still pushing his throbbing cock inside you.

“L-Leon… it hurts!” you sob out in agony, your body violently trembling.

“Shhhhh… I know, angel, I know. You’re taking my seed so well, baby. I have to make sure it takes. It’s almost over, I promise,” he softly coos in your ear.

It feels like an eternity before Leon’s member finally stops throbbing inside you. He gives you a gentle kiss on your cheek before he slowly pulls out. You let out a pathetic whimper as you collapse against the bathroom counter, your body still shaking from both the pleasure and the pain. You can feel some of his cum leak out as it runs down the inner side of your leg. You feel Leon’s fingers spread your pussy lips open; you glance up in the mirror to see the look of pure admiration on his face as he stares at your leaking hole.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

Saturday morning, Mick’s favorite. His eyes slowly open to see the clock read 7:47am back at him. He rolls onto his back, stretching his arms out to find the space next to him is empty; Sandi is already up. Mick climbs out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers before he walks into the master bathroom to relieve himself. Afterwards, he goes downstairs into the kitchen, the smell of bacon filling the air as he spots Sandi over the stove making breakfast.

“I grabbed the paper, hun. It’s on the table,” she says as she begins plating their breakfast.

Mick sits down at his chair, unfolding the newspaper to be greeted with large bold text reading:

Trick or Treating Canceled in Oakvale

Wild animal attack during annual Harvest Festival prompts town officials to cancel trick or treating.

Mick doesn’t bother reading the rest of the article. He flips the page, shaking his head.

“Did you see they canceled trick or treating tonight?” Mick asks Sandi as he reads through the paper.

“I did,” Sandi says as she brings two plates of bacon and pancakes over to the table, setting one down in front of Mick while she sits in a chair next to him, “what a shame.”

“Why does no one listen to me? I told them having the festival was a bad idea and look what happened.”

Not even mentioning Leon was there when it happened…

On one hand, it makes sense that Leon was there given what Leon had made him privy to when his daughter moved in with him, but there is still a part of him that thinks that Leon is somehow involved; he just can’t prove it.

“Honey, I know, but the festival is a huge part of this town, you know that.”

“I know…”

“Fish and Game found those two hikers from Plymouth State yesterday, both dead,” Sandi says, eating her breakfast.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh as he sets the newspaper down on the table, digging into his breakfast in silence, his mind wandering. He calls back to the first hiker that went missing, which wasn’t unusual around here. People went hiking in the Notch unprepared all the time. Now that he thought about it, he doesn’t think they ever found that person’s body.

The rest of the day is uneventful. Not getting trick or treaters is an adjustment. Mick spends his evening in his recliner, mindlessly scrolling through channels on TV. There’s a sudden rap on the door, startling Mick so much that he sits up in the recliner. He looks up at the clock, which reads just after 11:00pm. The knocking continues, insistent and forceful.

“Who the fuck could that be at this hour?” Mick asks himself under his breath as he walks over to the front door, opening it to find Leon, clearly out of breath as he leans up against the door frame with one arm.

“Leon!” Mick says, surprised, “what are you doing here?”

“I need your help, Mick,” Leon begins, “I have the B.O.W. cornered but not for long. I can’t take it down on my own.”

“Why come to me for help? Did you run here?” Mick asks, looking around behind Leon but not finding his Jeep.

“I did…” Leon replies, still winded as he stands up straight, “I came to you because you’re the only other person besides your daughter who knows about the B.O.W. and I am not putting her in danger.”

“Shit hold on, let me get my gun,” Mick says as he turns to walk into the house, but Leon grabs his arm to stop him.

“There’s no time, I have a gun for you right here,” Leon pats the holster strapped to his leg, “we need to go. Now.”

“I need to at least tell my wife--”

“No, don’t tell a soul, if it gets out there’s a B.O.W. here, there will be panic. I can’t let that happen.”

Mick is at war with himself, he doesn’t trust Leon, but on the chance that Leon is being truthful, this is his chance to put an end to this nightmare and things can finally go back to normal around here.

He looks to Leon, giving him a quick nod in acknowledgement, “let’s go.”

Leon pulls the gun from his hip holster and a flashlight from his pocket, handing them to Mick before he gestures for him to follow him. Mick follows, quietly closing the front door behind him before both of them break out into a run. Mick struggles to keep up with Leon, who’s obviously in much better shape than he is being a government agent and all. Within 10 minutes, they’re at the fairground, unsurprisingly; this is where the creature got its latest meal, of course it would stick around.

Leon and Mick head into the forest, Leon leading the way as they continue to run deeper and deeper into the forest. Eventually, they come upon a small clearing, Leon slowing himself to a stop as Mick runs slightly ahead into the clearing. Mick looks around, not seeing any sign of life in the immediate area.

“Where did it go? Did the fucker take off?” Mick scoffs in frustration as he continues to look around ahead of him into the darkness, the flashlight doing little to penetrate it.

“It’s right here.” Leon growls from behind Mick.

Mick turns around slowly, the flashlight confirming his deepest fears as his breaths become ragged with his racing heart. Leon is standing behind him, shirtless. Black veins sprawl across his skin as Leon stares at Mick with piercing red eyes. Leon’s mouth starts to morph into a sinister grin, revealing two long, sharp canine teeth.

“I fucking knew it! What are you, some kind of vampire?!”

“Oh Mick… I’m so much more than that,” Leon purrs, flexing his fists as he slowly approaches him.

Mick watches in horror as four long, claw-like black appendages burst from his back, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles backwards away from Leon’s approach. Then, a long scorpion-like tail snakes out from behind him, curling to the front to reveal a sharp, blade-esque end.

“Jesus Christ!” Mick cries out, holding the gun up and pulling the trigger.

Click, click, click, says the empty chamber of the gun.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… you really think I’d be stupid enough to give you a loaded gun, Mick?” Leon taunts, continuing his advance.

In a last ditch effort to defend himself, he chucks the empty handgun at Leon, who catches it with lightning fast reflexes with his hand, putting it back into his hip holster.

“You certainly had me nervous, Mick, you seem to be the only one who caught on to the fact that there’s something very wrong about me,” Leon says, his voice dripping with venom before he licks his fangs with his tongue.

“What do you want?!”

“I want what any man wants, to breed with his mate and pass down his bloodline. I’m the last of my kind, you know. I have to do my part to ensure the survival of my species.”

“Your mate? You mean my fucking daughter?!”

Leon lets out a low chuckle, “yes I mean your daughter. You should be proud of her, she’s currently carrying my offspring. She doesn’t know that yet, but she will soon enough, I promise you.”

“You son of a bitch! You won’t get away with this!”

“Oh, but I will Mick,” Leon says, grinning, “you see, the only ones that know what I truly am are you and I. I am quite famished, Mick and lucky for you, I enjoy playing with my food.”

Mick continues to back away from Leon, the light of the flashlight shaking as Leon stalks closer.

Leon chuckles once more before continuing, “I’ll even give you a head start, so I hope you make it fun for me.”

“Shit…” Mick says under his breath as the reality of his situation sinks in, watching Leon grin even wider as he spreads his arms out in a taunting gesture.

“Run.”

Part 6

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #vampire!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #gigabyte writes #he #comes alive

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wood-white-writer · 7 months

Text

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [4/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die, I think my body's falling in pieces, I think my blood is passing me by."

— Mitski, "Brand New City"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, "Cross-Hairs"/reader is a lonely asshole too, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF, a mixture of both the Reader's and Buggy's POVs, angst

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual with only 2.2k words... Sorry.

Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

You’re like a savage beast when you’re fighting, Buggy admits to himself in awe as he watches you tear through your opponents one by one with substantially more strength than anyone thought your body capable of.

But Buggy's not just anybody. He's always known that your body is of a special sort, an Iron Maiden encompassed by skin, flesh, veins, arteries, and ligaments; capable of bringing ruin to anyone and anything if only you have reason enough. Chains can't hold you, nor can any power on this earth.

He relishes in it.

You have your sword and your pistol both disposable at the belt on your hip, but you seem to have no interest in wielding them for the battle. No, your body is a weapon on its own; a blade cutting through people like grass straws on a narrow field.

It’s during times like these — when he gets to watch your strength from the front rows — that he wonders whether you’ve eaten a Devil Fruit of your own at some point, but that can't be. He’s seen you swim.

You, him, and Shanks had been simply traveling through the town where the Oro Jackson was docked, minding your own business when a group of rival pirates suddenly ambushed you. Thinking they easily could kidnap the apprentices of the famous Gol D. Roger and demand ransom, the shidiots would quickly come to realize that they made a mistake.

A very costly one at that. One they will be sure not to repeat.

Whereas he and Shanks stand partnered together against a few of the rival group, you are holding your own quite well from the other side of the fight. He swears he saw one of the men flying over him at some point, though it might’ve just been a trick of the adrenaline.

Kicking one of the larger pirates straight in the balls with his lower body severed from the rest, he turns his upper body to catch a glimpse of you in case you need help.

What he sees instead is a flash of the sun reflecting in your eyes as you pounce at your prey, casting a yellow line in the air that reminds him of lightning about to strike the ground. Everything around him seems to cease mid-motion save for you. There is no fighting going on, no shouting, no Shanks telling him to take cover from an incoming blow.

All he sees is you, and all he hears is his own voice telling him: "Gods, you’re fucking marvelous."

The last thing he hears is Shanks shouting his name before the world begins to darken around him, and the last thing he sees is lightning making its way toward him, destroying everything in its path to get to him.

He wonders drowsily if it's going to strike him too.

———

The fight that ensues reminds you of the battles you partook in during your years as Captain. The chaos in it all. The carnage. The general inability to think properly as you fight. Of course, your opponents back then lacked Buggy's uncanny ability to split up into multiple parts while still alive, but it doesn't stop you.

Nothing on this earth can.

Blades are thrown, skin is cut, and by the time you get close enough to reach him, a number of props have scattered to pieces in the midst of your warfare. It seems like an endless battle trying to defeat him, just get him to fucking stay still.

Just as you reach for Buggy's chest with your nails reached out to claw at his vest, his midsection separates and all you're left with is air. Just empty air.

He cackles as he puts himself back a few good feet from where you're standing. "C'mon! Put your back into it! It's like you're not even tryin—!"

In a flash, your face is hairsbreadths away from his, and it feels like everything around him stops.

At that moment, he realizes that the golden color of the sun has not left your eyes. Only to find that, upon closer inspection, it's not the color of the sun that he's met with.

It's thunder, and it strikes hard.

Before he has the chance to blink, the next thing he knows is the feeling of a boulder being pushed against his stomach. Not a sound leaves his throat save for a guttural groan, and he finds himself on the ground before he knows it with stars adorning the edges of his vision.

Gods, he thinks while in a state of both pain and exhausted satisfaction, your face a blurred canvas in his eyes. You’re so fucking marvelous.

By the time Nami and Zoro debut to join the battle, you have already pinned Buggy to the ground with your legs planted firmly on each side of his hips, and a bruising grip around his neck as you press your forearm down onto it. Not enough to cut his flow of oxygen, but enough so that he doesn't have the capacity to move unless he splits.

His face, the very same face you used to paint when you were younger, looks up at you with nothing short of manic glee. He doesn't even divide himself up to get free this time. It's almost like merely connecting to him, even during an act of violence such as this, is enough to keep him entertained. Happy, you dare think.

You find those sea-blue eyes looking up at you, and before you try and strike the finishing blow, you hesitate. You fuckinghesitate, because when it all comes down to it, you can't find it in yourself to kill him.

The legendary Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the executioner of a thousand marines and other pirates, can't kill something this time.

You can't kill him. You can't kill those ocean-blue eyes, even when your body yearns to see through with what you promised. You always stick to your promises, but for the first time in forever, you don't. You can't.

Not him.

Never him.

Meanwhile, Buggy can't help examining you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid his eyes on, because you are. Even after all this time, he's still as drawn to the fire in your eyes that as he was all those years ago. It's a feeling he can never hope to extinguish.

Nor does he want to.

Being the jester that he is, however, he takes the moment to his advantage. This one, vulnerable moment. It's not out of pettiness, but survival. Nothing personal.

He separates his femur and exploits the momentum to knock you off him. He can tell you're surprised as you position yourself on your knees and hands, yet it only takes you a ghost of a moment to recover.

The fire is back in your eyes, a thousand times brighter this time, and the fight continues.

Now, neither of you holds back, and he becomes first-hand acquainted with just how ruthless truly you can be. When there is nothing keeping you down.

Truth be told, it excites him. Very much so.

He has the Bounty Hunter and the Tangerine-haired girl hot on his tail, but he hardly provides them a medium of his attention. You're the only thing he can't take his eyes off.

"NAMI! THE CRATES!"

And that's where the entire play gradually comes to an end. Maybe it's what pisses him off the most?

You stalk after his separated body parts like a hunter after a flock of deer, throwing them into the crates as the rest of your companions follow suit. Whereas Nami and Zoro are strategic with their actions, complementing each other, you're acting on pure, unadulterated wrath.

You do not have Luffy's stretchy capabilities, Zoro's precision, or Nami's diligence.

What you have is something far, far deadlier.

It's twenty years of pent-up heartache.

Catching pieces of him is much easier than catching all of him.

This is what it's come to, with you and him fighting; with you and him having different goals. It's not the future you envisioned for yourself at all. In fact, it's the exact opposite. If you knew then what you know now, you would've ...

Once, it was you and him together against the rest of the world. Now, it's you against him, against the rest of the world.

You can feel your eyes threaten to sting as you catch his femur and throw it in an open box that promptly shuts, but like with everything else, you push it down. You push it until all that remains is the vague ache.

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. This is what it will stay like.

In the end, all of his body parts save for his head, hands, and feet are spared from the confinement of the containers, and when he melds them together to a pathetically small version of his usual self, you can't help but address the irony of the situation.

"What have you done to me?!" Buggy cries.

Luffy grins as he caresses his beloved hat, having suffered the most injuries. "Cut you down to size."

Buggy looks as small as you felt that day. Helpless. Pathetic. Reduced to almost nothing.

Still, it's not a moment that brings you any happiness. Not any victory, or satisfaction. You don't even have the urge to gloat.

All it brings you, as you tower over him from the side, is nothingness.

You're tempted to kick him, and you almost do. You take a step closer to him, a river of anger rushing through your veins. With nowhere else to go, it circles.

"The One Piece will never be yours!" Buggy yells and flaps his hands, too focused on Luffy to notice you calmly stalking toward him from the dark. "You're just a sad, lonely little boy, wearing another man's hat!"

It’s Shanks’s hat, you want to scream. Our friend’s hat. Don’t you remember?

Luffy's words don't register with you as you kneel in front of the shortened clown, nor do Nami's questions or Zoro's inquisitive eyes. It all tunes out into the background as you raise your hand slowly to Buggy, and you think about how easy it will be. It will be so easy to end it now. He's weak, he's practically defenseless. There's nothing to stop you now.

Buggy simply stares when he notices you, his mouth slightly parted in what you can only perceive as surprise and ... disbelief? You take one final look at his face, the same face you used to paint long ago, and you briefly wonder how many layers of white, red, and blue separate this one from the touches you applied years ago.

Is there still some residue left? Any fingerprint? Does anything from you still linger with him, or did he try to scrub your touches off his face the same way he tried to scrub you from his life altogether?

Buggy is completely still as your outstretched fingers close in on him, and he thinks that this is it. Now's the moment when you will make good on your threats, where you'll finally kill him. Truth be told, it's a less-than-satisfactory way to go, but surprisingly enough, it doesn't bother him half as much as he expected it would.

Maybe it's because, after all this time, it's still you until the end? You and him, like it was always meant to be.

He closes his eyes with a sigh and finds that the edge of his lip tilts a little up. "Go for it," he says, awaiting the moment when your calloused fingers grip him. He can anticipate your nails clawing at his scalp, tearing the skin of his cranium, digging until there is nothing left to tear at.

Devil Fruit or not, you're the only one he'll let end him like this.

Except, you don't.

All he feels are your fingertips gently grazing the sides of his cheek, so uncharacteristically soft against his thin stubbles that he could've mistaken it for air brushing his face.

The same hands he knows capable of such great feats of violence and brutality, the same ones who had just fought against him with enough strength to match a beast, are touching him like he's made of glass.

He snaps his eyes open, and when he meets your gaze, he's surprised to find them ... empty. Hollow.

The sun is gone, and so is the thunder. Now, there are only clouds in his view.

"Goodbye, Buggy." Your voice is so tranquil that he strains to hear it, and before he gets to, you stand up again and turn your back to him. "He's all yours, Luffy."

No, no! He tries to walk up to you, but his shortened sature won't let him. Don't look away, not yet! Look at me! If only to keep your fucking promise! Just fucking pleas—Please just look at me again!

"GUM-GUM—!"

"No, no, no!" Buggy, for the first time in his life, begs as the kid stretches his arms backward. Not like this. Not yet. He tries to search for you, only to discover that you've already left the circus tent. "Wait, wait, wait! Just wait!"

"— BAZOOKA!"

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #one piece x reader #buggy the clown fanfiction #one piece #one piece buggy

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farfromstrange · 1 month

Text

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.

Yours sincerely,

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure.

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out.

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t.

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire.

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him.

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work?

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you.

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly?

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay.

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person.

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June.

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard.

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there.

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying.

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them.

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it.

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought.

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is.

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire.

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you.

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell.

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run.

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl.

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is.

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous.

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being.

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground.

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed.

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin.

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft.

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful.

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night.

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself.

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel.

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs.

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down.

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out.

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool.

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out.

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose.

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless.

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his.

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died.

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind.

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was considering not to.”

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter.

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing.

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste?

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.”

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap.

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.”

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe.

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked.

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to.

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself.

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate.

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says.

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice.

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say.

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say.

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away.

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out.

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask.

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home.

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass.

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says.

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth.

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight.

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–”

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off.

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says.

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself.

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body.

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor.

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.”

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you.

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?”

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers.

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew.

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence.

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep.

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside.

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier.

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him.

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says.

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped.

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down.

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes.

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you.

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word.

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch.

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in.

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says.

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be.

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall.

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights.

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth.

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?”

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal.

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most.

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture.

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes.

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away.

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle.

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want.

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell.

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home.

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you.

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you.

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough.

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake.

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal.

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of.

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat.

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you.

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch.

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls.

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you.

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you.

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure.

“Matthew,” you moan.

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all.

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate.

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come.

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart.

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang.

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes.

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that.

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks.

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop.

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening.

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you.

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death.

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that.

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever.

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you.

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him.

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once.

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine.

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight.

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger.

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this.

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him.

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come.

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days.

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #daredevil #x reader #interview with the vampire #charlie cox #alternate universe #reader insert

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charmandabear · 3 months

Text

Office Hours - Chapter Three

Summary:

Astarion surprises you by inviting you to his place... for a real date? The evening doesn't go as expected when you uncover the darkness in his past.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 5.4k Tags/Warnings: mentions of Astarion's past, vampire bites, blood drinking, blow job, p in v sex, fluff with a very small side of angst, Shadowheart being a bit of a manic pixie dream best friend

Since y'all are insistent on encouraging my worst tendencies, here, have the longest single thing I've ever written. I think about Professor Astarion at all waking (and sleeping at this point) hours. I have other things planned, I will eventually write something else, I promise. But also... this one is now becoming a full-fledged multi-chapter fic. I'm half-considering rewriting the first few chapters so it's in third-person? I don't know though, let me know what you think.

H1ghVoltage and Zaria were both invaluable betas for this one, I appreciate you both so much. And Zaria for always providing the most perfect screenshots at the drop of a hat. This literally would not exist without you.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“Excuse me? The one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she tucks her feet underneath her, holding up her wine glass so it doesn’t spill. The two of you met while moving into adjacent apartments a few years prior; it turned out you had both just been hired at the university, her at the Divinity School and you at the College of Arts and Sciences. Since then you’ve become fast friends, and you’re finally filling her in on all of the details of the whirlwind that has been the past few days. You hide your chagrin behind a sip of wine.

“Okay, listen, yes, but hear me out. He looks like this.” You hold out your phone and show her the English department faculty page.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. “Okay, you didn’t tell me that.”

“I think I was in denial,” you whine as you drop your head onto the couch cushion. “I focused on how much of an asshole he is to distract me from how hot he is.”

“And now? Will you see him again?” She tosses your phone at your feet and you lift your gaze.

“I don’t know? He made a joke about having sex in my office but I don’t think he actually meant it.” You cast a sidelong glance at Shadowheart, trying to gauge her expression.

“Scandalous,” she smiles into the rim of her glass before taking a long sip. You pick up your phone, looking at his portrait. It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

You drop your phone again and angrily sip at your wine, letting the dry red flood over your tongue and coat the inside of your mouth. You notice Shadowheart eyeing you suspiciously.

“Do you want to?” she asks, and you put your glass onto the coffee table and curl your knees into your chest further.

“I… I don’t know? Like obviously the sex is good. Really good,” you add under your breath, and Shadowheart looks at you salaciously as your cheeks flush. “But whenever he says more than five words I want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Is that really how you feel, or have you just convinced yourself to feel that way?” she carefully asks. You glare at her, but you can't bring yourself to disagree. You drop your less-than-menacing expression and cover your face in your hands. You let out an exasperated sigh before suddenly gasping and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Nine hells, did I tell you what else happened? At least one student knows. I saw her coming out of his office and she made some comment about ‘We all see how you look at him.’” You flop onto your side, burying your face in the couch cushion once again.

“Well, I suppose that answers your question, at least,” Shadowheart says reassuringly, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean if you like him enough that your students are noticing, then you have to pursue him. The worst that’ll happen is you’ll break up and you can go back to hating him.” She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described a literal nightmare.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” you gape at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” she grins at you, and her teeth are tinged purple from the wine. You kick your foot out at her.

“Man, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” you tease and she groans.

“Listen, you just told me that you got railed twice in three days, it’s not that good out here for most of us.” Now it’s her turn to cover her face and you laugh. You pick up your wine and stretch your legs out to nudge Shadowheart’s calf.

“Who knows, maybe there’s some hot chick in the English department that he can hook you up with.” She pushes your leg back and rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

You have no idea what to expect when you inevitably run into Astarion the next day. You're tempted to just work from home since you don’t have any classes, but you have another damn season selection committee meeting that you can't miss, and you'd rather be around for students to drop in if they need to.

You're on your way to the bathroom at the end of the day when you finally see him. You almost don't, at first, since you're looking down at your phone and you stop short of barrelling into him. You lock eyes and smile politely, then step to your left just as he steps to his right. You two share an awkward laugh just as it happens again in the opposite direction. After another few seconds of uncomfortable shuffling, he takes you by your shoulders and moves you to the side. You give him a thankful grin and quickly move past, trying to ignore the burning in your cheeks and the way your arms tingle where he touched you.

You get to the bathroom and close the door behind you, leaning against it to brace yourself. Your stomach is roiling, though whether it was from the embarrassment, the insatiable lust, or something else entirely, you can't quite tell. You turn on the faucet and splash your face with cool water. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to will yourself into stoicism. It's a losing battle as the image of him having you bent over the sink pops into your mind. You shake your head, trying to think of something else, but that only makes it worse.

He’s pressed you up against the bathroom door and he's got your wrists pinned together above your head.

No, stop, you scold yourself. But the second you banish that image another one comes flooding in, your leg draped over his shoulder as he’s lightly sucking your clit with his fingers curled inside you.

You're dizzy with the mental image and you try to wrest it from your mind. You focus on the visual stimuli around you, the white tile, the fluorescent lights, the small blue stain beneath the soap dispenser. Eventually you find yourself back in your body and you massage your temples, trying to focus.

Your head is still reeling slightly as you make your way back to your office. You unlock the door, completely unaware of his presence behind you until you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. You yelp and in an instant he’s towering over you with your back up against the wall.

“Almighty gods, Astarion,” you swear breathlessly, your heart pounding more from the scare than the proximity for once. The proximity doesn’t help, however, when he tilts your chin with his knuckle and smiles devilishly.

“Come to my place, let me cook you dinner,” he purrs, and your breath quickens. But when his words finally break through the seductive tone, something in your brain stops.

“Wait, cook? Can you- do you even- how-” You still haven’t fully recovered and your mouth struggles to form words. His smile widens and you know he’s enjoying watching you splutter.

“What, do you think in all of my 350 years I've never bedded a mortal? Besides,” he trails his hand down your neck and strokes it gently with his thumb, sending a shiver down your spine, “I have other ways of getting my fill.”

You instinctively tilt your head for him, almost like you’re inviting him to bite right here and now. You manage to recoup your senses just enough to quip, “I’m sure you have plenty of experience luring cute mortals back to your place.”

You think you see his jaw tighten for a fraction of a second, but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“I’ll take it as a yes, then?” He pulls away and adjusts his glasses, his fingers sliding into his hair. You nod, not trusting the words to come out of your mouth. He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and tucks it into the neckline of your shirt, a move that would have been unbearably corny coming from anyone else.

“See you then… lover.” He winks and glides out of the room as silently as he came in. You take a breath to steady yourself, a voice in the back of your head grumbling because of how much he has you wrapped around his finger. But admittedly, he seemed equally flustered when you almost plowed into him a few minutes ago.

Maybe not the best choice of words.

You pull the piece of paper out to see an address, date, and time. Tomorrow at 7.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

Now you just need to occupy yourself for the next 26 hours and not completely lose your nerve.

***

Occupying yourself isn’t terribly difficult with Shadowheart around. She keeps you busy all day with various errands, shopping, anything to keep you from spiraling.

Nevertheless, when it’s finally time to get dressed, you find yourself overthinking every tiny element. You stand frozen in front of your open underwear drawer trying to decide between the black lace or the pink satin.

“Shadowheeeaaaarrrrrtttt,” you call out to her in the other room. She pops her head in and gives you a pitying smile as she sees your anxiety-ridden face.

“Alright, sit, let me help,” she clinks her glass down on your dresser and nudges you until you’re sitting on your bed, fidgeting with the belt of your robe.

“Black lace, it’s sexier,” she says sagely, tossing the panties at you and you slide them on under your robe. She pulls the plaid skirt out of the shopping bag and flings it onto the bed.

“Put that on because we both agreed it’s adorable. It might be warm enough to go without tights?” she muses, then glances at you mischievously. “And since he has a track record of destroying those, maybe go with these instead.” She throws a pair of thigh highs at you and they hit you in the face. You wrinkle your nose.

“Careful,” you warn, but she ignores you. She floats over to your closet and sifts through the hangers. She pulls out a top, shifts her gaze between you and the garment a few times, then drops it on the floor. After another moment of searching, she pulls out a blousy cardigan, throwing it on the bed next to you.

“Don’t put that on yet, I’ll be right back.” She disappears before you can say anything. You’re left sitting on your bed in just your bra and skirt, and you rub your feet together with a restless energy.

Shadowheart returns just a few minutes later holding a lacy top that reads more as lingerie than an actual shirt. She returns your skeptical frown with a giant grin.

“Shade, I'm not wearing that,” you gripe, and she throws it in your face.

“Put it on before you judge,” she chides in response, and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, but it probably won't fit,” you say as you take off your bra and don the sheer v-neck cami. Other than straining around your chest slightly, the fit is fine. You put on the oversized cardigan over it and look at the full effect in your floor length mirror.

“See, told you,” she says smugly as you admire your reflection. And it's true, the underwear-as-outerwear really does bring the look from glorified schoolgirl cosplay into something a bit more refined. You give her a disgruntled sidelong glance but otherwise say nothing.

“Alright, get going. Go put your shoes on and chase that Ph D.” She pushes you out of your bedroom and towards the front door of your apartment. “Don't worry about me, I'll be here drinking your wine and masturbating all by myself while you get fucked through the end of the tenday.”

You slip on your black suede ankle boots and pleadingly look at Shadowheart one more time. You're still not convinced that this whole thing isn’t just a trip into the lion’s den.

“Go! I look forward to hearing all the gory details,” she says and plants a smooch on your cheek. She then smacks your ass as you head out the door, your yelp earning a satisfied smirk.

Sure enough, when you find yourself outside his apartment door, you can feel your cold feet catching up with you. You're about to take out your phone and text Shadowheart that you're going to leave when his door opens.

“Hello, beautiful,” he croons, and the syrup in his voice makes your mouth go dry. The sleeves of his white button down are rolled up and the first few buttons are undone, leaving his collarbone exposed. The black vest tapers in his waist and flows seamlessly into his well-tailored trousers. But the first thing you notice is his glasses.

“Your glasses are different,” you blurt, internally cursing your bluntness. His eyebrows pop up above the thicker plastic frames.

“Is that a problem?” he asks without a hint of malice in his voice. You blush and quickly shake your head.

“No I- I like them. They look good,” you stutter, looking away from the heat of his gaze. He smiles and takes your hand almost like he's leading you in a courtly dance, pulling you inside.

You look around his apartment, noticing the similarities to the hominess of his office. Big overfull bookshelves, warm-lit lamps dotted around the space, papers and other junk littered across every surface. It still surprises you that he doesn’t keep a tidy space, but at the same time you find it oddly charming.

You spot a hairless cat sitting on some mail on a table in the corner, delicately licking its paw.

“Aww, who’s this?” You approach the cat, holding out your hand for it to sniff. It hisses in response and you take a step back.

“That's His Majesty, and you're best to respect his wishes,” Astarion calls from the kitchen.

“You named your cat His Majesty?” you ask, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your throat.

“No, he named himself His Majesty,” he replies, returning from the kitchen with a spoonful of risotto. “Taste,” he commands and you obediently open your mouth. The steaming food coats your tongue with a tangy, savory taste. You nod at him, barely trusting yourself to speak. It tastes incredible.

You turn back to His Majesty, and you notice an empty potion of animal speaking tipped on its side near him.

“Well I'll just admire such a handsome creature from a distance, then,” you say and His Majesty preens slightly. You can hear a hum of approval from Astarion as he retreats back into the kitchen.

This man is full of contradictions. Pristine, clean cut outward appearance with a cluttered, disorganized space. Cool and disaffected, but he loves his cat enough to use potions to communicate with him. He doesn't need to eat, but somehow he’s an incredible cook? You frown to yourself; it feels like something doesn't add up.

You start scanning one of the bookshelves, wondering what else you can learn about him. If there was an organizational system, it wasn't clear. 48 Laws of Power, History of Modern Sexuality, On the Genealogy of Morality, Gender Trouble… Ayn Rand sitting next to Octavia Butler?

What the fuck does he like?

“How is my collection of books holding up in your estimation?” Astarion’s sudden presence behind you makes you jump. He presses a wine glass into your hand and ghosts his lips across the crook of your neck, sending a swath of goosebumps down your arms.

“Did I tell you that you look absolutely delicious?” he murmurs into your skin, and you can already feel yourself getting lightheaded.

“You're one to talk,” you say on a dizzied exhale, and the breath from his laugh tickles your shoulder. He puts his hands on your waist, running a finger along the inside of the waistband of your skirt. He gives it a gentle tug and you unconsciously move in the direction he’s pulling.

“Come eat,” he says, guiding you to a table with one place setting. You sit, feeling awkward as he sits across from you, a wine glass in his hand.

“Are you just going to watch me eat?” you laugh nervously. He smiles into the glass, glancing at you above the rectangular frames sliding down his nose.

“Well if you're insistent, I can have my dinner as well.” He's not subtle about leering at your neck, sparking a flicker of heat in your belly. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the risotto, which somehow tastes even better than what he fed you before.

“So what do you experience when you have… food?” you ask, trying to shift his attention off you eating. He looks up as he thinks, and you find your gaze tracing his jawline.

“It’s… sour. Like it’s spoiled. But when something is cooked well, and with high quality ingredients, it’s more bearable.”

You look down at your food, the taste dancing across your palette. It's certainly better than something you could make for yourself. But you know so little about cooking techniques besides the basics that you don’t know what the difference would even be.

“And you're drinking wine. What does that taste like?” You try not to stare at the dark red liquid collecting on his lips, but it’s hard not to when his tongue darts out to lick it up.

“Alcohol has a higher threshold for quality, so it's generally more palatable. It usually means a higher budget for these things, but it's not as though I'm spending much on groceries.” He narrows his eyes at you, but you can't read his expression.

“Well go on,” he continues, and you tilt your head in confusion. “Ask the question that you really want to ask.” Your heart starts beating a little faster and he smirks. Gods, you really hate that he can read you like that. It would be nice to keep at least one emotion private.

“What does blood taste like?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it's clear that he hears you. His smile widens just enough to show off his fangs.

“It depends on the person,” he replies just as casually as if you had asked him about his taste in music. “Some are sweeter, like a nice rich port, while others have a bit of a burn, like whiskey. However, you?” He places his glass on the table and stands, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. He crosses behind your chair and sweeps your hair to the side, lasciviously inhaling your scent behind your ear, eliciting a shiver.

“Yours is smooth with a hint of spice, like a fine aged brandy. But the finish has an addictive quality, like absinthe.” He nips lightly at the base of your neck without breaking skin.

“Such pretty words,” you exhale on a breathy moan, reaching a hand up behind you and running your fingers through his hair, pulling him toward you ever so slightly.

“Is that what you want?” he breathes into your ear, and you arch your back in your seat, panting. You can barely get out the “yes” before he sweeps you out of the chair and wraps your legs around his waist. He carries you into the kitchen, placing you on the counter and pressing your knees apart with his torso. You whine and the cool tile pressing into your ass reminds you of his touch. He slides one hand behind your head and the other around your waist, and sinks his teeth into your neck.

The initial pain surprises you every time, and your yelp is followed by his satisfied groan. You grip the back of his neck as he drinks, and you can feel the muscles working with each swallow. The feeling of your blood coursing through both of your bodies gets you high, knowing it's your blood that flushes his lips, cheeks, and ears. It's your blood flowing to his cock. The reminder of it makes you clench instinctively.

He pulls away just as you're teetering on the edge of passing out. He’s always panting after he feeds, his glasses slightly askew and a ravenous look in his eye that makes your mouth water. You pull him into a heated kiss, the metallic tang on his lips becoming a sensory reminder of the post-feeding bliss.

You pull him closer with your feet, aching just to feel him pressed against you. Your hands scramble against his back, tugging at his collared shirt. He’s wearing far too many layers and he hasn’t even blessed you with the sight of his gorgeous sculpted chest yet.

You slide a hand into the back of his collar, desperate for his skin, when your fingers brush over thick raised scar tissue. He pulls back faster than you do and your hands immediately go to cover your mouth.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t–” you begin but the pained look in his eye makes you stop short.

“No it's… it's fine. I've had those for a very long time. I… ah…” he stutters, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably, and you've never seen him so flummoxed.

“What are they from?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You're about to retract, tell him he doesn't need to answer, when he speaks quietly.

“They're from… the man who turned me. He kept me as a slave for 200 years. It’s something written in infernal, but I never found out what it said. And his death ensured I never would.” He speaks while looking down at the floor, his distant gaze indicating that he's somewhere else entirely.

“Astarion…” you breathe, and you cup his face in your hands. He smirks and snakes his arms around your waist; the mask is back on.

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he says with a composed smile, “it was a very long time ago. I’m more concerned with tonight.” He moves to kiss your neck again but you put your hand against his chest to stop him.

“No- well, I mean yes to tonight, but… let me take care of you,” you say softly, and his careful expression slips again.

“I- well if that’s what you want.” He crinkles his brow, unsure of what to make of your proposal.

“Is it what you want?” You stroke his cheek, and it suddenly feels like this is an entirely different man standing in front of you. Hesitant, vulnerable, his usual swaggering confidence replaced with an uncertain tenderness that makes your heart pound in a way that feels wholly unfamiliar with him.

“I’m not sure,” he says, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.

“We don’t have to,” you offer quickly, “we can just fuck up against a wall or something.” The joke breaks the tension and he lets out a little giggle.

“What do you have in mind?” He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and you ease off the counter and gently nudge him backwards toward his bedroom. He follows your lead, his doubtful look shifting into something of excitement and mischief. You guide him until the back of his knees hit the bed, and you push him to sit.

You straddle his lap and run your fingers through his silvery curls. You kiss along his jawline and down his neck, placing a particularly tender kiss on his bite scar. He exhales heavily, sliding his hands up your thighs and resting them on your lower back.

You begin carefully unbuttoning his vest, followed by his shirt, untucking the hem from his pants. You slide it down his shoulders and onto the bed behind him, letting your warm hands run over the cool planes of his skin. His eyes follow your movements carefully and you take your time, tracing over every divet, every freckle and mole. You delight in his gasp when your fingers dance over his navel and down to his belt buckle.

You slip off his lap and drop between his legs, your hands continuing their journey along his hips. You plant increasingly hungry kisses above his waistband as you remove his belt and unzip his pants. He leans back on his hands as his breathing quickens, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You’re struck with the irony that the last time you were between Astarion’s legs like this it was to get revenge, to make him feel flustered and speechless the way he always does to you. Now you have him, flustered and speechless, and all you want is to worship him, make him feel warm and safe.

You slide his pants down under his ass, pulling them all the way off so he’s sitting on his bed fully nude. You run your lips along his inner thigh as you palm his growing erection.

“Ah- wait,” he stammers and you immediately look up and pull back.

“Yes?” you ask, frozen by the fear that you’ve gone too far.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, nudging your cardigan off your shoulder. “All of you.”

It’s hard to believe that someone sitting naked in front of you can make you feel so exposed. You shiver as you drop the cardigan off your back, the sudden exposure to cool air making your nipples poke through the lacy top that Shadowheart gave you. You stand and he watches intently as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. His expression gives little away, but his cock doesn’t. By the time you’ve removed the black panties, thigh highs, and cami, it stands at full attention. His knees squeeze around your legs and his arms pull you in close to him, pressing his nose against your belly. You card your fingers through his hair and down to his chin, tilting his head upwards.

“Better?” you breathe, and he nods, his eyes round and wide. You bend down to kiss him, slow and languid, before dropping to your knees again. When you pull away his mouth stays open, suspended in the shape of your kiss.

You settle between his knees and lightly kiss the head of his dick. You flick your gaze upward, monitoring his expression as you lazily run your fingers along his shaft. His glasses balance on the tip of his nose as he looks down at you, transfixed by your ministrations. You open your lips slightly, not quite taking him into your mouth yet as you softly cup his balls in your hand. You can hear his breath growing ragged, and he rewards you with an almost inaudible moan when your tongue finally wets his cock.

You wrap your lips around his tip, gently working the underside with your tongue. You run your hands up his thighs, squeezing his hips as they buck into you. You take more of him in, the warmth of your mouth contrasting with the cool, sensitive skin. He groans and tangles his fingers in your hair, a gesture that feels closer to petting than pulling.

You pull your mouth off his cock, wrapping your hand around the now slick shaft. You run your thumb along the slit, and his responding shutter makes you smile.

“Ah- enjoying yourself?” he murmurs, unable to keep his voice steady. You look up at him and drag your tongue along his entire length.

“I am, are you?” you hum, taking him back into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. His leg quivers beside you, his toes curling inward.

“Mmph,” he grunts in assent, his hand twisting into your hair a little more. You slip your hands under his thighs and slide your mouth further down, letting him fill you up. His hips jerk, wanting to thrust into you, and you relax your jaw to let him. His little pants and disjointed moans send a jolt of heat down to your core, and you can feel yourself becoming wet with desire for him.

You reach down and slip your middle finger between your slick folds, your groan vibrating into him. He hisses and pulls you off his cock and into a fierce kiss. The two of you tumble backwards onto the bed, your hair encircling you like a curtain. You press your bodies together, the smoldering heat spreading into a raging wildfire. He lines himself up with your entrance as you continue your desperate assault on his lips. He slides in with ease and your cry into his mouth accompanies him bottoming out.

You push yourself up, bracing yourself on his chest as you grind into him. He plants his hands on your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head falls back in ecstasy, your hair cascading down the length of your back. You increase the pace of your rolling hips, each breath growing more voiced as you approach your peak.

“Oh gods, Astarion,” you babble, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He realizes you’re getting close, he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him tight. He latches onto your nipple, flicking his tongue and sucking to send your pleasure to staggering heights. You arch your back into him as your arms hook over his shoulders, brushing your hands against those awful scars. Your hands splay across his back as if to say no one will ever hurt you like that again.

You pull his face to yours so that you can taste his lips as you crash over the edge. The kiss is broken up by your cries and you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his grunts in time with his pulsing seed. You stay still and connected as the waves of pleasure ebb and flow and finally settle. The only noise left in the room is both of your heavy panting, and the telltale sound of just your heart pounding.

His hands slide down your back as you carefully pull yourself off him and you shiver as his now-soft cock falls out of you. You kneel next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, and he reaches over to stroke your jaw.

“Thank you,” he hums softly, and you press another sweet kiss to his neck. His scar.

After a moment you let out a contented sigh, then you say, “Well, I should probably gather my things and go, then.” You begin to stand to dress, but his hand closes around your wrist. You turn to him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“Or you could… stay. If you want.” He looks up at you through smudged and sweaty glasses and a smile tugs at your lips.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you watch him shift uncomfortably with a question that he’s not used to answering.

“I want…” he begins, hesitant. “I want to watch last year’s Globe production of Much Ado About Nothing with you. You said you like that one, right?” Your ears grow hot as you realize the extent to which he actually paid attention to you, even before you were sleeping together.

“I do, yeah. One of his best,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you repeat his words back to him. That interaction feels like it was eons ago, when in fact it was less than a tenday.

He smirks, some of his confident charm seeping back into his demeanor. He scoots back on the bed until he’s resting against the headboard, and then he reaches out to you, inviting you to curl in next to him. You oblige, and he turns on the TV across from the bed, pulling up the pro-shot. You sink in next to him, appreciating how his chest cools your flushed cheek.

A single word gnaws at the back of your mind and you banish it quickly.

No, that’s the oxytocin talking.

It’s just been a long time since you’ve slept with someone more than once.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and the gnawing grows more insistent.

…

Fuck.

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suguruspit · 3 months

Text

"Have you earnt it?"

Vampire!Gojo uses you to feed and he won't stop until he's full.

MDNI! / 18+ Gojo/Reader, vampire au, smidge of fluff mostly smut

Tags: overstimulation, dirty talk, squirting, cockstuffing, dominant tones, breeding kink, mentions of blood (it's a vampire fic), oral sex, f!reader, begging

"I said to sit still," Gojo mumbles into your neck, adjusting your hips on his lap. You were sat facing him, his cock being kept warm inside. "Or did you forget how to take orders?"

You whimpered into his neck, you desperately needed to adjust the angle, your hips were aching. He was nestled right against your g-spot, making it a painful pleasure the entire time you sat still, you'd already been poised for fifteen minutes whilst Gojo just admired his view.

" 'toru, please" You whisper, tears thick on your lashes as he hums and kisses your neck, scraping his fangs lightly against your pulse point making you gasp and grind your hips down on reflex. "Please"

"Please what?" Satoru teases, a grin plastered on his face as he trails a hand down your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples to elicit those sweet, soft moans from you. "You need to tell me what you want, I'm perfectly content to stay buried in this sweet pussy all night."

You huff at that, you both knew he wouldn't last another fifteen minutes like this without moving, his impulsivity was one of the things you loved deeply about him, and in this situation it works in your favour.

Pulling back to look in Satoru's face, you pout and brush a lock of white hair away from his eyes.

"Baby," You trace a finger along his lips, a fingertip brushing against sore fangs lightly dimpling his lips. His body shudders, and the hands on your hips tighten. "Don't you need to feed? I bet you're feeling so hungry."

You finish your sentence with a roll of your hips, biting your lip as he groans and thrusts up, the both of you moaning at the change of pace.

"Fuck," He mumbles, he spins the both of you to lay you down beneath him, you squeal as he starts pressing hungry kisses down your chest. "You're so fuckin' perfect babe, 'course I need to feed, need to taste you so bad".

You moaned at the feeling of his mouth on your hipbones, squirming as he nips the height of the bone, and trails his tongue down to your thighs, sucking little bruises as he goes.

Feeling dizzy from pleasure, you glance down and your eyes almost roll back at the sight below you. Satoru looks sex-drunk, his cheeks and nose pink from arousal, spit glistening his lips as a string of spit connects him to your thigh. His icey-blue eyes are blown wide and are a stark contrast to the messy white hair that you currently have your hands buried in. You didn't know how you got so lucky, but you'd never complain about life again as long as you got fucked by a god tonight.

"Satoru," You whine pathetically at the lack of contact to your arousal, you can feel the slick cooling on your thighs and your cheeks redden.

"Lemme taste you first," Satoru mumbles into your thigh, nipping again just to see the blood rush to your skin, inhaling your scent.

"I thought vampires go for the neck?" You tease, hips canting down as his breath ghosts over your pussy, causing it to flutter with anticipation.

Satoru laughs, kissing your pussy sweetly. He glances up at you, and oh, his eyes have darkened.

"I do what I want," is all the warning you get as he dives in, sucking at your clit like a starving man, making you arch your back off the bed and claw at his hair.

He started slow at first, sucking and flicking his tongue against it gently as if to get you prepared for what comes next. You feel a smile against you, and then two fingers shoved roughly into your hole.

You scream, shoving a hand in your mouth as Satoru groans and starts pumping his fingers in and out fast, your slick gathering on them and glistening. He's still swirling a tongue around your sensitive bud, fangs catching occasionally and making you shudder with the overstimulation.

"Fuck, fuck, Satoru," You chant, shoving your hips down as you try to ride his face and meet his hands with the thrusts. He was hitting your g-spot with curled fingers and you could feel your orgasm building quickly.

"Come," Satoru demands, his mouth leaving your cunt as he turns hungry eyes to you. "Do as your told."

Your eyes roll back as you feel your orgasm wash over you, Satoru's fingers quickening and you feel your pussy tightening as you come and come, sobbing as you feel yourself get oversensitive to the constant assault on your clit from the inside.

"S-stop," You beg, tears falling down your face, your hips still moving to follow his movements despite your begging. " 's too much,"

Satoru laughs, moving his free hand to press down on your stomach lightly, his arm angling upwards as his fingers continue, the wet sounds encompassing the room have you screwing your eyes shut.

"No," He replies, his tone bored. His eyes have got a red shine to them, fangs glistening with your cum as he grins viciously at you. "Want you to squirt, before I feed. Need you at your sweetest."

You stare incredulously at him, tits bouncing as he adds a third digit, swirling it around your clit first to gather spit and cum as lube. You haven't been able to that since the first time it happened, you didn't even know if you could do it on command.

"Satoru, I don't know if I can," You confess, moaning as he starts circling your already abused clit with his tongue once again. He doesn't even answer you, just nods at your pointedly and doubles his efforts.

You didn't have the time to second guess yourself, because Satoru sucks your clit once before moving to bite your thigh hard, and you feel something in you snap as an orgasm crashes over you unexpectedly, wetness gushing out of you as you squirt all over his hand as he praises you. Your jaw is slack as you let out something between a sob and a scream.

"Good girl," Satoru praises softly, kissing your thighs as he helps you ride out the aftershocks. "So good for me, baby"

He cleans your mess with his tongue, suckling gently at your folds and making sure to get every last drop. You feel him move up, arms either side of you as he frames you.

He kisses your lips, and you moan at the taste of yourself on him, biting his lip as he pulls away, making him laugh. He uses his thumb to part your lips, brushing away the drool that had gathered in the corners.

"Look at you, already fucked dumb and we aren't even slightly done."

He lines himself up with your pussy, slapping his dick against your puffy clit a couple of times, gathering the remnants of your come as that was the only lube he was going to grant you.

You feel the head of his dick push into you, you muffle your scream into his shoulder, your hands gripping his back for dear life as you feel him bottom out.

"Fuck," Satoru swears, dropping his head to your shoulder. "So fucking tight, I could fuck you all night, stuff you full and you'd still feel like this."

You just nod and sob at everything he says, you can't focus as he starts moving, his hips thrusting sharply and making you so full. You could feel him in your throat, he was so big it bordered on painful, and you felt drool leak out of your mouth.

" 'toru, 'toru," You chant, babbling out nonsense, craning your neck to the side, the drool and sweat settling messily in your collarbone like a work of art. "Bite me. Please, want it, baby, please"

Satoru laughs shortly, slamming his hips into yours as he moves a hand up to grip you lightly at the throat causing your pussy to flutter around him. He presses your head to the side as he leans in, warm breath on your pulse.

"Should I?" He laughs, trailing his tongue around your pulse point, adding pressure as he feels it throb underneath him. "I don't know, have you earned it?"

"Yes!" You sob, fingernails digging into his back hard enough to break skin, your heels digging into the small of his back as he keeps pounding. You can feel your third orgasm of the night building, your slick leaking out around his dick to form a creamy ring. "Please, I can't, I wanna come, want to feel you"

Satoru groans, his hips stuttering. He never could deny you.

"Fuck, fuck," He huffs, his pace speeding up and becoming unsteady as he feels himself getting closer "Fuck, baby, you want me to bite you?"

"Yes!" You can feel the familiar dam from before swirling in your gut, your pussy tightening and your thighs warming.

It was instant, his fangs pierced your neck, your gasp getting lost in his groan as he sucks and sucks, the warmth of your blood filling his mouth and you feel his jaw tighten, the bite deepen, as he starts to come.

His hips keep pumping, his seed filling you up and spilling out from the sides of his dick from the sheer amount and you feel your vision black out as you come hard, squirting around him for a second time. You feel him detach, licking the wound as he slows his pace, rocking his hips to help you through your orgasm gently.

It seems to last forever, and you're thoroughly fucked, but you still whine as he pulls out and presses apologetic kisses to your shoulder, trailing his fingers down to plug your pussy, stopping to gather the come that had leaked out, pushing it back in.

He drops next to you, peppering your face with kisses as you laugh and playfully push his face away from you, wincing as it pulls at the fresh bite-wound on your neck.

"Does it hurt?" He asks, blue eyes full of concern, his forehead rested against yours.

You hum.

"Just the right amount," You soothe him, your hands carding through his hair. Fuck, you could see both slick and blood on his fangs. "Did you get enough?"

Satoru grins, letting his fangs hang out completely.

"Oh not nearly enough," He assures, the fingers in you slowly starting to move again as your eyes widen in surprise.

"Satoru," You breathe.

"I told you, I'm fucking you all night. I've not taken my fill yet, princess.".

please let me know if you enjoyed! first time writing reader for jjk but I have both choso and toji drafts ^^

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #fem reader #female reader #gojo smut

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saradika · 8 months

Text

— BLEED FOR ME | part iii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 2.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst, references to seduction, sexual innuendo and thoughts, references to violence

The days until the winter solstice tick down. Early Autumn days start to cool at night.

You sleep under the last warmth of the sun, with windows drawn open after he leaves. The canopy is wrapped around your bed, letting in the afternoon breeze but mimicking the darkness.

And still, you feel adrift. That funny feeling is still settling in your stomach. Rolling with the sway of your step as you follow at the Mand'alor's - Din's - heels.

No longer seating across the room in the throne room. Now next to him, in a golden seat that matches his silver one.

Listening as he conducts his business. Trades and agreements, settled firmly and carefully. A disagreement, broken up without violence.

It’s fascinating.

But it feels... wrong. Your own task seeps into the honor of being at his side, polluting it. You're expected to enjoy it, to look happy, and it's become all too easy to forget what happened - why you were here.

Too wrapped up in the quiet questions he asks, in those moments of dusk and dawn. Half truths becoming whole as you guard slowly lowers. As you begin to learn about him, as well.

Things he tells you. Things you pick up, absorbing greedily without thought.

It feels like a betrayal, later.

How could you forget what happened? How could you forget your promise?

His kindness only extends because you are physically keeping him alive. You should have ended things by now.

But, you haven't.

The guilt gnaws at you. Seeping into your dreams, into those moments of connection, when your eyes can't help but close.

The images so much more vivid, now. Almost a tangibility to them - the quick, blurred edges coming into focus. Repeating, growing longer.

So much seems to focus on that night. You think it's because it still haunts you. Replaying how the shouts had awoken you. That startled feeling as you crawled out of bed.

The shadows on the walls, the weak and watery grey sky. Soon turning red, and then black - with flame and smoke.

A glint of gold. Your grandmother's necklace, lying on the bedside table. A photo of their wedding day inside, painted with such care.

Something you wish you could have saved - one of the few relics from your family, a gift from when you had left them to find your purpose.

You had always wished for a love like theirs. A fated connection.

There’s a throb as you remember the collision - something solid that knocked you to the ground. Fingers coming back sticky, your mouth tasting of copper. The visions always swim, then.

Parts you've never been able to remember, before. Always growing dim, until you'd been woken up under the tree, and it was over.

But lately, there's more. As if you're outside your own body. The limp sway of your arm, dangling as you were carried. The murmur of a low voice, though you can’t make out the words. Dark eyes looking down at you, almost brown in the morning light.

There's a sharp edge of a knife that you always walk.

Torn between pressing, nudging - trying to get get a glimpse of the vampires, the destruction. A way to remind yourself what has happened, why you are here.

And then, not wanting to see.

What if it's something you can't take back? What if it disgusts you so much that you can't help but act in that exact moment - ruining your chance?

So, you don't.

You let the images pass - carefully collecting them. Pressing them lkke flowers between a book, something to come back to layer. Not even realizing that deep, deep down...

You’re really just hoping that you don't see him.

You really shouldn’t have gone down to the kitchens.

A heat still burns in your cheeks at the thought, when you finally made your way back to your room. Your treasure procured - a freshly baked pastry with homemade jam clutched in your fingers.

The food here is the best you’ve ever had. You can admit that, at least. All the Companions are well-fed, with treats and delicacies always left out downstairs.

It’s here, that you had found a few others.

Beautiful men and women, all gathered around a smoldering fire as the sun had begun to rise. Their other halves flitting off to hole up until nightfall.

But just like you - there was a desire to see the sun, at least.

You had joined them, half out of loneliness and half intrigue. They had accepted you quickly, stifled laugher and glances over their shoulder as they had whispered questions.

“So how is the Mand’alor? I’ve always wondered.”

“You don’t have any marks. Does he drink from your-”

An elbow then to her side, her words had cut off with a giggle. A head turned- an aside to her friend.

“Lady Kryze is always so thorough. I haven’t slept in days.”

Someone else had sighed.

“What I wouldn’t give to be Lord Fett’s Companion.”

You had realized there’s desire in their words. That none of them were afraid, that there was a sense of private camaraderie and knowing amongst them.

That unsettling, confused feeling comes back. They were human, like you. Did they not know what the vampires did? Were they so shallow that coin and finery had bought their loyalty?

Their eyes were on you, expectant. You had no choice but to shrug with embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

They were quick to set you straight.

“It’s like, a feeling, you know?”

“You have to lean into it. That connection.”

“The first time I tried it, I had marks up and down my thighs by morning.”

There was an eagerness that laced with jealousy, leaving you even more bemused than before. Faking a prior engagement as you had left them, promising to give it a try.

Privately, you told yourself you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Looking back, you can’t even remember the taste of the jam, what fruit it was. All you could think about is this new facet of their relationships.

Wondering if that will be expected of you. Wondering why you weren’t warned.

Wondering if you cared.

Wouldn’t that be a good way to get closer?

The thought makes you uneasy.

You’d put an end to this. But you weren’t so cold-hearted to stoop to seduction. That wouldn’t be fair, to Din.

But as the sun rises, when he comes back.

When his mouth is pressing against your wrist, when you’re looking at the bow of his lips and the wide breadth of his armor, that wondering comes again.

The thoughts creep in.

For he is handsome… the parts of him you have seen. A rich voice and the breadth of his shoulders in his armor. The little upward tick of his lips in a rare smile.

And you are human, after all.

You find yourself imagining marks on yours thighs, on the soft curve of your neck.

How your blood would throb, rushing down to pool beneath heated skin - wet and swollen. The thud of your heartbeat kicks up a notch, as your thighs press together. As you squirm in your seat.

You don’t know his face but you do know his mouth. It’s his teeth you picture sinking into your skin, your mind nudging curiously at the thought.

It sends a jolt down your spine. Pricking at your skin, heat licking at your chest and down to your belly. Then slipping lower. Your breath catches in your throat-

His grip on you tightens, then. It’s almost painful - startling you. A hushed cry rattles from your lungs as he pulls back with a rough gasp.

“Ulyc, cyar’ika.” Din’s voice is ragged, as his hips shift upward - letting go, as you pull your wrist back to your chest, “I’m sorry. But you can’t-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A knock at the open doorway, Boba’s face grave as it turns your way.

“Mand’alor.” His voice is low, his brows drawn together. “The city, it calls for you.”

Din’s chest still heaves, his hand dragging across his mouth as he composes himself. The helmet sliding back into place as he stands, but still keeping himself close to you.

“Wolves?” He asks.

Boba shakes his head, “Raiders, from the looks of it. Like before. I can send someone, or go myself.”

You forget about the pain, about everything, for just a second. The thought of the town below in ruins sends you back to a year ago, sorrow twisting through your chest.

It has you half-standing, but Din’s hand is pressing against your shoulder, carefully easing you back down.

“I’ll go.” His voice is firm, “This has gone on long enough.”

A second, as he turns to you, “I need to take care of this. Boba will look out for you while I’m gone.”

Something like worry creeps in. Aware of the weak light that slips through the cracks of your curtains, how soon it will be morning.

“The sun…” You begin hesitantly, and he’s stepping closer.

“I’ll be fine.” His fingertips touch your jaw and that has you looking up - wishing once again that you could see his eyes.

Giving him just a small nod, instead.

From your window you watch him leave. The glint of his silver armor in the morning sun, now - his movements practiced as he swings a leg over the slate-grey horse.

Drawing his sword - the metal dark and gleaming and looking almost alive, even as far away as you are.

Watching as he gallops down the path, racing off to ward away the threat.

Leaving you inside the castle, to wait.

You worry turns into something else, as the hours pass.

Anger, at the thought of him rushing off to save this town, when he had launched an attack on yours. Did human life mean so little?

Did he even think about the bodies that had lied littering the streets, the memories that has been torn down?

Was it only because these humans were complicit, that they were spared?

You had awoken to screams. You don’t know if your town had even been asked.

The mark on your wrist stays red, unhealed. A reminder while he is gone. That you’ve slipped too far, that you need to get over the tender feelings you’ve pretended not to notice.

They fester inside your chest. You dream about him while he’s gone, as the day bleeds into another.

His face bare, features blurry above the lips and nose you know so well. Leaving you to wonder if his eyes are red, like the glimpses you’ve gotten of Lady Kryze? Are they burgundy, like Boba’s?

Replaying the sound he had made, the morning that he left. The edge his voice takes just after he feeds, lasting through the few moments he stays afterwards. That pulsing, thudding beat that leaves you squirming, when you’re alone again.

Leaving you with the urge to sink your own teeth into something.

Those thoughts are ruled by your heart, not your mind, not your logic. Another betrayal, your eyes unable to help flicking towards the window, again and again.

Looking to the others throughout the day, checking for any news or weakness.

A sign that he’s fallen.

None come.

You try not to think about the relief that follows. Or why you feel listless, your eyes dragging over the same words in the books you pick up, in an attempt to pass the time.

Your enthusiasm for the food waning - more in tune than ever with the hours that pass.

Still wondering about the town, below.

You had spoken to some, in your journey here. They had been good people, honest folk.

Maybe along the way, there had been a mistake. An itch in your brain that you haven’t been able to scratch, irritating you since you arrived.

You’ve decided to ask Fennec about it.

Not about anything that would raise suspicion.

Just why the Mand’alor himself would feel the need to go alone. What sort of promise he had made, to go rushing off with such intensity?

Maybe then, you could understand.

You find her by accident - in a large ballroom that you often cut through.

The ceiling painted in a wash of colors, accented in gold. Seraphs lying on clouds and sprawling gardens and somehow always feeling bright, even in the dim room.

Liking the way your feet echo, in the empty room. A swing in your step as if you were dancing too, even if just pretend.

But you’re not alone today - she sits in one of the plush alcoves. Arms bared where her shirt pushes up, a dark jerkin slung over one of the marble statues that line the walls.

"I'm sorry-" You manage, attempting to back out of the room. The moment looked private - your question could wait.

Her eyebrow lifts, looking unbothered, "You can come in, I'm just preparing."

The way she lounges is casual, as if she does this regularly. Propped up against a nest of pillows, a book opened against her bent knees. An arm draped to the side, an ooze of red that drips down to a half-full goblet below.

A jar of that same salve Din had given to you sits in the open windowsill, for after. A means to wipe the mark from her skin, to knit it neatly together again.

The sight makes your stomach turn, even after all this time.

"Are you leaving, too?" Your head nods towards the cup, as you linger in the doorway - thinking about what Boba had said about her ferocity.

Her brows pinch in question, as you gesture to her arm.

"No," Fennec's head shakes, as she understands. "This is our arrangement."

"I didn't know you could do it another way." You say this without thought - wondering if this had been what Din was offering, that first night. An alternative to biting - another small attempt at adjusting to your comfort.

"I tried the usual way." She shrugs, eyes dropping down at the text, "This is better, for us. It's tedious, for certain. But I've never enjoyed the connection. Boba's memories are..."

Fennec searches for the word, as you go still, "...Unpleasant. And I am sure mine are worse."

His memories.

Is that what you've been seeing? Those flashes of thought that blend with your own, when his teeth sink into your skin?

But how can they be, when you are in them?

"But, I am sure that's different for you." Her expression is sly, lips curving in a small smirk. A sharp glimmer replacing the far-away look in her eyes, coming back from her own evocation.

"What do you mean?" You ask, your voice sounding far away.

Dazed, as if the words are taking their time on their trip from your thoughts to your tongue.

That look comes back. As if you're on two different brainwaves, as if she isn't understanding what you're asking.

"Well, I thought that would be obvious. We’re not like you…" Fennec frowns, her head tilting. A breath, as she clarifies.

"Boba isn't my mate."

Ahh and the last Secret Prompt from the list is soulmates / fated mates! 💕 thank you so much for reading! If you’d like a tag for the last 2 parts, please let me know!

Ulyc, cyar’ika - “careful, beloved”

(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @avarkriss)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

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kiwisbell · 6 months

Text

Las Mañanas || Chapter 4 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: javi getting the fucking love he deserves, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, technical infidelity, reader still has a shitty husband, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, gun violence, so much fluff, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout, unprotected PIV (get used to this, these two are rabid), fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), descriptions of violence against women, kidnapping, mentions of rape (not committed against reader), guilt & shame, angst, stakeouts, angry javier, cleaning wounds, heavy on the hurt/comfort

word count: ~ 7.7k

a/n: please mind the tags/warnings for this chapter. less smut and more *feelings*, along with some upsetting descriptions of violence. you will not hurt my feelings if that's not your cuppa.

chapter four: to live without love

It’s quiet on the street when she locks up for the day. She has dinner plans with Javi, an unspoken celebration of their second year together. He’s taking the time off work to really wine and dine her, and there’s already a dress laid out on the bed for her to wear out.

His moustache tickled her neck as he nipped at her throat. She laughed breathlessly when he rolled them over and he pressed his body up against her. “You’re not a vampire, Javier,” she gasped into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and tugging playfully.

“Taste so good, baby,” he mumbled, landing a smack to the side of her thigh. She yelped and let her head fall back against the plush pillow. He was insatiable in the mornings, when he wasn’t quiet yet awake but his cock had a definitive mind of its own.

“You’ll be late,” she sighed, pulling his head back just so she could kiss him. She loved the feeling of his lips parting against hers, his tongue tracing her mouth. “We have plans, remember?”

“Mmm.” He leaned back, pulling her up to sit with their legs tangled together. A grin split his lips. “Two years.”

“Two years.” She felt as giddy as he looked, melting against him with another kiss to his mouth. “Pick out my dress for me.”

He grabbed her thighs and squeezed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey,” she said. “Whatever you want me to wear. I’ll wear it.”

He tackled her back down to the mattress. “I’m going to fucking marry you someday.”

It starts to rain. She stuffs her keys back inside her purse and shrugs it up over her shoulder. The air picks up a cool breeze that ruffles her hair, and she’s so high with the excitement of getting to see what he picked for her that she doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her until there’s a hand covering her mouth.

She kicks out, screams, tries to wrestle her pepper spray from her purse, and fails on all fronts; whomever’s hand it is must be connected to a strong body. He breathes into her ear, “Don’t fucking move. Don’t fight. Be a good girl and I won’t fucking kill you.”

She knows when thrashing is useless. She’s been under plenty of men who take what they want. So she stills, quiets, and waits for the words she already knows are coming.

“Let’s go home to your husband. You can tell him how sorry you are for your behaviour.”

He’s been looking up at the clock so often he might pinch a nerve in his neck. There’s a little under an hour until he gets off work, and she’s already promised him that she’s going to be wearing the dress by the time he walks in the door. Before her, he would work late just so he wouldn’t have to come home to the quiet, distant stranger that was his apartment; he had left every piece of decor the way it was and moved right in. Then, he’d go to work every day and kill himself trying to get nowhere. But it was always better than home. Now, the apartment is theirs. It’s decorated with touches of her—bright throw pillows and blankets and a new couch that doesn’t fuck with his back, hanging plants and lilies and the faint scent of her everywhere. He has to admit, it no longer looks like it belongs to a dead man who never left the fifties.

It makes his head spin, how much she trusts him, how excited he is over a fucking date. No woman’s ever made him so happy about just living his goddamn life.

His telephone rings and he picks it up before the first one ends. He needs a distraction.

"Peña."

The voice on the other end of the line—he's fairly certain it's Penny from the front desk—is wary. "Javier, there's a girl coming in to see you."

He frowns. "Name?"

When Penny says his girl’s name, Javier thinks all the blood has drained from him. "I wanted to warn you, sir... She doesn’t look so good."

And that is how one of the worst days of Javier's life begins.

"Thanks, Penny," he says absently, even though his ears are ringing something fierce.

He's already trembling with rage when she walks into the bullpen, her purse clutched in front of her like a blast shield, a faraway look in her eye. In the same skirt and sweater she wore when he dropped her off at work, apron and all, she favours her right leg. She is shaking, and her face—her pretty fucking face—is split by a large cut from her left eye to her jaw. There are deep purple bruises around the wound. Javier wants to go blind.

He's in front of her in a second: a protective guard against the eyes of his colleagues. Not that a battered woman is new—still, Javier glares at them hard enough that they try minding their own shit. He gently brushes a palm over her shoulder and squeezes to ground her. "Baby," he whispers, and her eyes are wet with tears when she lifts her gaze. His heart shatters.

He wants to fucking murder somebody. He wants to scream. Cry. Lock himself in a room with her: the only two people he trusts not to hurt her the way someone already has. You were too late. "Fuck, baby," he says, "who did this to you?"

Still dripping with rainwater, she scrapes her damp hair behind her ear and shivers. There are bruises and divots in her wrist. He realises with a plummeting stomach that she's been tied up. "Can we... Can we go somewhere else? Everyone's looking at me."

Javier plucks his jacket off the hook nearby and drapes it over her shoulders, leading her through the bullpen. Murphy emerges and stops halfway to his desk when he sees her. "Holy shit. Sweetheart, what happened to you?"

Javier shakes his head. "Not now. Answer the phones?"

Murphy nods. "Yeah, man." His hand briefly touches her shoulder and she smiles wearily, distantly, before Javier is taking her down into the evidence room. She'll be more comfortable here, where it's warm and dark, instead of the cold interrogation rooms.

"Out," he says sharply to the agents combing through evidence. They scurry away like rats behind the door and Javier lets her lead. She looks questioningly at him. "Wherever you'd like," he tells her. “Sit wherever’s comfortable.”

She sits at the very edge of a table piled with boxes, her hands folded in her lap. Javier mirrors her. He wants to explode, but his urge to make her comfortable, to ease her pain, overwhelms everything. "Can I take your hand, baby?"

She reaches out and threads her fingers through his. Javier presses a kiss to her knuckles. She sniffles, but a smile breaks through. "They dropped me off. Like it was an appointment or something. Fucking weird."

Somebody took her. Someone plucked her from her life, her routine, and bound her, helpless, just to beat her. They beat her. His girl. On their fucking anniversary. He’s freefalling with dread and terror, his chest so tight he wishes it would burst, so blind with rage he can’t clear the red fog in his brain. The glimmer of tears in her eyes swells the knot that festers in him. He’d run headfirst, unarmed, into a goddamn firefight with guns and bombs and landmines if it meant she wouldn’t be in pain. A chunk of him withers away. He couldn’t be there. Couldn’t save her. He didn’t even fucking know about it until she was dropped off at the DEA’s doorstep.

"Cielito..." He tilts up her chin and winces. "That's a deep cut. They use a knife?"

He doesn't want to know the answer, but he has to clean her up. Silently, she nods.

To occupy himself, he crosses the room and opens the corner cabinet to fish out a first aid kit. He wets a washcloth in the bathroom sink adjacent. She lifts her arms to tie her hair back, but her sleeves shift to reveal the topography of cuts and bruises on her arms. Javier looks away sharply, clenching his jaw, regretting it. She lowers her arms and hugs herself. "I'm sorry, Javi."

That makes him look up. "Don't apologise. Don't. Seeing you hurt fucking kills me, baby, but it's not your fault." He tucks away a strand of her hair. "Not your fault. Hear me?"

Her bottom lip, scored with blood, trembles. "Javi, I thought I was going to die. I was... I was so scared. I didn't want to die."

"Hey." He brushes a knuckle over her chin. "You made it out. You're out, and you're safe. My girl's a fucking soldier, right?"

She inhales, but it courses through her like a shudder. "Someone grabbed me outside the café. He took me to Nicolás’s place. I thought he'd just threaten me, or—or you, but he looked fucking crazy. Javi, I think he was on drugs. There were men with him, some I knew worked with his prostitutes. He took me to his basement and—and hit me, and cut me, and he kept saying if I didn’t go back to work for him, if I didn’t break things off with you… Fuck, he told me he would kill you, and he meant it. I didn't tell him anything, Javier, I swear. I wasn't going to sell you out, I—I just..."

The thought that she would ever put him in harm’s way never crossed his mind—not even once. She shakes her head and drops it into her hands, sobbing. Javier blinks hard so he can see her clearly, wiping underneath his eyes. He hates himself for not being there, for not finding her earlier, for everything he didn't do.

“Honey,” he says softly, lifting her trembling hands to his mouth and kissing her knuckles again. “I know. I know you’d never, baby. But you should have. Fuck, if it would keep him from doing… doing this to you, you should have told him every fucking detail about me.”

She blinks. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I would’ve known they were coming.” He smooths over the frown in her brow. “And you wouldn’t be hurt.”

The last words are quiet when his voice breaks, catching in his throat. “I love you, Javier,” she whispers. “You're the best part of my life. You're everything to me. I closed my eyes in there and I saw you, and you were hurt, and I couldn't say anything. I wouldn't.” Her smile is so feeble it crumbles right away. "If I can't blame myself, neither can you."

Her voice floats into his head, clears the clutter like it always does. He takes the damp washcloth and begins to tend to the cut on her face. He tries not to stop everything and break down into helpless tears when she visibly stiffens, pained but not letting him hear it. “I know, baby,” he says, watching blood stain the washcloth. She grips his free hand hard. “I know it hurts.”

She sniffles. “It’s okay. It’s you—it doesn't hurt.”

“Has he ever—” He cuts himself off so he can start again when the thought alone fills him with terror, rage. “Has he ever hurt you like this?”

She seems to sense the tension in him because she shifts closer, lifting her hand to brush his hair back from his eyes. “He couldn't afford to send me to clients with bruises. Would harm his reputation.”

He must be frowning deeply enough to make it permanent. “Don’t dwell, mi amor,” she says. “You’ll make yourself sick. He never cared about me. You do. You keep me safe, you make me happy. Yeah, everything hurts, but Jesus, Javi, I was so happy when they dropped me off in the street. I was just happy to get out. To see you again.”

Javier finishes cleaning the wound and clenches the washcloth into a crumpled ball. “I want to kill him.” Saying it makes him feel better, somehow: picturing him shooting the piece of shit between the eyes, replicating every injury he gave her and then some. “I want him fucking dead.”

She huffs out a wrecked laugh. “You know I wouldn’t tell a soul.” Her lips find his clenched fist and ease it open with her gentle kisses to the knuckles. “But we have nothing.”

Javier kisses the corner of her mouth, the side that's unmarred. “I’m gonna find something,” he promises. “He's going away, baby. Swear it on my fuckin’ life.”

“I love you,” she tells him, firm and real and with every ounce of energy she has left. “And for what it's worth, I was really looking forward to our date.”

He slides off the table and helps her down, cradling her to his chest. “He’s not gonna ruin your life,” he promises. “You’re gonna wear that dress, mi amor. Can I take you home?”

She sits right up next to him in the truck, wrapped around him with whatever flexibility her seatbelt allows. Her thumbs rub soothing patterns on his arms to ease the tension in his knuckles. He always drives a bit safer with her in the car, but tonight there’s an air about the world: like she could slip from his fingers any second.

Today reminded him of that. He could lose the love of his life in an instant. She could have died today. He would have never known what happened, never seen the body. The panic of that thought settles deep inside him until he’s officially in his own head when he opens his door and leads her inside. There’s so much stiffness in his body he could explode. He double-checks the locks, tries to sweep the apartment with some degree of subtlety, and doesn’t let her out of his sight. Not once. She sighs, resigned as he leads her through each room to check there’s no one inside, even though his brain knows there isn’t. That doesn’t matter; he needs to be thorough. She needs to be safe.

“Want to finish cleaning you up, baby.” Javier caresses her arms with the lightest touch. “Can I do that? Can I take these off?” He tugs on the hem of her sleeve. He needs to make sure there isn’t anything of concern beneath her clothes.

She nods, but her eyes won’t meet his. “Of course,” she says, barely audible. “It’s just… I’m not gonna look pretty, Javi. I’m all black and blue. Some red.”

“You’re the prettiest thing on this goddamn planet no matter what some fucking malparido does do you. Hear me?” He’s seen every inch of her body. He worships at her altar. A couple of wounds will do nothing to change that except make him all the more furious.

He’s right about that. When he gets her clothes off and takes her to the bathroom so he can prop her up on the counter, he sees fucking red. Nicolás didn’t just bruise her arms and cut up her face. There are bruises on her collarbones, her thighs, even her hips. He’s slashed her perfect skin, left scabbing cuts all over her legs and a single long gash down her left thigh, which must be why she’s limping. Javier can’t breathe. He can’t hear. His mouth is dry.

He feels physically nauseated to be relieved there are no signs of any violence where her thighs meet.

“He didn’t.”

Her voice cuts through the ringing silence in his ears, and it’s like his blood comes crashing down in waves when he blinks back into the real world, where she’s safe in his bathroom and holding his hand. “He didn’t… didn’t rape me.”

He can’t say, That’s good. None of this is good.

Javier says nothing. He works in silence, cleansing her wounds, listening to her breath. It reminds him she’s still here. He didn’t lose her.

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to her bruised collarbones, the little perches you could rest a bird upon, and cradles her face in his hands. He can’t summon words. He doesn’t know what there will be to say when he can.

She realises. So she puts her hands over his and whispers, “Happy anniversary, mi amor.”

When they finally get a breakthrough, it’s Murphy who finds the key.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” He’s bent over a pair of manila folders on his desk. Javier looks up from massaging the headache in his temple. “Here’s a riddle for you: what do the narcos who raided your girl’s apartment and her piece-of-shit husband have in common?”

Javier jolts up from his desk and stares down at the files. His heart stutters. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” he echoes. “The whorehouse.”

Nicolás Reyes’s whorehouse. Javier’s staked it out more times than he can count, probably at the expense of his job. He’d recognise the guards, the customers, the girls, anywhere. It’s how he recognises the address beneath the profiles of the narcos who worked with the dead home intruders; they visited the brothel, frequently, before they went off the grid.

She told Javier that Reyes looked like he was on drugs. What if Reyes wanted to move up in the world? If the owner of the whorehouse has struck some sort of deal with narcos…

Javier snatches the folders and stops himself from running to his truck. Murphy follows, grumbling something that includes the word “asshole.”

“How is she, by the way?” asks Murphy an hour later, peering through binoculars at the entrance to the whorehouse. “Gotten any trouble since she went back to work?”

Javier adjusts the aperture on his camera. So far, nobody of significance has arrived, but it’s early. Even he would never have entered a brothel at three in the afternoon. “No,” he says. “She’s… she’s doing fine. ‘Least, that’s what she says.”

Murphy snorts. “Uh-huh. Look, man, you didn’t want her to go back, you fought about it, she won. Can’t exactly blame her for wanting to feel normal.”

“It’s not safe where she is, Steve,” he says, taking a test shot of the door to make sure the light is good. He’s using his own Polaroid since he can’t exactly ask Noonan for surveillance equipment without explaining to her this little peripheral mission he’s taken on. The picture develops well, and he tosses it in the box between them. “I see her sometimes, jumping when the toaster goes off or when you or Connie knock. She’s fuckin’ scared for her life, and it… it just—”

“Makes you want to kill him,” finishes Steve. “Can’t say I’m happy about the guy walkin’ around without so much as a limp, but you know she’d be pissed off if you got yourself in trouble over her. Better to do it legally, y’know.”

Javier huffs. “Tell that to my Polaroid and my shitty surveillance truck.”

Steve punches him in the shoulder. “I mean, get him locked up, man. For good.”

Javier has to agree. It’s more effective than killing Reyes, but it’s a lot less satisfying and it’s taking a lot fucking longer than he’d like. It makes him ache to watch her fall into the daze she does sometimes, like she’s lost in the memory; when she gets scared of the mundane noises or forces a smile at a comment he makes even though he knows she didn’t hear him. She’s scared that he’ll come back; finish the job, or hurt Javier.

He wants to make sure she never has a reason to be afraid. That’s his job. He’s her fucking partner, in all things. Watching those moments, seeing her so void of the bright life she gives the world, takes some of his own life away. He feels like his insides are being dragged out of him, slowly, like someone’s wrapped them around a pencil and pulled. It gets slower, more painful, with every day he doesn’t put Reyes behind bars.

Javier and Steve wait four more hours. Nobody comes. Nobody they give a shit about. They part ways with the mutual understanding that they have women they’d rather be seeing than each other.

“I’m home, baby,” he calls out when he opens the door.

What hasn’t changed is the way her face lights up when she sees him. She rounds the corner from the kitchen and gives him a big grin, her arms winding up around his neck so she can dig her fingers into the scalp at the back of his neck. His tension seeps away instantly, and he pulls her closer, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips.

It’s been two weeks. The bruises on her body have faded to a green-yellow, except for the lingering purple on her cheekbone. The two large cuts on her face and thigh have faded to pinkish scars, and she still limps on bad days. She’s as radiant as the day he first saw her. “Mi alma,” he says lowly, nudging her nose with his. “¿Cómo te sientes? (How are you feeling?)”

He’s asked her three times a day, every single day since the attack. She never acts frustrated or gets impatient with the pestering. She just smooths the frown in his brow with her thumb and smiles softly. “A lot better today. Jorge’s been going easy on me. Oh, and Connie stopped by work before she went to the clinic this morning.” She takes his hand and pulls him into the living area, where there’s a basket filled with food, bath supplies, and a Get Well card.

Javier’s heart swells at the kindness Connie Murphy has shown her; she’s visited twice already with a basket like this. It’s a relief to know there’s someone else out there who wants his girl to feel loved and safe. “This is real nice, baby,” says Javier, reading the card (Sending you all our love! - The Murphys). He knows damn well Steve doesn't know shit about the card, but God bless Connie for trying to fool them.

He offers to make dinner (she's taught him how to perfect her paella recipe, even though he thinks it tastes better under her hands), and lets her sit at the counter while he fills her in on their failed mission. “I’m sorry, cielito,” he tells her, brushing her chin with his thumb as he passes her on the way to the stove. “We couldn’t find them.”

She shrugs. “You will. If…” He watches her eyes dim a little. “If he’s working with them, that's the first time we've had a real reason to put him away.”

It settles between them: the harsh reality of what she's said. The restraining order was luck. But Reyes never gave a shit about it. And nobody else gave a shit about the man who terrorised and beat his wife, not when the police are getting baited and killed by narcos. Unless he's really in bed with narcos, she’ll have no leverage. There's no proof of the assault; no proof he's been tormenting her. It’s all narcos. It's all they've got.

“Baby. Look at me.” He can tell she's shrinking in on herself, remembering the day. Remembering how hopeless she felt. Her eyes slide up from the counter. He leans over it and holds her chin. “Un respiro. Dos respiraciones. Mírame.”

They've done this before. She takes in two deep, shaky breaths, centering herself by looking into his eyes, keeping herself grounded in the reality that she's not in that basement. She's here. He loves her. She's safe.

“Lo siento,” she whispers.

Javier pins her with a halfhearted sternness. “Hey, now.”

She takes in one more breath and shakes her head. “Not sorry. No reason to be sorry.”

“That's it, honey.” He swipes his thumb over her bottom lip. The cut healed a week ago, and he can see the white scar when she grins. “Hungry?”

She leans over the counter and brings his face close to hers so she can kiss him. “Very”—she nips his bottom lip and tugs it teasingly—“hungry.”

It doesn't take much from her to send all the blood to his dick. He's just a guy.

“Bonita… ” He grunts when he looks at the clock. It’s already late. He has to make sure his girl is fed. They’ve skipped dinner for one another’s bodies one too many times.

But she's moving her lips along his jaw and sucking on the spot below his ear, and he physically staggers. “Get over here,” he says. “Don't be shy, cielito. You started this.”

She slides around the counter and he crowds her instantly, keeping her in place with a hand on the counter behind her and another on her lower back. Her back arches up into him when he kisses her, deeply.

He takes his time with it. He loves the taste of her; she's showered, her hair is still damp, and she glows, smelling of fresh linens and jasmine. Her breath is minty with his toothpaste and her skin is so soft. He slips his tongue into her mouth and pulls gasps, gentle moans, and giggles from her when he works her just right, playfully smacking her ass or squeezing her side.

It took a while until she was no longer too sore to have sex. Even then, in the early days, he wouldn't dare to even think of touching her like that; he would hold her close to him at night, every single part of one another touching somehow, and he would go to work late fretting over her comfort, worrying about the security of his apartment. She never treated the topic of sex with hesitation, like she was afraid to have him touch her; they both knew he took care of her in bed, and would never think to harm her. She was just in pain, dazed from the assault, and needing more sleep than the average human to let her body recuperate. He’d put their rule on hold for the first few days: if he came home late and she was asleep, he wouldn't wake her. He’d make dinner and keep it warm, slide into bed with her, and they would both sleep until she was ready to wake up and eat.

She rediscovered her sex drive before four days were through. Javier lay her down, spread her out, and ate her pussy until she was sobbing, boneless, weak from pleasure.

He’s been enjoying the slowness of sex with her. The buildup, when he wants to keep kissing her for hours, when he can make her melt into him like butter, when he can feel every inch of her body: trace the scars on her skin, the smooth curves of her body, whisper how beautiful she is when she gets in her head about the bruises and the cuts. He loves her so fucking much it hurts.

But isn't that the point of all this shit? It’s supposed to hurt when they hurt, just as it's supposed to feel so good when they smile, warm your chest when they walk in a room. She's the beacon he looks for when he's uncertain of the path he needs to tread. She's the last thing he’ll see before he dies.

Javier’s hand follows her spine from her lower back upward to her neck in a languid motion, falling back down and then performing its slow crescendo once more. She sighs into his mouth, lets him take his time with her body, scratching at the back of his neck in the way that gets him worked up. He migrates down her jaw to her neck, growling into her throat to make her laugh. His lips find her shoulder, her collarbone, her sternum. Her skin erupts in goosebumps under the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his moustache. This is where he wants to die: buried in the feel of her body.

“Up,” he says against her shoulder, patting her thigh. She jumps and he catches her legs, locking them around his waist as he carries her out of the kitchen. He makes it to the bedroom and pins her against the wall, at the perfect height to yank down the front of her dress and grasp her breasts.

She grins and leans in to kiss him, pinching his ass because she can. “Ten cuidado,” he warns, but he doesn't put much heart in it. He’ll let her do whatever she wants.

“I need you, Javier,” she says, holding onto his shoulders. “Now, please.”

He’s an accommodating partner. He lets one of her legs slip down as he unbuckles his belt and takes out his cock, achingly hard and leaking for her. Then, he's lifting her back up against the wall and guiding her on top of him, sinking her onto his length slowly. She mewls, biting down when she buries her head in the crook of his neck. They’re so close when she sinks all the way down that their breath mingles when she pulls back to look in his eyes. She cups his cheek. He holds onto her ass and grinds his hips into hers.

It's so intimate like this that it overwhelms him. Their eyes are locked as he gets a rhythm going, pushing up inside her and making her toes curl from the slowness of it. He can feel every ridge, every pulse of her. She's warm and wet and it blinds him, and it's gorgeous to watch her fall apart, so closely entangled in one another. Her eyes droop with the grind of his cock up against her g-spot, her mouth falls open, and her head thunks gently against the wall. But she keeps looking at him. He doesn't want to look away, either. He’s encased in her body, enraptured and wholly consumed by her.

He knows she's close by the way her torso tightens, the way her pussy clenches around him in a rhythm that makes him gasp from the tightness of her. She makes soft noises of pleasure that uncoil into his ears and settle the tension in his body. When she comes, so does he.

“Fuck,” rasps Javier, keeping himself locked deep inside her cunt as he slumps forward, his tongue dipping into her mouth while they both gasp, the lightning of their orgasms crackling up their spines. He knows she feels it, too, her hands desperately clawing at his back to keep him close. His cum fills her, but he stays pressed against her, their sweaty bodies a tangle of limbs on the wall.

“Fuck,” she echoes. “Can’t… can’t walk yet. Don’t let me down.”

“No fuckin’ way,” he grumbles. He didn't even think about it. He stays nestled inside her and she strokes his hair back from his damp forehead.

They don't eat dinner until ten o’clock. Neither of them complain about it.

Another stakeout leads them nowhere. And another. And another. It’s only two months after the assault that something finally fucking happens. And it has nothing to do with the expertise of the DEA.

“Peña,” says Javier as he tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder, smoking and typing the last line of his report.

“Agente Peña,” says an unfamiliar voice. “I’ve got information about the man you’re looking for.” Javier’s ready to take another useless tip from a drug pusher’s second cousin’s girlfriend’s neighbour, but the man says, “Nicolás Reyes,” in a hushed, hurried voice, and Javier sits upright in his chair.

Javier snaps his fingers to Murphy and mimes for a piece of paper. The redneck flips him off as he tosses a notepad and pen across their desks. “Sí,” he says into the receiver. “And you know about Reyes, how?”

“I work for him.” The man’s tone becomes harsh, edged with jagged lines. “And I've been following your girl.”

Javier’s good-natured willingness to entertain a dead lead after a slow day fizzles out. He isn't amused anymore. “Think this is funny?”

“What's funny is you DEA hijos de puta getting nowhere with all those stakeouts you think are stealthy. You've got a loud, ugly truck, Peña. And you need me.”

“Then give me what you have,” says Javier, teeth grinding around his cigarette.

“I want immunity,” the man is quick to clarify. “and a visa.”

Javier wants to laugh, but he's too pissed off. “Fuck your immunity. You get jack shit from me until I find out you're useful.”

“I'm not giving you anything else over the phone. Meet me in the café,” the man tells him. “You know which one.”

It's like someone has poured blood into his eyes. He sees only red. “No fucking way.”

“I want her there, too.” There’s the sound of a lighter flicking. “That's my price. To start.”

Murphy is staring a hole in his head. Javier’s ears are ringing. This might be their only lead: someone who was there. Someone who has the tools to take Reyes down. This is bigger than his rage. This is for her. “Fine,” he grits out. “Tomorrow, seven o’clock.”

He slams the receiver down and goes right to nursing his oncoming headache.

He hates this. He really fucking hates this.

The man’s name is Ricardo Chávez. He looks Javier’s age, with short dark hair and green eyes, a moustache and five o’clock shadow. He's muscled and tall. He sits at the table with his arms folded over his broad chest, a comically small mug of coffee steaming away in front of him. Javier blows the smoke from his cigarette in Chávez’s face and leaves the table.

His girl is behind the counter, refilling the coffee pot. Her hands have been shaking since the man walked in.

“Baby,” he says under his breath. “Look at me.”

“I know him.” She looks ashamed of the fact, not quite meeting Javier’s eye. He has to guide her chin upward so he can look into her wide eyes. “He works with Nicolás. He—he was a client.”

He blows out one last puff of smoke and tucks her hair behind her ear. He doesn't give a shit about that; it was a job, it paid. But he's got a problem if this asshole is going to make her uncomfortable. “Do you want me to tell him to fuck off?”

She shakes her head. “He could have something good. We need something good, right?”

Javier sighs through his nose. “Yeah, we do. But if he looks at you wrong—”

She kisses the corner of his mouth after looking around to make sure no one’s looking. “I know, vaquero.”

“Señorita,” says Chávez as a way of greeting. She sits down next to Javier, who takes hold of her hand beneath the table. He lights another cigarette and doesn’t offer one to the other man. “Long time, no see.”

“Ricardo,” she says pointedly. “How’s your wife?”

Chávez just chuckles. “Oh, I wouldn't talk if I were you. Aren't you fucking the DEA agent who wants to take down your husband?”

She doesn't stiffen or cower. “He isn't my husband.”

“And you're the one who told me you could help take him down.” Javier lifts his brows behind his sunglasses. “So let's hear it.”

Chávez doesn't look once at Javier while he speaks. “Nicolás paid me extra to keep an eye on you. He told me if you ever went back to your place, we were to bring you home to him.”

“We?” Javier keeps his lips around the cigarette while he picks up the manila folders from the bag at his feet. He slaps it down in front of Chávez and gestures with his head: open them. “You mean you and Luis.”

Luis Fuentes: another of Reyes’s men. He works security while Chávez moves money behind the scenes. “Me, Luis, and Stick.” Chávez shrugs. “Don't know where Luis disappeared to. Figure he caught wind of your stalking, or wanted out before Reyes got too big for his own head. That's why I’m here now.”

“Because he already is.” It’s she who speaks first, before Javier opens his mouth. “He always talked about moving up. Thought whores weren't good enough currency.”

“If you ask me, women are what make the world go ‘round.” Chávez eyes her, and it's Javier's learned self-control that keeps him from putting his jacket over her to hide her body from his gaze. “Reyes thinks he can outdo the doer. He’s planning to expand into narcotics, and he wants the girls to move the money for him, or they’ll lose their jobs. Maybe their pretty faces.”

Javier can't help but look at the scar on her face. Chávez notices and lifts his hands. “I didn't see that happen,” he says. “Don’t have much taste for beating women. But if you're looking for someone to kick the shit out of, it's Stick who kidnapped her. Brought her to Nic’s and helped fuck her up.”

“Who?” asks Javier, a little too eagerly.

Chávez nods to one of the pictures before him on the table. She sees the face and sucks in a breath. “He came in here,” she tells Javier in a quiet voice. “And he… he was—there, when it happened. I thought I recognised his voice. I knew Nicolás wanted me to work for him again, but… He doesn't want me. He needs bodies to move cash.”

“And to stick his cock in when he feels like,” offers Chávez. Javier makes a gruff growling noise behind his cigarette. “When he realised he couldn't trust you because of where you sleep at night, he decided to send a message.”

The face they're looking at belongs to Santiago Ortiz. Nickname: “Stick,” apparently. Opposite of scrawny. General henchman and intimidator, if Javier and Steve are right about their intel. Offers Reyes protection wherever he goes.

This is the man who took her. Javier’s spine is taut. He thinks he might book a massage soon.

Stick chose the wrong guy to work for. Chose the wrong fucking woman to lay his hands on.

“Chávez,” he says. “Mírame. No ella.”

The man’s eyes slide to his with a hint of mockery. “Agent Peña, I don't expect to give this information for free.”

“What information have you given me besides shit we could have already guessed at? I need times and places, Ricardo, or you get shit from me.”

Chávez places a hand atop the picture of Ortiz and drums his fingers. Javier’s stomach is twisting with unease. “And if I give you Santiago?” he muses. “What do you give me?” His eyes are on her again. “Do I get you for another glorious night?”

“En tus sueños (in your dreams),” she spits, at the same time Javier decides to stop fucking around.

He pulls his gun from his waistband and points the barrel underneath the table, right at Chávez’s crotch.

“Inténtalo de nuevo (Try again).”

The man rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I knew you DEA bastards were uptight. I told you, Peña: I want out of this fucking country. I’m taking my wife and we’re leaving.”

“Unless you can prove there's a tie between the narcos and Reyes’s operation, my hands are tied.” It’s the truth. The only way he could convince Noonan to get involved in the case is if Reyes has his hands in the narcotics business, or is planning something. So he’ll get Chávez his damn visa. If—

“You give me where I can find Reyes and Stick,” says Javier, “and the time and place to drop in on the next meeting between Reyes and his narco buddies. ¿Claro?”

Chávez sighs hard through his nose, jaw working. “Stick will be at the whorehouse tomorrow morning to stand guard while Nic meets with the Castillos. Eight-thirty.”

The Castillo twins were two of the men who, according to Javier and Steve’s snooping, worked with the dead asshole who broke into her apartment and shot down three policemen. They don't have quite the reputation their boss does, but they know how to scare people. They're big and tough, and it's going to be a miracle for Reyes if he can convince them to invest in his whorehouse.

This is it.

The something they needed.

“If this plays out, you get your visa.” Javier crushes his cigarette in the ashtray and stands. His girl wraps a hand around his arm. “Don't ever fucking look at her again, or your wife won't have anyone to go see the world with.”

Together, they shower while the television drones about bad news and more bad news in the next room. Her nails massage shampoo into his scalp, he takes his sweet time washing her body, and they both end up kissing, feeling one another up. They barely make it out of the shower safely before he's on her again, fucking her from behind as she watches their reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Her hair is wrapped around his fist and there's steam fogging up the glass, but he can see her. He sees the way her eyes are half-closed and her lips are parted. He can see the way she holds onto the counter so her hip bones aren't pummelled each time he thrusts into her. He sees the bounce of her tits and his own hand snaking around her waist from behind, splaying his fingers across the ribs on her right side. All the noises she manages to make are small gasps or whines.

This angle is deeper, closer, tighter. He has to keep his teeth clamped together to keep from gasping raggedly like a real old man while he does his best to make her feel so fucking good. And he does. Her eyes roll back when he grinds his hips against her, and his hand slides up her sternum, her tits, before landing on her throat and angling her jaw to keep her watching him in the glass.

“Harder,” she begs, white-knuckling the counter. “I need it. Please.”

His back will scream at him later. But she feels so fucking soft, so hot and tight around him, and her voice sounds so sweet even when she's being wrecked, that he doesn't think twice about obliging. He slams into her hard, pulling back out until it's only his tip lodged in her entrance before he pushes back in, past the way her pussy clenches.

And, oh, it's good. It’s incredible like this. Saliva clicks in her throat and he feels his balls tighten with the need to pump her full. He lets go of her hair and reaches down to rub her clit, and she's trembling, every part of her body losing control as she finds the voice to scream his name. He grunts when he comes, keeping her back flush against his front as his cock twitches with each pulse of cum he spills into her.

She cuts his hair. She stays naked in the bathroom, proudly dripping his cum down her thighs, but she does put a towel around his neck so he won't itch. She's not an expert with the scissors, but she's cut his hair before, and she knows what looks best. She knows he won't let her go near his moustache, but she sings Selena in his ear as she works. He feels her voice settle in his bones and melt them to warm goo.

She kisses him when she's done.

They lie in bed together. Her hand is on his heart, and his hand is atop hers, thumb rubbing circles over her skin. He kisses the top of her head, which rests on the other side of his chest, and she smiles when she shifts to look up at him.

“Javi?”

“Mmm.”

“I’m going to say yes.” She settles back down and closes her eyes, pressing a kiss to his chest. “If you ask me to marry you, I’ll say yes.”

They raid Reyes’s whorehouse in the morning. Fifteen people die.

The DEA and the police only lose four men, but it's the narcos and Reyes’s people who suffer the most. They rely on Chávez’s intel, and it's good intel—they storm the place in an ambush and open fire.

Murphy locks down the Castillos. Javier finds Santiago “Stick” Ortiz. The man wants to go down fighting, to his credit. He fires until the clip is empty, but it only gives Javier permission to shoot. Flanked by two policemen, he lunges out from behind his cover wall and lands a shot to Ortiz’s thigh. The man crumples. Javier shoots him in the chest twice. He’s on the ground, on his back, bleeding out.

Javier leans down, grabs the man by the jaw, and wrenches his head to make him meet Javier’s eyes. “Know who I am?” he asks.

Ortiz spits blood. “¿Como esta tu puta?”

Javier tucks the barrel of his gun underneath Ortiz’s chin. “Good. You do.”

He takes out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a single drag before he puts it out on Ortiz’s cheek. It hisses, music to Javier’s ears. The man gurgles in pain.

“Nos vemos en el infierno,” he laughs, teeth red with blood.

“Maybe,” muses Javier. “Not for a while. Espero que veas sus ojos cuando mueras (I hope you see her eyes when you die).”

He shoots. Ortiz dies, mouth still open as the hole in his chin trickles blood down his throat.

The police capture Reyes, who couldn't run fast enough. His girls are rounded up for questioning.

Javier smokes out the window in the conference room a couple hours later. Murphy enters, rubbing his forehead. “Hey, man,” he says. “You get Ortiz?”

Javier huffs. “Yeah. Got him.”

“Good.” Murphy nods. “I know you wanted to do more, but he’s dead. Can’t hurt her.”

“And Reyes?” Javier hasn't sat down since they got back to the Embassy. “Tell me good news, Steve, please.”

“He's going away,” Murphy confirms. Javier might vomit from relief. “The narco link is solid. He wanted to make a deal, let them use his whorehouse as cover for smuggling the money. So long as he got a cut. Not enough friends in high places; he’ll get life.”

Javier rubs out the ache in his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, man.”

Murphy claps him on the shoulder. “About fuckin’ time, right?” He glances down and then gives Javier a grin. “Get a ring on your finger, brother. It’ll be good for you.”

The divorce is finalised a month later. The ring has been burning a hole beneath the mattress for two.

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#kiwisbell's fics #las mañanas #javier peña #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

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jellymellydraws · 12 days

Text

Tell Me You Love Me, Again and Again

Pairing: Astarion x Rose (m/f)

Rating: E

Words: 500

Tags: PIV, Words of Affection, slight body worship. Two damaged people so madly in love it intoxicates them.

After another long day in the gate, Rose and Astarion stole away to be alone for the night. Even before they bid their companions farewell, their touch seldom broke. They were inseparable, whether it were their pinkies looped together, or a hand on their backs. Somehow, someway, they needed to feel the other against them.

While they laid together, they explored the topography of each other's bodies. His fingers gently walked along the ridged scars along Rose's front. Once, she would curl away from that touch. Tonight, she sighed contentedly when the vampire pressed soft kisses upon them. The tension in his shoulders melted away as she relaxed. His crimson eyes locked with hers as he traversed towards her breasts, cupping one in his hand. He wrapped his lips around her erect nipple, flicking his tongue over it until she whimpered. She brought her hand to his cheek, gently guiding his face towards hers. But he refused to cooperate, instead returning to his unfinished trail of kisses along her scarred flesh.

Astarion wanted it all.

It wasn't long before their clothes were discarded in favor of melding together.

Rose was a beauty beneath him. He cupped her cheek as she stared at him with total and utter adoration. A look reserved only for him. As he slowly eased in and out of her, each breath she drew invigorated him like it were the blood from her throat.

Another source of her life, freely given to him. She’d let him take it all, if she could.

He leaned in for a kiss, filling her with his whole length. Their tongues danced as he waited for her to stretch around him.

"I love you," she gasped between their lips.

"Say that again," he whispered, slowly pulling out of her.

"I love you." She twisted her fingers into his hair.

He moaned with her confession. He wandered to her neck, kissing with each thrust. Her voice hitched. She was sensitive there, he knew.

He couldn't help himself.

"Again.”

"Ah— I love you."

"Again!"

"I love you!"

Intoxicating.

Gods, he wanted to taste her. But no, he couldn't. Not if he wanted her to continue serenading him. He inhaled her scent from the crook of her neck, groaning as he fucked her with more vigor. Her needy fingers drew him closer, nearly begging for him to drink from her.

He was close. Gods below, he was so close.

"Don't stop," he begged, "I want you to keep saying it."

Tilting her head towards him, Rose gripped his hair and moaned her love into his ear. Whimpering, when he fucked her relentlessly. But still, she tried to tell him. Over and over

She loves him.

"I love you," he moaned, "Gods above, I love you," he sealed their lips together.

He focused on an even pace, balancing his pleasure with hers. Their moans filled each other as the heat built between them. He couldn't hold himself back.

Not with her.

Astarion pulled from her lips, just enough to look into her glistening amber eyes.

When he leaned his forehead against hers, all words fell away, leaving only her delicious mewling between them. She squeezed around his cock, the waves of her own undoing pushing him over the edge. It took everything in him not to lean his head back, just so he could watch her eyes roll back as he filled her with his seed.

Sweaty, panting, but neither wanting to move. She wiped the sweat from his brow, just as he brought a hand to her cheek. She hummed and leaned into his palm, welcoming the cool touch. He gently slid out of her, only to pepper her face with light kisses. Between soft giggles, she continued to tell him.

”I love you.”

He knew.

He knew from the way she stroked his hair. How her fingers gently massaged his ear as he came down from his own high. How her lips pressed against his head when he collapsed onto her in bliss.

She loved him.

He loved her.

And he loved all of this.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x dark urge #dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #durge #oc: rose #rosestarion #jellymelly writes #astarion x tav #astarion romance

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gigabyte-flare · 7 months

Text

He Comes Alive (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: Your father starts to suspect that Leon is involved with the attacks on the hikers, causing you two to get into a heated argument that leads to your father kicking you out. Lucky for you, Leon welcomes you into his home with open arms

Word Count: 7.3k

Pairing: vampire/plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Warnings: Biting, blood, gore, murder, unprotected p in v, masterbation, oral (m and f receiving), stalking, pet names, kidnapping, breeding kink, blood play/kink, age gap, period cunnilingus/s3x, somno, dubcon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future entries]

This part does contain period cunnilingus, s3x and somno. I have marked the beginning and end of this segment with ✧⭒⭒✧ that way you can skip it if that is not your thing

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

“Do you want to press charges, Leon?” Chief Bob asks as he walks back into his office, sitting behind his desk.

“No, it’s fine Chief Dion. It was clearly just a misunderstanding,” Leon replies; both of you are sitting on the bench across from Chief Bob’s desk again, both his arms wrapped around you.

“Alright,” Chief Bob says with a nod, “I had one of the EMTs run him over to Speare Memorial Hospital to get his nose checked out, then he should be fine to be released. Now then, tell me everything leading up to when you found Nate."

Chief Bob pulls out a notepad and both of you explain to him the events leading up to when you found Nate. You recall the two college boys that you had encountered on the trail when… when Leon was kissing you. How they didn’t smell what you smelled is beyond you. Your mind wanders back to that moment at the Basin, Leon’s muscular body pinning you to the fence while he practically devoured you. You can still feel the traces of his hands roaming down your body to settle onto your waist.

And now, he has you wrapped in his embrace as his fingers comb through your hair. You take deep breaths, taking in the smell of his cologne and his leather jacket.

“I want to thank you both for your bravery in finding Nate. I can’t say I blame those two boys you saw for not checking out the smell. I know that must have been a traumatic experience, but the information you provided will aid in the investigation into what attacked and killed him. You’re both free to go.”

“Thank you Chief Dion,” Leon replies, standing up, taking you with him, “let’s get you home, angel.”

Angel. He’s been calling you that ever since he kissed you. You thought him calling you sweetheart made you flustered; angel is on a whole new level. It makes your heart practically pound out of your chest. Back out in the parking lot, Leon opens the passenger’s side door and you climb into the Jeep while Leon walks around, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“My car is still at your house…” you say as you put on your seat belt.

“I know, it’s fine. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning. Right now I think home is the best place for you.”

“Thank you, Leon.”

The drive from the police station to your house is about five minutes. In the back of your mind you wonder how Leon knew where you lived without you telling him, but you’re way too exhausted to question it. Leon pulls into your driveway and both of you get out, which puzzles you because you figured he is just dropping you off.

“You’re coming in?” you ask, tilting your head as you both walk up to the front door.

“Yeah, I figured I’d at least apologize for breaking your Dad’s nose.”

You can’t help but let out a soft chuckle as you open the front door, leading Leon inside your house. Your mother, standing in the kitchen, looking out the window over the kitchen sink, looks at you and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank goodness you’re ok! When Terry at the police station called, we were worried sick-- where’s your father?”

“He uh…” you begin, but Leon finishes your thought.

“There was a slight misunderstanding between himself and I at the station and we got into a fight. I may have accidentally broken his nose defending myself.”

“Mick attacked you?!” your mother exclaims, clearly mortified, “oh my god Leon I’m so sorry! Please, have a seat at the dining table, let me at least treat you to dinner.”

“Ma’am I promise you it’s fine--”

“You’re better off just letting her feed you, she won’t stop until you do,” you tell Leon with a giggle.

Leon lets out a chuckle, turning his attention back to your mother, “alright. I’d love to join you for dinner.”

“Go ahead and have a seat at the table, Leon. Hopefully Mick comes back and can fire up the grill for some burgers,” your mother says as she takes a bag of frozen french fries out of the fridge.

You and Leon sit at the table next to each other, Leon’s hand rests on top of yours, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. As if on queue, the door to the garage suddenly opens, your father walking in. He appears to have some kind of cast on his nose.

He stops dead in his tracks upon seeing Leon seated at the dining table next to you, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

“Mick!” your mother scolds him as she gets the fries laid out onto a cooking sheet, “get the grill fired up so we can have some burgers. It’s the least you can do for attacking him.”

Mick groans, walking over to a plate where your mother had already made some beef patties. He looks over at Leon, narrowing his eyes at him.

“How do you want your burger, Leon?”

Leon looks over at your father, smirking at him, “as rare as you can make it, please.”

“Jesus… ok…”

Your father grabs the plate, opening a drawer to grab grilling supplies before heading out a sliding glass door to the backyard. Meanwhile, your mother gets the fries into the oven, setting a timer before she takes a seat at the dining table.

“So, Leon, what do you do for a living?” your mother asks, folding her arms in front of her.

“Well… I’m technically retired actually. I can’t go into too much detail because it’s classified but I used to be a kind of government agent,” Leon replies.

“You’re retired at 36? Good for you! You must get a pretty good pension then?”

Leon chuckles, his cheeks turning a touch pink, “you could say that, yes.”

You watch your mother glance where Leon’s hand is resting on yours, looking back to him and smiling, “is it safe to assume that you’re interested in our daughter?”

Leon’s hand immediately moves off yours, “ma’am I meant no--”

“Leon it’s fine, I’m not like Mick. It’s very clear that the two of you like each other. All I ask is that you treat her right.”

“Of course,” Leon replies, putting his hand back onto yours, making you blush a bit.

Your father comes back inside with the cooked burgers, setting the plate down onto the counter, “Leon’s barely cooked one is the one off to the side there.”

Your mother stands up from the table and begins putting the burgers together. Within a few minutes, the timer goes off letting her know the fries are done. She takes the fries out of the oven, plating them with the made up burgers.

She starts by getting Leon’s plate to him, “here you go, sweetie.”

“Thanks ma’am,” Leon replies.

“Oh please, call me Sandi. There’s no need to be formal here.”

Once all the plates are distributed, both your father and mother seat themselves at the table. You take a bite of your burger, looking over at Leon as he bites into his. You notice as he bites into his burger that his canine teeth seem to be really long and sharp. Leon notices you looking at him, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head towards you in acknowledgement. You shake your head, drawing your attention back to your burger. You’re probably just imagining things from all the stress today.

You all eat in silence, watching your father shoot daggers in Leon’s direction with his eyes occasionally. When the two of you finish dinner, you quietly excuse yourself to your bedroom, Leon following close behind you. Your father begins to protest, but you watch as your mother smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand. You head up the stairs, the heavy footfalls of Leon’s boots following behind you. Reaching the top, you walk up to your bedroom, grasping the handle, hesitating momentarily before opening it.

“Excuse the decor, this room hadn’t been touched since I was in high school. I’m still trying to get all the posters down.”

“No judgment from me, angel.” you hear him reply, your heart immediately fluttering in your chest as you turn the knob to open your bedroom door.

You walk into your bedroom, walking over to your bed and sitting on the side of it. Leon steps into the bedroom as well, closing the door behind him before walking over to the bed, sitting next to you. He turns towards you, his hand coming up to gently grasp the side of your neck, a playful smirk crossing his lips.

“Now then, where was I?”

Before you can even prepare yourself, Leon’s lips seal over yours, his hands grasping at your body as you shift yourself onto your bed even more. Leon wastes no time gently pushing you down onto your bed, caging you with his body as he continues to kiss you. His lips move from your mouth, to your cheek then finally trailing down to your neck. His name escapes your lips in a soft moan as your right hand runs through his hair. You feel his teeth gently graze your neck before he begins sucking love marks into the side of your neck. You can feel yourself hurtling towards the edge of your own pleasure when Leon suddenly stops, staring down at you, his blue eyes so dilated that his eyes almost look black.

“I should probably get going,” Leon whispers, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead before he climbs off of you, standing back up.

“Do you have to…?” you ask, your voice pleading for him to stay as you sit up, once again sitting on the side of your bed.

“I do, I’m sorry angel. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up, I promise.”

You stand up, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around him to hug him. You feel him wrap his arms around your body, feeling his lips kiss the top of your head. After a few minutes, he lets go and both of you leave the bedroom, heading downstairs. You open the front door for him, both of you stepping out into the night. Leon leans down, giving you one last kiss on the lips before he turns, walking back to his Jeep, climbing inside and starting the engine. You lean against the threshold of the front door, watching Leon drive off into the night, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“How about that guy at the Basin today, huh Jake?”

Jake had been zoning out, staring at the small fire he and his best friend, Brad, had built off of one of the trails leading up to the summit of Mt. Liberty. His attention snaps to Brad, who has a shit eating grin on his face; he matches him with his own.

“Yeah dude, I thought for sure that glare was going to set us on fire. Do you think if we hadn’t said anything that they would have started fucking right there?”

“Oh no doubt,” Brad replies, grabbing a stick from beside him, using it to poke at the small fire, “you could tell she was really into it, too.”

For a few minutes, the two make small talk and crack jokes as they share a pipe filled with marijuana, each of them taking several hits on it. Brad suddenly stands up.

“I gotta take a massive piss, be right back,” Brad declares as he turns and heads into the depths of the woods.

“Watch out for hiker-eating monsters, might take a bite of your dick!” Jake says with a laugh as he takes another hit from the pipe, blowing out a large cloud of smoke from his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up Jake!” Brad calls out to him from within the woods.

Jake snickers, clearly amused with himself as he takes a few more hits off the pipe. He can hear rustling coming from the direction Brad had went, but passes it off to just being Brad until--

“Jesus Christ what the fuck is THAT?!”

“Brad?!” Jake calls out, reaching down to his bag to pull out a hunting knife and a flashlight, turning it on.

Immediately Jake hears Brad screaming, his voice carrying further away from the camp, so Jake makes chase.

“Brad! Where are you?! Are you ok?!” Jake calls out continually as he runs deeper and deeper into the woods.

He suddenly stops in his tracks when he starts to see blood splattered all over the ground, his flashlight slowly making its way to the source. What the flashlight finally settles on is almost incomprehensible. It is a man, but… not. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of dark colored cargo pants with work boots. Dark veins sprawl across the exposed skin, but that’s not the weirdest part.

Four claw-like appendages are coming out of the man's back and a long, scorpion-like tail moves back and forth. The man’s mouth is latched onto his best friend’s neck, clearly sucking the blood out of him as the flashlight settles onto the man’s face; the flashlight can be seen visibly shaking. The man has short blonde hair with piercing red eyes that immediately shift to focus on Jake. The man… no… the creature takes its mouth off his friend, revealing two long, sharp canine teeth, reminiscent of a vampire. Blood drips from the fangs and its mouth as it starts to grin at Jake; it’s tongue licking the blood off its fangs.

“Holy fucking shit…” Jake mutters as he starts to walk backwards away from the creature.

The creature suddenly lunges at Jake, causing Jake to stumble backwards and start running as fast as he can in what he believes is the direction he came from. Jake tries hard not to look back to see if the creature is pursuing him. Unfortunately for him, though, his foot gets caught on a tree root that is sticking out of the ground, his ankle making a loud pop sound as he’s thrown onto the ground. The flashlight and hunting knife slip out of his hands, landing several feet away, landing so that the flashlight is pointing backwards from whence he came.

Jake hisses, turning onto his back before sitting up to check on his ankle; it’s clearly either broken or severely dislocated. Jake can hear footsteps, his gaze shifting up as they approach. He watches as boots appear in the flashlight’s beam, and as the creature stalks closer, he sees that it's standing upright, its back claws flexing and tail swinging back and forth as it gets even closer; soon Jake can see blood has dripped down onto the creature’s chest, the black veins on its skin now appearing darker than they had earlier. The creature’s blood stained mouth is smirking at him.

The last thing Jake remembers is the creature descending upon him, its mouth latching onto his neck as its fangs pierce into his skin. His blood curdling scream cut short when his throat is ripped out.

A couple days pass after you and Leon had found Nate dead, you wake up to get ready to go work at Leon’s house with the worst abdominal cramps. You almost roll out of bed, going into the bathroom after picking out your outfit for the day to find that you had unfortunately started your period and it had completely ruined your underwear. Sighing in frustration, you throw the underwear into the trash in the bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet to take some Tylenol for the cramps.

After getting yourself cleaned up and dressed, you head downstairs into the kitchen to make yourself some toast for breakfast, clenching your lower stomach in an attempt to ease the pain, praying to every deity that the Tylenol would kick in soon.

“Oh sweetie, you don’t look so good! Are you alright?” you hear your mother ask as she comes into the kitchen.

“Yeah I’m ok, I got my… you know… I just took some Tylenol so that should hopefully kick in soon.”

Your mother walks over to the radio, turning it on before she then walks over to the coffee maker, hitting the button on it so that it would start brewing.

“So… what’s on the agenda today for my favorite remodeling couple?” your mother asks, giving you a playful smile.

You giggle, your cheeks turning red, “we should be finally finishing up the kitchen today. I think he wants to start the living room next.”

“Breaking news, authorities have now reported that two more hikers have gone missing in--”

“Mom, turn up the radio!”

Your mother turns her attention to the radio, turning up the volume.

“--Fish and Game officials have now officially closed all trails in Franconia Notch until the animal responsible can be found and euthanized.”

“Oh my god…”

“Quick let’s turn on Channel 9,” your mother says, grabbing your hand and leading you into the living room where she turns on the TV to the news.

“Good morning, New Hampshire. This just in, Fish and Game have just reported that two more hikers have been reported as missing. 22 year old Brad Shaw and 21 year old Jacob Duprey, both students at Plymouth State University were reported missing by University officials when they did not come back to campus for their classes--”

The picture of the two of them comes up on the TV, your eyes widen as you cover your mouth in shock.

“What is it, sweetie? Do you know them?”

“I didn’t know them, but Leon and I saw them the same day we found Nate dead on the Basin trail…”

“They should have closed the trails long before now… those poor hikers…”

Your father comes in, stopping to watch the news report playing on the TV, “Does anyone else think it’s odd that these attacks started happening shortly after Leon moved into Archie Mason’s place?”

Both you and your mother turn and look at your father; you raise an eyebrow at him, “Dad, you can’t be serious…”

“I am serious! The attacks started happening within a week of him showing up!”

“Dad, I saw Nate. There is no way a person could have done that to him!” you reply, raising your voice as you turn to face your father, approaching him.

“Then what else could it be then, huh?! How else do you explain what’s going on around here? He has to be connected somehow!”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to see him!”

“Mick stop--”

“No Sandi, I won’t stop! There is something not right about him, I’m sure of it!”

“Honey now you just sound ridiculous…” your mom replies, stepping between you and your father, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“When he broke my nose… I didn’t like the look in his eyes… it wasn’t right… something isn’t right, god dammit!”

“Dad, come on!” you say, throwing your hands into the air and turning to go back into the kitchen to grab your toast.

“You get back here young lady! We’re not done!” your father roars from the living room, your mother now physically restraining him.

“I need to go to Leon’s house to work and you’re not stopping me,” you say, walking over to the coat rack next to the front door and putting on your denim jacket.

“You walk out that door and you are NOT allowed back, do you hear me?!” your father’s voice booms through the house.

“Mick, what is the matter with you?!” you hear your mother interject.

As much as your father got on your nerves sometimes, the statement hit deep and it hit hard, causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes as you grab your purse. You walk up to the front door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. You blink your eyes shut, a tear running down your cheek as you wrestle with your conflicting emotions. Surely your father wasn’t being serious, right? You push the door open; as you step out you can hear your father shouting after you. You rush over to your car, whipping the door open and getting in just as your father bursts out the front door, his face red in rage as he stomps over, slapping his hands onto the hood of your car as you start it.

You immediately throw the car in reverse, backing out into the street and peeling off, your tires squealing on the pavement as you make the drive to Leon’s; at this point, tears are now streaming down your face. You could only hope that your mother could talk your father down. You get there in record time; it’s a miracle you didn’t run into any cops and get pulled over, however, you reckon they’re probably out looking for the latest hikers to go missing. Parking your car in its usual spot outside of Leon’s house, you go inside, dropping off your jacket and purse before proceeding to the kitchen.

Leon is already hard at work, installing the last of the kitchen cabinets. He hears you come in, he turns to you, giving you his trademark smirk that never fails to give you butterflies.

“Mornin’ angel!” he says, suddenly noticing your eyes are red and puffy, “hey… what’s wrong?”

You waste no time grabbing your paint roller and paint, pouring some into the pan before rolling the paint roller in it, “sorry… I got into a fight with my Dad this morning before coming here.”

“About what?”

You stop just before you begin to roll paint onto the wall, taking a deep breath before you reply, “about you. He thinks you’re somehow involved with the attacks on the hikers.”

Leon scoffs, “that’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what my Mom and I said, but he wasn’t having any of it. He said to me just as I was leaving that if ‘I walked out that door that I wouldn’t be allowed back.’”

Leon shakes his head, groaning in disgust, “I really don’t like how he treats you, angel.”

“I’m just hoping Mom can talk to him, get him to see just how ridiculous he sounded that way I feel better going home tonight.”

“Stay here tonight.”

Your eyes widen as you look over at him, “Leon, I can’t ask that of you.”

“It would make me feel better if you stay here tonight. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Leon, I'll be fine, I promise. My Dad would never hurt me,” you reply, focusing on finishing painting the last kitchen wall.

“You seem to be forgetting that your father tried to strangle me.” Leon said in a ‘as a matter of fact’ kind of tone.

The worst part is, he’s right. Your father had tried to strangle him. Your father has always been quick to anger but you’d never seen him lay a finger on anyone until that day in the police station. Your father was clearly becoming more and more unhinged; especially with this recent allegation that Leon is somehow involved with the hiker attacks.

“Alright… I’ll stay here tonight.”

Immediately you notice Leon’s whole expression light up before he returns his focus on the final kitchen cabinet. The two of you finally finish up the kitchen, it being late afternoon by the time you do so. Both of you work on moving the supplies into the living room, but as you start to pour more paint into the pan Leon stops you.

“Let’s call it a day, angel. We can start the living room tomorrow since you’ll already be here.”

You nod, putting the lid back on the paint, grabbing a nearby hammer to hammer the lid back down. You sense Leon walk up from behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He gently rocks you back and forth before placing a kiss onto your cheek.

“Want me to order us some pizza, angel?”

“That sounds perfect, Leon,” you reply; you can’t help but smile.

He places another kiss on your cheek before walking back into the kitchen, you hear him pick up the phone that’s hanging up on the wall in there and place an order for delivery. About 45 minutes later, the pizza arrives and Leon gets it, paying the delivery driver before coming into the living room with it while you relax on the couch, channel surfing on his TV.

“Go ahead and dig in, I have to check something in the basement really quick, ok?” he says as he sets the pizza box onto the coffee table, giving you a quick kiss on the top of your head.

You watch him go out into the hallway, approaching the padlocked door. He takes his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the padlock and opening the door, listening to him descend the stairs. There’s a part of you that wants to follow him into the basement, just to see what is down there, but you don’t, you remain on the couch as you open up the pizza box, grabbing a slice and biting into it. Some time passes, however, and Leon still hasn’t come back up yet. Before you can decide to go check on him, you hear him coming up the stairs, watching as he walks out, locking the door with the padlock before joining you on the couch.

He positions himself so that he’s behind you, having you seated between his legs as the two of you lay on the couch, eating pizza and watching some sitcom that you landed on as you were channel surfing. Your lower stomach suddenly cramps up, causing you to visibly and audibly wince in pain.

Leon immediately notices, “you ok, angel?”

“Yeah sorry… this is probably too much information but I started my period this morning. The Tylenol I took this morning must be wearing off.”

“Oh you poor thing,” Leon whispers in your ear, his hand snaking its way to your lower stomach, massaging his hand into it as he gives you gentle kisses on the side of your neck.

Despite your cramps, his touch felt incredible and you find yourself turning into putty in his embrace. You’re suddenly startled by the sound of Leon’s phone ringing from the kitchen.

“Something tells me that’s my father, I’ll go answer it.” you say as you get up off the couch.

“You sure, angel? I can get it,” Leon replies as he gets up, following behind you.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” you say, walking into the kitchen, picking up the ringing phone, “hello? Kennedy residence.”

“Of course you’re still at his house…” you hear your father say on the other end, you look over at Leon, giving him a slight nod to let him know your suspicions had been correct.

“Hello to you, too, Dad,” you say, trying to make your irritation clear in your voice.

“You need to come home right now.”

“Really? Because I clearly remember you saying if I went to work this morning that I wouldn’t be welcomed back.”

“Well I’d rather you be here than with him. If you don’t come home, I will call the police.”

“Dad, you can’t call the cops, I’m an adult!”

At this point, Leon must have had enough because he steps up beside you, grabbing the phone from you, “if you call the cops, Mick, I will report you for making a false report. I used to be a cop; you can’t pull the wool over my eyes.”

He used to be a cop? you think to yourself, biting your bottom lip as you picture him in a police uniform.

You can’t understand what your father is saying to him, but you can tell he’s yelling because Leon holds the phone about a half an inch away from his ear, closing his eyes and letting out a long exhale through his nose.

“Well since you’re so keen on shoving your nose where it doesn’t belong, will you stop yelling at me long enough to explain?”

You watch as Leon brings the phone back to his ear.

“What I’m about to tell you does not get repeated under any circumstances or I will have you arrested. I am a government agent, not a retired one. The branch I work for is called the Division of Security Operations, specializing in dealing with Bio-Organic Weapons, B.O.W.s, and I’ve been sent here to locate and kill a B.O.W. that got loose and is now wreaking havoc on those hiking trails. There. Are you happy now?”

Your eyes widen in shock not only at Leon’s admission, but at the fact there is some kind of weapon… a monster, loose in the forest.

“Yeah I hope you’re fucking sorry,” Leon continues, “however she’s still staying with me. In fact, I might even have her move in with me, if she wants to, of course.”

Leon looks over at you, giving you a playful wink as you digest what he just said. You feel your stomach twist into knots.

“Your days of controlling your daughter are over, you hear me? She and I will have a chat about her moving in and you’re going to accept whatever she decides to do. Take care of yourself, Mick,” Leon finishes as he slams the phone back on the receiver.

The two of you stand by the phone in silence, your mind spinning.

“I know that was probably a lot to take in just now, but unfortunately the same applies to you, if you repeat that to anyone, I’ll have to have you arrested, too,” Leon says as he places his hands on your hips, pulling you gently to him.

You quickly shake your head, looking up into his ocean eyes, “o-of course not! I won’t say a word to anyone, promise!”

“Good girl,” he purrs, leaning down to give you a kiss on the lips.

After the two of you break the kiss, you continue, “do you really want me to move in with you? You don’t think that’ll be moving too fast?”

Leon smiles down at you, “I have never been more sure of anything in my life, angel.”

You gather that Leon can feel your hesitation, he wraps his arms around you in a protective hug, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Stay here for a few nights, then see how you feel, how does that sound?”

“O-Ok… I can do that, Leon.”

Leon is in heaven, or at least as close to heaven as he’ll ever get. After getting his angel to stay with him at least a couple nights, he got her back into the living room and back onto the couch, where he has her between his legs, his arms wrapped around her as the both of them ate the pizza he ordered and mindlessly watched TV.

He was grateful that her father had called, having pulled the government agent story out of nowhere to get Mick off his ass, at least until he could find a way to get him out of the picture. He is clearly protective of his offspring and for Leon, that is a problem; he may have gotten Mick off his ass now, but it was only a matter of time before Mick would be back on it again.

The subtle scent of blood lingers in the air, he smelled it as soon as his angel had come into the house. She didn’t have to tell him she was on her cycle, he already knew. He had to make an impromptu trip into the basement to quench his thirst because of it. As the night wears on, he feels her become totally limp in his embrace as sleep takes her. He takes the remote from her hands, flipping it to the news where they’re reporting on the two missing hikers from Plymouth State University. What would his angel do if she knew one of them was in the basement right at this moment, barely clinging to life to serve as his meal?

It was a good thing he grabbed the other hiker and brought him here as he watches the report that they’re closing all the hiking trails in Franconia Notch. He’d have to find another way to get his meals. He might have to expand his hunting radius but he’d worry about that later. Soft snores from his angel break his thoughts, he looks down at her, giving her a gentle smile. He slowly moves out from under her before picking her up in his arms, carrying her bridal style up to his bedroom. Once in his bedroom, he approaches the bed, gently laying her onto it. She stirs in her sleep, her eyes opening slowly.

“Leon?” her voice barely a whisper as she fights her fatigue.

“I just brought you up to the bedroom, it’s ok,” he replies, running his fingers through her hair, “go ahead and get yourself comfortable, I’ll just be in the bathroom for a minute.”

Going into the bathroom, he turns on the light and shuts the door behind him. Pulling off his shirt, he lets himself relax for a minute; the black veins slowly appear as they sprawl over his skin, his eyes turning red as he stares at himself in the mirror. He’s hopeful that he won’t have to hide his true nature from her for too much longer; once he gives her his gift, he’ll show her that he’s the perfect mate for her.

He inhales deeply, rolling his head; slowly the black veins start to disappear once more and his eyes are back to their brilliant ocean blue. Discarding his pants and boxers, he finds a pair of gray sweatpants, putting them on before opening the bathroom door back up and shutting the bathroom light off. He sees she’s under the covers, her shirt and pants laying in a pile next to the bed. He approaches the opposite side of the bed where she lay, getting himself under the covers with her, wrapping his arms around her as he closes his eyes.

✧⭒⭒✧

However, no matter how much he chases sleep, it never comes. The subtle scent of blood is still driving his hunger wild. Meanwhile, she is sound asleep on her side; he watches as her chest gently rises and falls with each breath she takes. He gingerly tosses the covers off of both of them, admiring her nearly nude form. He fought with himself for a moment, not wanting to feed off her to sate his hunger; then, he has an idea.

He positions himself at the end of the bed, gently rolling her so that she’s on her back. Hooking his fingers onto the hem of her underwear, he slowly pulls them down off her, slipping them off her legs before tossing them onto the floor with the rest of her clothes. He gently parts her legs, taking a moment to admire her cunt; he practically salivates when he sees the telltale string coming out of her. He climbs on top of her, being careful not to wake her as he wraps his index and middle finger around the tampon string, slowly pulling it free. Once it’s out of her, he climbs off her, walking into the bathroom for a moment to discard it before coming back to her, nestling himself between her legs. The smell of her blood is overwhelming now as he brings himself within inches of her hole.

His fangs descend in his mouth, but he doesn’t care, she won't be able to see them in the low light, not like he can see her. He runs his tongue up her slit, his lips then sealing themselves over her clit as he gently sucks on the sensitive bud. He then slips two fingers inside her, curling them upwards inside her to stimulate her g-spot; he hears her moan softly, her hips gently shifting beneath him.

“Wha--” he hears her say as she rouses from her slumber, quickly realizing he is in between her legs, “L-Leon! What are you doing?!”

He unlatches himself from her clit, looking up at her and smiling while he continues to fuck her with his fingers, “shhhhh it’s ok… just let me take care of you. It’ll help your cramps, I promise.”

“But I’m on my-- oh my god…!” she attempts to protest, but is cut off by her own moan as she lays her head back onto her pillow.

He watches with delight as her hips move in time with his fingers digging into her, his pupils dilating as blood begins to seep onto his fingers.

“Doesn’t that feel good, angel?” he purrs as he slowly pulls his fingers out of her, taking a moment to clean his fingers off like a lollipop.

The sudden wave of euphoria hits him like a train; her blood tastes divine, unlike anything he has ever tasted ever since he was given his gift. Looping his arms around her thighs, his mouth dives back between her legs, his tongue forcing its way inside her. He lets out a low growl as her blood flows into his mouth, unable to contain himself as he fucks her with his tongue. Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair, pushing down so that he stays there; clearly she’s enjoying herself, much to his delight.

Her legs violently tremble in his grasp as she edges closer and closer to her release and he doesn’t relent, his nose pressing into her swollen clit as his tongue continues to devour her. With a loud cry, she finally comes on his tongue, a mix of her arousal and her blood flowing freely into his mouth, which he happily swallows. He reluctantly unlatches his mouth from her entrance, blood dripping down his lips and chin and onto the sheets. As much as he wants to lick her blood off his lips, he doesn’t, instead wiping it from his mouth on the back of his forearm before he proceeds to slip off his sweatpants, his erection springing free from its fabric prison.

He strokes himself momentarily before he settles his hips between her legs, pressing the head of his cock against her hole. Before he pushes himself inside her, her hand comes up, pressing against his chest to stop him.

“Do you have protection?” she asks, the nervousness clear in her voice.

“I mean, I have a 9mm in my nightstand…”

She playfully punches his shoulder as she giggles, “that’s not what I mean!”

He lets out a chuckle, clearly amused with himself, “unfortunately I wasn’t expecting you to stay the night, so I didn’t think to buy condoms, angel. We can stop now if you want to.”

Please, don’t say stop.

“Promise you’ll pull out,” she says softly, her arms caressing his biceps as she looks up at him longingly, "I want this… I want you…"

He smiles down at her, relieved, as he brings his hand up to caress her cheek, “I promise.”

She gives him a gentle nod, giving him the ok to continue, shifting his gaze down to where their two bodies meet as he slowly pushes himself inside her. It takes everything in him to take it easy with her, his primal need to breed screaming in his subconscious.

He stops about halfway inside her, looking back up into her eyes, “let me know if it hurts, ok?”

“It’s fine… it actually feels really nice. Keep going,” she replies, he smiles when her cheeks start to turn red; he loves how flustered she gets around him.

He then continues to push himself inside her until he’s balls deep. He can already feel her squeeze around his cock; a miracle that didn’t make him cum on the spot.

“I’m going to start moving now, ready?” he whispers, stroking her cheek again to reassure her.

He watches her nod again and he cages her body beneath him as he begins to thrust into her. He leans down, sealing his lips over hers, moaning into the kiss as her arms wrap around him.

“Fuck, angel, you’re so fucking tight… you’re perfect…” Leon growls, his thrusts becoming faster and more powerful.

“Leon… oh f-fuck…! I’m… oh god…!” she cries out, becoming a moaning mess as he pounds into her.

With each thrust he feels the head of his cock kiss her cervix, driving his instinct to breed her wild. He sits up onto his knees, grabbing her legs and looping his arms around them as he chases his release. His angel cries out, feeling her grab his forearms as she cums on his cock. The feeling of her release nearly pushes him over the edge; he pulls out of her before that happens, giving himself powerful strokes with his hand before ropes of cum spill onto her stomach, marking her as his.

As both of them come down from their high, he stares down at her, admiring how lovely she looks covered in his seed, even though he’d rather have it inside her, leaking out of her hole. Subtle movement in his seed catches his attention; a larva from his gift squirming about. Before she has a chance to notice it, he reaches over to his nightstand, grabbing the box of tissues from it and pulling out a few sheets.

“Such a dirty girl you are, angel,” he coos, cleaning up his cum along with the larvae.

Thankfully, she's too cock drunk to even realize what he just cleaned up, her eyes closed as she takes deep, heavy breaths as her body trembles beneath him from her own orgasm.

He takes a moment to lick her blood from his hand while his angel’s eyes are closed. Standing up from the bed, he leans down and places several kisses on her cheeks and forehead.

“How was that, angel?” he asks, smirking.

He watches her eyes slowly open, looking at him with complete admiration as she continues to take deep breaths, “that was perfect. You were right, it did actually help with the cramps.”

“It’s like I know what I’m talking about,” he replies with a chuckle as he gently coaxes her out of bed by taking hold of one of her hands, “come here, angel, let’s get cleaned up and get some sleep, hm?”

The two of them go into the bathroom, Leon making sure to toss the tissue into the toilet and flushing it before the two of you get into the shower to clean up. Once finished, he guides her back into bed, holding her in his protective embrace as they both drift off to sleep.

✧⭒⭒✧

The next morning, the sound of pounding at the front door awakens him, his eyes slowly opening as he lets out a groan. The pounding at the door continues, which causes his angel to stir in her sleep.

“What’s that noise… Leon…?” she asks, her voice slurred from her slumber.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to go check, keep getting rest, angel,” he replies, giving her a kiss on the top of her head as he climbs out of bed, grabbing his sweatpants and putting them back on before heading downstairs to answer the door, “I’m coming, you can stop pounding my door down!”

“Good morning Leon, sorry to bother you,” Chief Dion says as Leon opens the door, “got a few minutes to chat?”

Part 5

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